Gerrymander Reviews

Capitalist Realism: Is There No Alternative?

2010-04-27T11:09:00.002+10:00

Capitalist Realism: Is There No Alternative?. By Mark Fisher. Winchester, UK: 0 Books, 2009. 81pp. ISBN 978-1-84694-317-1

My brother gave me a book a couple of months ago which I’ve just managed to read. Interestingly, I read the book just days after being involved in an online discussion about politics. It was a late, tangential, and general contribution to a post on the issue of asylum-seekers in Australia. I began my series of reflections (or, perhaps, rants) by declaring that there was a part of me that felt ‘blah, blah, blah’ about the issue. This was not something I wrote with a sense of sardonic superiority nor a cynicism which might have grown from such a position. Rather, I felt disappointed, frustrated and perhaps even exasperated. Moreover, it was an expression of a response to politics that has been growing for some time now; first articulated, I think, in the aftermath of the last federal election in Australia.

Essentially, I am tired of boring, lazy, uncreative, expedient, conservative politics. I am completely uninterested in a politics that is only different in respect to the story within which it locates itself (and even this can seem barely indistinguishable at time). Ironically perhaps, this lament is, I think, a pretty boring, clichéd, glib statement. Yet, the point remains that I want to see, hear and participate in a truly alternative politics. Yet, it seems any time I have a conversation with someone, it is either explicitly stated or implied that ‘what we have is the best of the admittedly flawed offerings’. What we have, of course, is some kind of liberal capitalism. Can we really not imagine anything else...anything better?

Mark Fisher begins his book, Capitalist Realism, at this point in the story. Chapter 1 is titled, after Jameson and Žižek, ‘It’s easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism’. As someone who is not at all well-versed in the literature of cultural theorists such as Foucault, Lacan, Baudrillard and Žižek, I found this to be a most apt and profound premise. By capitalist realism, Fisher means ‘the widespread sense that not only is capitalism the only viable political and economic system, but also that it is now impossible to even imagine a coherent alternative to it’ (p.2). Beginning with a brief cultural analysis of the film, Children of Men, Fisher writes that it poses questions born of anxiety: ‘how long can a culture persist without the new? What happens if the young are no longer capable of producing surprises?’ (p.3). While one response to such anxieties might be to hold out a knowingly weak hope that change is actually on the horizon, another might be the opposite, defeatist position of despairing belief that what is now is all there will be. Furthermore, when we can only imagine capitalism as the foundational structure for society, despite its liberal rhetoric of decentralisation and the devolution of power, it becomes a force no different to the totalitarianism of modernist conceptions of dystopias. The all pervasive capitalist realism is a deep and pervasive ‘sense of exhaustion, of cultural and political sterility’ (p.7).

Thus, despite the language of freedom and liquidity key to capitalism (think free-market), capitalist realism should, according to Fisher, be seen as something structural and, it seems to me, public. By this, I mean that, while the individual is primary in neo-liberalism (be it negative self-interest or ‘positive’ individual responsibility for world-wide poverty), the power of capitalist realism is one that defies the very notion of the individualism its rhetoric affirms. With reference to Žižek, Fisher writes about the ways in which capitalist realism flourishes in a post-ideological world where individuals’ internalised beliefs become paramount to any overarching political or cultural structure. Therefore, we may see the way in which a particular ideological foundation may be having a negative effect on the world’s poor, acknowledge that it is unjust, but continue to participate in giving life to that particular ideological foundation (justifiably) because we ourselves believe it to be bad. Put another way, ‘so long as we believe (in our hearts) that capitalism is bad, we are free to continue in capitalist exchange’ (p.13).

Essentially, all this is to say that perhaps the insidious nature of capitalist realism is that, while it purports to be free of any ‘big brother’ or top-down totalitarian tendencies, it actually functions in a way that perpetuates heavy bureaucracy and fails to come close to eradicating economic elites through competition as the neo-liberal ideologues would like us to believe. In fact, Fisher uses the education sector in the UK as an example of the way in which, though marketisation promised to deliver ‘friction-free’ exchanges, has only caused greater concern with measurement of performance resulting in ‘additional layers of management and bureaucracy’ (p.42). Furthermore, these managers at the top of organisations enjoy a much greater slice of national income than in the days of democratic socialism (p.29). Yet Fisher is not suggesting that the alternative is to look back to previous political times and, indeed, return to them. He writes, ‘It’s well past time for the left to cease limiting its ambitions to the establishing of a big state’ (p.77) and instead, it needs to seek ways to actually do what neo-liberals said capitalism could do: reduce bureaucracy. The way to respond to the capitalist failures such as the global financial crisis is not return to old ways of thinking, but a ‘spur of renewal’ (p.79).

There is much more that the book offers as an analysis of the current cultural and political malaise in which we now find ourselves. It does not seek to provide answers with any specificity. Rather, it provokes the reader to actually consider carefully the question ‘is there no alternative’ to capitalism? Moreover, assuming that we can be imaginative enough to assume there is an alternative, Fisher invites us to be creative and speculate as to what the alternatives might be. Such questions invite us, I believe, to imagine what is the goal – the telos – to which we are directed? They invite us to indeed imagine a better alternative. My next book review will focus on the very question of to what or whom we intend our ‘desire’ and how we do this as an alternative to the dominant systems.

Tithing: Test Me in This - Douglas Le Blanc

2010-03-24T22:17:00.001+11:00

It is fair to say that I was a touch skeptical - perhaps even smug – about the latest book for review. Tithing, I thought, was so conservative. Me, I’m into the more radical, free-wheelin’, give generously kinda giving (in theory, not practice, of course!). So when in the introduction author, Douglas Le Blanc, writes that his experience of being part of a middle-class suburban bible group who talked of radical giving but gave little has meant that ‘something in [him] has felt skeptical when I encounter prosperous American Christians who speak of tithing in tones that sound almost contemptuous’, I can’t help but find myself a little pegged.

This small book, “Tithing: Test Me in This” is another addition to the Ancient Practices Series. Le Blanc, a journalist, has put together a series of interviews conducted with a vast range of people from across the USA. Some are very conservative. Others are rather liberal. All have made a commitment to tithe.

This range of stories is compelling. It does not allow the reader to protest with ‘but that’s such a conservative thing, to focus on tithing’ or ‘those liberals read into the bible whatever they please’. Rather, Le Blanc ensures there is a bi-partisan approach to this issue, making it difficult for any of us to escape the central idea that giving our first-fruits to God is a fundamental spiritual discipline.

Having been compiled by a writer used to a popular audience, the book is exceptionally easy to read and mostly interesting. The range of ‘characters’ in the story manage to keep the reader interested in what is an otherwise potentially bland plot.

I was pleasantly surprised by this short read; if not a little disturbed by the message it presents. I wouldn’t rush to buy it, but it is a widely accessible book and, thus, well worthwhile.

This review was part of the BookSneeze project

The Selfless Gene: Living with God and Darwin, by Charles Foster

2010-03-13T17:58:00.005+11:00

Real, full-blooded Darwinism, marked and scarred where it has engaged properly with the world, is a hugely more compelling creed than the one peddled in the paperbacks and accepted uncritically by scientifically unlettered people who want some sort of scientific excuse to rubbish religion. Real, full-blooded Christianity, acknowledging the absurdity of anemic literalism, confronting the challenges of the Bible (a very difficult, cryptic, challenging document) and the world (a very difficult, cryptic, challenging place), is a hugely more compelling creed than the one peddled in the fundamentalist ghettos by the fearful and the fearfully dogmatic. (p.235)

Very soon, here in Australia, the Global Atheist Convention will be taking place. In the lead-up to this sold-out convention, the biggest name in contemporary atheism has been wowing the public with his wonderfully appealing, seemingly measured, denouncement of God. What I am about to state about this man – Richard Dawkins – is by no means new, but still, I feel, a pertinent point considering the many blind followers he has. The problem with Dawkins’ atheism is that it is simplistic, polarising, certain and pushy. Indeed, not at all dissimilar to the style of Christianity he is most clearly up against (though it would be unfair to suggest that he is only opposed to the “Answers-in-Genesis types” – he is, of course, opposed to all who profess faith in a decidedly un-provable god). Certainly, though, the locus of his polemic lies in the territory of the Conservative Christian Creationist; a truly strange beast that has recently evolved in an effort to survive the attack of the science-based predators of the 19^th Century.

Charles Foster in, The Selfless Gene, seeks to navigate his way through the thick jungle of simplistic positions immediately before us and explore the complex relationship between Darwin and God which lies in deeper part of the jungle amidst the muddy waters. Foster writes beautifully, often with wonderfully dry, British wit. Despite this, the subject matter does ensure that this is not always an easy read. Yet, given the nature of the fundamentalists’ debate, this reality is probably an important and positive feature of the book.

To my mind, Foster attempts to reveal to us an evolving world of meaning, beauty, goodness and truth. So what? Well, for hard-core evolutionists, things happen purely for the sake of survival. Such a theory has no place for anything as intangible and un-pragmatic as beauty. However, making an assertion in favour of the existence of that which does not fit neatly into biological evolution, does not equal a total knock-out for creationists. In case you missed it, re-read the first sentence of this paragraph. I suggest that Foster wants to reveal an ‘evolving world’. Indeed, in regards to the natural world, he writes that Darwinism “is not just a potential explanation: there is no doubt at all that it has shaped a lot of what we see whenever we go outdoors” (p.235). So, according to Foster, Darwinism is a theory that holds true. Yet, his point is that, while natural selection explains aspects of what we see in this world, it does not provide the full explanation for the world in which we live.

So maybe, just maybe, there is a way to live with both God and Darwin.

This review was part of the Thomas Nelson BookSneeze project.

Everything Must Change: Book Review

2010-01-06T07:19:00.001+11:00

The very earliest Christians were known as followers of ‘The Way’. The very first of these people came from the various Jewish sects that were functioning in the first century CE. They did not commit themselves to a system of belief. Rather, they committed themselves to a way of life which followed Jesus of Nazareth who, they came to see, was Messiah and Lord. Indeed, Jesus’ resurrection and ascension was not understood primarily as a static event which secured their place, as believers, in Heaven and, thus, saved from hell. It seems that they, instead, got involved with trying to figure out what it was they were saved for.

It is this simple but profound shift in emphasis that has inspired much of Brian McLaren’s writing up to this point. In introducing his recent book, Everything Must Change: When the World’s Biggest Problems and Jesus’ Good News Collide, he writes,

…more and more of us are realizing something our best theologians have been saying for quite a while: Jesus’ message is not actually about escaping this troubled world for heaven’s blissful shores, as is popularly assumed, but instead is about God’s will being done on this troubled earth as it is in heaven. So people interested in being a new kind of Christian will inevitably begin to care more and more about this world, and they’ll want to better understand its most significant problems… (p.4)

The book begins with McLaren declaring the two preoccupying questions which drove him to write the book: 1) What are the biggest problems in the world? and 2) What does Jesus have to say about these global problems (pp.11-12). When my wife and I took a group of Grade 12 students to India in 2006, I asked the young people to reflect on one key question during our time away: What does the gospel mean to the poorest people you encounter while here? They and I had inherited a Christianity with its major focus on the death and resurrection of Jesus leading to eternal life in heaven. While our experience of extreme poverty does not change God’s purposes for Jesus’ crucifixion , it may lead us to ask if we have indeed understood God’s plan for the cosmos.

The book has two major premises from which McLaren puts forward his vision of what it means to be a new kind of Christian. The first premise is that we all function according to a framing story, a metaphor synonymous with ‘world view’ or meta-narrative. The second premise is that our world is a suicide machine which has co-opted ‘the main mechanisms of our civilization - our economic, political and military systems. This suicide machine has caused four major dysfunctions in our world: the prosperity crisis, the equity crisis, the security crisis and the spiritual crisis. And for McLaren, the final crisis needs rectifying if the first three are going to be transformed.

From here, McLaren presents an involved, complex and persuasive view of the troubles facing our world. McLaren takes an interdisciplinary approach to discuss the key economic and political ideologies that lie at the heart of the system that governs our world. And, importantly, he seeks to show how we as a people - and as Christians - have become captive to the framing story from which the system stems. Throughout the pages, the reader is offered reinterpretations of key bible passages - particularly from the teachings of Jesus - to help them understand how Jesus actually seeks to begin the restoration of the world here and now.

McLaren is very aware that imagining a world riddled with crises could actually be transformed seems naively utopian. He writes, ‘because we are so fully indoctrinated by the imperial framing narrative of our day, it is difficult for us to imagine for us to imagine how different it would be to live in the framing story of Jesus’ (p. 139). Moreover, he acknowledges that simply focusing on the big picture issues and then essentially creating slogan responses is not what God’s kingdom is about. Instead, we need to identify the systemic issues facing this world and then seek to deal with these in manageable ways. Such a concept (eg. seeing injustice in our world as a systemic problem) is not new. Nor is any solution to the world’s problems going to be simple or easy. But Mclaren is also not interested in capitulating to despair. While acknowledging that defeatism is an understandable response to the condition of our world, he suggests that we ‘hope and pray for a radical transformation of our framing story so that we switch sides from Caesar’s way to Jesus’ way’ (p.168).

As we continue to become more and more connected to the rest of the world and come to confront global issues such as terrorism and climate change, Christians must (re)discover their faith as a public way of life rather than as a personal system of beliefs. This latest book from Brian McLaren is a wonderful challenge and resource for those seeking to live as God’s people in the twenty-first century.

The Sacred Meal - by Nora Gallagher: Book Review

2009-12-31T18:18:00.000+11:00

The Sacred Meal by Nora Gallagher is part of the Ancient Practices Series. It is a good book. Gallagher writes with efficiency and a decidedly non-academic style. The reflections are thoughtful, personal. As a discussion of the Sacrament of Communion, it is a worthwhile and perhaps even important addition to the literature available.
And, I didn’t like the book.

I found that the reflections were so personal that they became, at times, mere opinion. I felt the subjectivity at the core of the understanding of the Eucharist espoused by Gallagher - combined with the sparing use of other sources - lacked depth and diversity. All this sometimes capitulated into the feeble world of liberal sentimentalism and the spinelessness of contemporary relativism.

Yet, despite the book not appealing to my tastes, it is full of story and real-life grittiness rather than theory and abstract speculation. It is largely free of jargon and keeps its focus aligned to the heart of the series: practice.

My hope is that The Sacred Meal may be a book willingly devoured by self-confessed theology-avoiders. Gallagher is passionate about the significance of Communion as any practising Christian should be. If this can be effectively communicated with a wider-than-usual Christian readership, then Nora Gallagher has done a great service to the world-wide Church.

This book was reviewed as part of the Thomas Nelson Book Review Blogger program. You can read other reviews of this book here

The Search for God and Guinness A Biography of the Beer that Changed the World

2009-12-11T08:01:00.003+11:00

Beginning with much promise, Stephen Mansfield’s The Search for God and Guinness: A biography of the beer that changed the world, left me a little disappointed, somewhat confused, though pleased I’d had the opportunity to read the book.

The book begins with an exploration of the connection between Christianity, beer and wider society. Mansfield seeks to show the reader that not only should beer not be seen by Christians as an ‘evil’ in society but rather, when ‘well respected and rightly consumed, can be a gift from God’ (xxv). At this point, it seems that there will be a strong link between the Guinness people, the Guinness beer and service to society. Yet, as the story unfolds, these links become increasingly tenuous.

For those who enjoy history, biography and beer, this remains an interesting read. The stories of Arthur Guinness and, indeed, the Grattan Guinness clan are revealing and well told. Though, as Mansfield does make clear, there seemed to be three, sometimes rather distinct, vocational paths for Guinness family members: beer, clergy and social concern. To make a link between beer and God when the brewery-owning Guinness is not the same person as the evangelical social crusader seems a tad disingenuous.

I think the book would have benefited greatly from the inclusion of a family tree at the outset. If the book had then been divided into more chapters or, at least, subsections, there could have been an image of the part of the family tree relevant to the persons being discussed in each section.

Nevertheless, it was an interesting project on which to embark and has been well-researched and written by Mansfield. It may not go down as one of the most inspiring or gripping books I have read, but I would be pleased to recommend it to others who would be interested in some of the history of the great Irish beer.

This review is part of the Thomas Nelson Book Review Blogging program

The Expanded Bible: Review

2009-09-12T10:08:00.002+10:00

As a teacher of Christian Studies, I was keen to see if Thomas Nelson's recent "The Expanded Bible: New Testament" might be useful to my students.

When I opened to the introduction, I was pleased to see that the idea was to provide alternate, literal and traditional meanings of certain parts of the text. It seemed to me that this might provide an opportunity to discuss with the students the implications of adopting the various readings. Moreover, the introductory comments explained that there is also space for a brief comment - which could also prove useful.

I decided to read a short book in its entirety - Philemon - as well as some chapters from other books which could prove interesting (such as Romans 8).

On opening to Philemon, I was immediately struck by the typeset. The base translation (NCV) is in bold-face and the alternate readings are standard. This is not particularly appealing to the eyes as it provides significant breaks in the text. Once I began reading the book, I realised this would be a problem for me. I found it very difficult to just read the text. I found that I wasn't really following the overall direction or intent of Paul's letter. Instead, every sentence reads as though it is ridiculously over-punctuated!

Having said this, the Expanded Bible does, perhaps, have its place in the vast library of bible tools. If it is to have some use, I think it would be as a "quick look" resource when preparing a reflection on a particular passage in the New Testament. This "quick look" would likely happen alongside the main event of the deeper study of the text using a commentary or theological reflection.

It is not rigorous enough for a theology lecturer or student. Nor does it comment on the text in a way that would be immediately useful to a preacher, lay or school teacher. Further, due to its rather clumsy nature, it is not a first choice for devotional reading.

In the end, I am not sure how much use I will get from the Expanded Bible, though I am happy to keep it on my shelf alongside the other study tools.

Other reviews of The Expanded Bible can be read here

Fearless: Max Lucado

2009-09-08T22:37:00.004+10:00

So ubiquitous are his books, I have not had much other chance but to know of Max Lucado for many years now. Perhaps because of the sheer volume of Lucado paperbacks in Christian bookstores, I have always avoided his books. So, it was with a degree of hesitation and not an insignificant dose of curiosity that I agreed to the task of reviewing his latest book, Fearless.

I have to say, my greatest fears were realised: a trite and tedious attempt to provide a pastorally focused biblical theology of fear.

I have no problem with an author taking complex and profound issues and realities and communicating these in simple language. Yet, in my opinion, Lucado has attempted to address a very serious problem that has a psychological impact in both public and private spheres, and found himself way out of his league.

Here’s just a couple of examples: Lucado offers some rather basic pop-psychology tips (eight ways to get rid of your worry, “nicely” worked into the acronym, “P-E-A-C-E-F-U-L”) in a chapter titled, “Woe, be gone”. This banality is followed by a chapter on the 'fear of not protecting my kids'. Lucado’s answer to this fear? Prayer. He writes that to avoid the extremes of both the ‘prison guard parent’ who struggles with the fear what may happen to their child and the ‘permissive parent’ who fears being too strict on their child is that, you guessed it, ‘we pray’.

Yet, perhaps pre-empting the critique that such a view is rather shallow and an untrue suggestion that prayer will always make things "right", Lucado acknowledges that it can be hard for the parent who may have prayed for a sick child who is now, despite the prayers, dead. Yet, his answer is that God understands death – his son died. Moreover, would you believe it, he dares to write that ‘For those who trust God, death is nothing more than a transition to heaven’. I couldn't believe my eyes!

As I ploughed my way through the book, mustering all the self-discipline within me, I was confronted by more of the same. Needless to say, I will continue bypassing the large stacks of Max Lucado books when I wander through the Christian bookstore.

You can read other reviews of this book here

The Hole in Our Gospel: Book Review

2009-07-28T09:46:00.005+10:00

Discussion surrounding the task of Christian discipleship often ends up capitulating to the dichotomization so embedded in our Western ways of thinking. Richard Stearns, president of World Vision USA, attempts to avoid this in, The Hole in Our Gospel, by suggesting that (evangelical) Christians need to add social justice to their otherwise incomplete understanding of the gospel of Christ.

Stearns shares his own journey of moving from being a deeply committed evangelical with a top executive job and little place for justice in his daily life, to being the head of America’s largest aid organisation. After years of both climbing the corporate ladder and being a faithful participant in the life of the local church, Stearns realised that ‘loving God’ required also ‘loving the neighbour’. His book, then, is a call for the rest of the church to also embrace the important truth that the gospel in its fullest is about kingdom building and so moves beyond (but includes) personal salvation and embraces the care for all of God’s world.

The book is accessible. While it could have been an academic, theological text or a dry stringing together of statistics, the book relies on the many stories gleaned from Stearns’ life, other ambassadors for justice and from some of the world’s most poor. For me, this was both its strength and its downfall. Accessibility and crispness could have been further enhanced by cutting second and third stories used to illustrate a point which might have reduced the book’s size to under 200 pages rather than its almost 300 pages.

Nevertheless, I found Stearns’ book inspiring and challenging as he wove theology with story and statistics to create an image of the gospel which incorporates God’s full redemptive purposes, rather than diminishing one aspect at the expense of another.

You can preview the book here.

Two Lovers: Review

2009-07-21T11:57:00.000+10:00

The opening sequence of Two Lovers alerts the audience to the fact that life is not as it should be in this film. We are quickly alerted to the fact that Leonard (Joaquin Phoenix) does not have it all together. Despite being in his thirties, he lives with his parents (Isabella Rossellini and Moni Monoshov) and is suicidal. At this point, the link between these two realities is unclear.

Mourning the break-up with his fiancée, Leonard mopes his way through the banality of life in New York's Jewish suburbia. At this point, two women enter his life. Sandra (Vinessa Shaw) is the Jewish daughter of Leonard’s parents’ friends. She has developed an interest in, and compassion for, Leonard.

Michelle (Gwyneth Paltrow), has moved into an apartment in the same building as Leonard. He meets her standing on the stairwell while she waits for her father to stop yelling abuse. The combination of her physical allure and emotional need proves enough for Leonard to develop a strong interest.

What ensues is an awkward set of relationships between complex, needy, real people.
I found the film a little tedious at times. While there was an attempt at realism in this film, there were too many ‘unreal’ moments which ruins the engagement between film and audience. Yet, discussion of the film with friends afterwards was enjoyable and stimulating. The film journeys through the complexity of the relationships in a way that invites further reflection.

The viewer grapples with conflicted emotions, mirroring the confliction experienced by the film’s major characters and this is certainly a triumph of the film.
Through Leonard, we come to realise that sometimes we need to be willing to liberate ourselves from the bonds of expectation and the prison of the mundane before we can move forward. We become aware that our ‘prison’ is not the actual space of suburbia and cloistered cultures but is, rather, our mindset.

With great performances and careful shooting, this film is worth watching with a group of friends.

Book Review -- A Holy Meal: The Lord’s Supper in the Life of the Church. By Gordon T. Smith

2009-07-14T14:37:00.000+10:00

A Holy Meal: The Lord’s Supper in the Life of the Church. By Gordon T. Smith. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005. 121pp. ISBN 0-8010-2768-3

In an engaging, thoughtful, pastoral and ecumenical manner, Gordon T. Smith in A Holy Meal: The Lord’s Supper in the Life of the Church, explores the importance of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. The book is ‘a call to appreciate more fully’ (p.121) why Communion is a ‘necessary complement’ to the ministry of the Word.

Divided into three sections, part one of the book begins with a brief introduction to the theories of eating, symbol and sacrament. Smith’s discussion of eating is one that forms a key theological basis for his ensuing study: that the meal provides the opportunity for encounter both with the Triune God and also each other. Seeing the importance of this assertion, in part, as a counter to the increasingly individualistic focus of much of popular Christianity[1] he writes, ‘the encounter with the ascended Christ and the experience of the grace of the Spirit’s ministry [in the Lord’s Supper] are experienced together’(p.10.) To choose to participate in Communion is to choose to participate in a different story to the hyper-individualism of contemporary culture. Furthermore, Smith identifies eating, in both Old and New Testaments, as a ‘central motif...in connection with God’s salvation’.

This connection with salvation is achieved not only as we remember God’s saving work together, but also experience in a very real sense God’s grace. Yet, I would guess that for many in the Protestant tradition, and particularly those of us from the Baptist tradition, Communion is often seen as merely symbolic. I mean this in the sense that partaking in the bread and juice can become void of mystery and spiritual engagement as the elements are no more than mere symbols of an act – the crucifixion – well understood. Indeed, Smith himself comments, ‘I always wonder how anything can be a mere symbol. By its very nature, a symbol is never just a symbol.’ (pp.20-21) As such, I wonder whether it would have been worthwhile for him to have devoted more than just three pages to the explanation of the theory and function of symbolism in art, literature and rituals. Bearing in mind that it appears he is aiming at a wide audience, drawn-out, technical discussion would not be appropriate. However, it does seem that Smith could have spent more time elaborating on his essential point that a ‘symbol is an external, visible, and tangible object or action that represents an internal, intangible reality.’ (p.22) In defining symbol in this way, he is hoping to encourage his readers to see that participation in the Lord’s Supper connects us to its reality. The sacrament, then, is a symbol that ‘represents a spiritual reality’. (p.24; emphasis mine)

The second section – divided into seven chapters – focuses on ‘seven words that illumine the meaning of the Lord’s Supper.’ (p.28) Each chapter begins with an oft-used biblical passage concerning Holy Communion followed by a reflection on this in dialogue with Tradition and theological imagination. The seven words reflected upon are: Remembrance, Communion, Forgiveness, Covenant, Nourishment, Anticipation and Eucharist. Smith explains the theological logic of the order of these words: ‘Our celebration of this meal is anchored in a past event that we remember...[where] Christ himself hosts a meal in which we are in fellowship with him and one another...[and] is a declaration...of the mercy of God that is know in Christ...[who] grants us forgiveness...[which leads us to] renew our covenant promises in light of this assurance.’ (p.82) We are then nourished spiritually by eating this meal and as we anticipate the hope that is to come on the ‘last day’, we choose to experience the joy of this reality.

From the outset, Smith makes clear that the Lord’s Supper is a participation in the life and hope of the resurrected Christ and thus should, primarily, be joyful rather than sombre. Coming from a North American evangelical upbringing, Smith is all too aware that, for many, Communion has become a meal that is ‘dreaded and even avoided.’ (p.58) He writes that in his ‘own upbringing, we were taught to examine ourselves lest we partake [of the meal] unworthily. Naturally, we never felt worthy!’ (p.58) In a spirit of embracing the fullness of the sacrament’s meaning, apparent throughout the book, Smith is not suggesting that self-examination is completely without its place. Nevertheless, on a number of occasions, he makes clear that ultimately the meaning and power of Communion is so much more than this. When self-examination is ‘all that is highlighted...the consequence is that all too easily the table is viewed as a place of judgement rather than as a table of mercy.’ (p.58)

The analysis and reflection throughout draws together, quite intentionally, ‘the diversity of perspective that the church brings to its understanding of the Lord’s Supper’ (p.28), in the hope that various Christian traditions may ‘learn from one another.’ (p.29) This spirit of dialogue and attitude of ‘listening’ provides a certain depth to what is, measured in pages alone, a very brief theological reflection.

In the final section – the concluding observations – Smith suggests that diversity in opinion about, and practice of, the Lord’s Supper will continue and that this is okay. He does offer, however, three ideals which he believes should provide the ‘contours of our practice: First, the Lord’s Supper needs to be a meal of hopeful thanksgiving. Second, it must become an occasion to celebrate and experience the love of God. Third, it must enable us to be a community of disciples who choose to live together under the reign of Christ.’ (p.113)

In an era where mystery, ritual and spirituality are again being embraced, a theological reflection of this nature on the important church sacrament of the Lord’s Supper is most welcome. Furthermore, the structure, brevity and accessibility of language make this an ideal book for lay persons and students to read as an introduction to the theology of sacraments. Also, it may prove to be wonderful resource for pastors and deacons as they prepare Communion homilies and reflections for church services. Finally, as someone who simply does not have the time to plough through a major theological work, but is unsatisfied with trite pseudo-theology, I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book and readily recommend it.

[1] Indeed, so many of the books in Christian bookstores today could be classified as “self-help” and, at best, a mixture of pseudo-psychology and pseudo-theology

Little Children: Film Review

2009-07-09T16:32:00.000+10:00

The back cover of the DVD explains Little Children simply as a tale set in suburban America which explores the way in which a couple’s affair precipitates the unravelling of their lives (this is a paraphrase, not a quote. The actual description is about this length though!).

The setting is suburban America. The demographic is white, middle-class, conservative and aspiring. The lead characters, Sarah (Kate Winslet) and Brad (Patrick Wilson) are educated, bored and idealistic stay-at-home parents of young children. They are both in relationships that fail to satisfy emotionally and sexually. The latest news in the neighbourhood is that a man who was convicted of exposing himself to children has been released and is living in the area. This, of course, causes the hysteria one would expect from a community that values safety and certainty over almost all else. Indeed, little children are the most important aspect of life for the people in this community. Yet, for Sarah – with her Masters in English Literature – and Brad – a graduate of Law School – this aspiring life is anything but inspiring.

Thus, the recipe is there for a wonderfully clichéd exploration of the soul-destroying effects of the ‘American’ or, indeed, ‘Australian Dream’. Those in the film who are representative of the suburban culture, for the most part, are cast as simple, un-cultured and lacking any creativity and idealism. As I said, all the clichés are there.

So then, as I settled down to watch this movie, it became apparent that there would have to be either – and preferably all of – a great script, superb acting or careful, thoughtful directing for this to be more than a mere cliché.

The story moves quickly enough through the key events that shape the film. The fact that there are a number of plot conflicts, revolving around a number of different characters, provides the viewer the kind of variety which helps the film to maintain the audience’s interest. However, as can often result, there is a lack of engagement between the viewer and any one character.

Kate Winslet is – as always – very good as the leading actress and the direction (Todd Field) seemed to mostly get things right. Yet, despite this, I felt that the movie was not able to capture the audience as it should. I wonder whether it did not quite know exactly what it was trying to do and so just missed the mark in a number of ways. I almost felt as if I was watching the unravelling of the Film’s own existential crisis. It was not quite a great love story. It was not quite a psychological thriller. It was not quite a social commentary. It was not quite a tragedy.

Even the resolutions are ambiguous. When an equivocal ending causes us to ponder, wonder and discuss long after the film is over, it is often a triumph. Yet, the ambiguity in this film is not so much about how we are to respond to the climax, but exactly to what it is that we are to respond.

Nevertheless, if one can deal with the clichéd premise (or indeed can’t get enough of it!) of the film and its seemingly existential crisis, then there is enough in the way of interesting themes and subject matter to make viewing an enjoyable experience. For me, though, I just could not quite get into it.

Land, self and the space between the ideal and pragmatic worlds: Part II

2009-07-05T09:38:00.001+10:00

Part II - Part I can be read here

In Disgrace, professor of literature, Dr David Lurie (John Malkovich), leaves the promising but elusive beachside Cape Town after he is asked to resign over a predatory affair with one of his students. Seemingly unaware as to why his actions are seen as wrong, Lurie goes to visit his daughter, Lucy (Jessica Haines), who lives on a hot, dusty and arid farm where she grows vegetables and flowers in the most unlikely of places.

Unsure of what else to do, it appears that Dr Lurie is fleeing to this isolated land to escape any real confrontation with his situation. Yet, as Rowan Williams writes in Silence and Honey Cakes: The wisdom of the desert, 'You "flee" to the desert not to escape neighbours but to grasp more fully what the neighbour is'. Indeed, the desert provides a context where he is forced to consider other people as the struggles which accompany this land work together to change his very person.

Lucy, a fiercely determined young woman reflects the strange coexistence of idealism and pragmatism. Despite the dangers of living alone in a harsh land amongst indigenous people in problem-ridden post-Apartheid South Africa, she believes in the need to remain. To leave would mean failing to be part of the solution to the country's current woes. Yet, in order to hold on to this ideal, she lives a self-sacrificing life full of pragmatic concessions. Over and over, Lucy chooses to quietly endure injustice at the hands of the black community. And despite her father's pleas for her to leave, Lucy chooses instead to make a range of rather pragmatic compromises. She understands intuitively that she must be pragmatic if her ideal is to actualise.

This theme is illustrated through Lucy's work of her dusty land. Her ability and determination to grow beautiful flowers and nourishing vegetables in an uncooperative landscape provide a metaphor for life in this place. Beauty does exist, but hard work is required first.

On the surface, it may appear that Dr Lurie is cast as the 'bad' example of how to (not) confront the problems of life and Lucy the 'good' example. This, I think, is too simple. The characters are more complex. Rather, the film captures what Rowan Williams says about fleeing and staying: 'The truth is that running and staying put are two sides of the same coin...both are finding the way to avoid the compulsive following of your individual agenda.' Both characters are frustrating for the viewer because you want them to deal with their problems in a quicker, easier, more obvious way. Yet, in different ways, the characters sort through what it is that functions as their own agendas and this is inevitably riddled with pain. There is no other way.

Again, writing about the experience of the early desert fathers (monastics), Rowan Williams inadvertently sums up this aspect of Disgrace wonderfully with this quote about life in the desert:

'...the commitment to stay within the "space" of these particular people's company, these daily disciplines, this unchanging environment, material and mental, is costly. It takes time, once again, to discover that the apparently generous horizon of a world in which my surface desires have free play is in fact a tighter prison than the constrained space chosen by the desert ascetics. When you have learned more or less successfully to "flee" some of the illusory landscapes in which life appears easier, you still have to learn how to inhabit the landscape of truth as more than the occasional visitor.'

Land, self and the space between the ideal and pragmatic worlds: Part I

2009-07-03T11:54:00.002+10:00

The most recent VCE English syllabus requires students to explore a certain context in their text analysis. One of the contexts available for consideration is that of Imaginative Landscape.

Drawing connections between land and self is certainly not new. In popular culture, we see this nexus in Hollywood films when Dad and the boys take off to the woods for a weekend to bond in - presumably - masculine ways. Christian pop-psychology books are also known for suggesting a link between the wild outdoors and manhood. While these are clearly gendered elucidations, they are illustrative of a wider reading of the influence of landscape and one's search for identity and meaning.

I remember reading Beat Not the Bones by Charlotte Jay and being struck by the link between the wild, colourful and untamed jungle of Papua New Guinea and the paranoid, eccentric and neurotic mental state of the characters. Indeed, the white people who came to the land as foreigners almost seemed to be transformed by the land into these new identities.

For those of us in Australia, the harsh outback (or, inland!) and unforgiving bush has long provided a context for reflection on our cultural identity through books and film.

Once known as the 'lucky country', Australia attracted free-settlers and gold prospectors who imagined a better, more prosperous life. Yet, the nature of Australian land has, in many ways, led to a corporate mentality that pursues pragmatism over idealism.

Two current films - Lucky Country (due to be released in Australian cinemas on July 16) and Disgrace - explore in part the relationships between land, self, idealism and pragmatism in post-colonial South Africa and immediately post-Federation Australia.

Before a recent advanced screening of Lucky Country, which I was fortunate to attend, the screenwriter (Andy Cox) told the audience that the film was interested in 'pragmatism, idealism and the space in between'. It often seems that idealism for Australians is synonymous with naivety and 'false hope'. Yet, ever since European involvement with the land, Australians have maintained some kind of grasp of a deeply seated hope for the 'good life'. While images of sun-tanned bodies on the long, wide beaches of Australia may conjure up such sentiments, these are quickly eroded by the image of the distinctive Australian outback.

In Lucky Country, Nat (Aden Young), full of idealism, takes his teenage daughter, Sarah (Hanna Mangan-Lawrence), and son, Tom (Toby Wallace), to the remote bush with a view to 'farming' the land. Yet, Nat is a city school teacher for whom farming is not something known. As the three of them attempt to make a life in this foreign, isolated place, life unravels. The land knows not idealism; it responds only to the taming influence of a pragmatism that knows well its competitor. As such, Nat's daily battles with the land see him slowly succumb to its power, both mentally and physically.

Three former soldiers come along and help the family for some time, but the tension between each individual is palpable. The tough conditions, leaving each one aware that life is now about little more than survival, breeds both a certain predisposition to self-interest and distrust of others. As in Beat Not the Bones, the characters are changed to become like the landscape within which they reside. In this case, we watch people who become tenacious, hardened, desperate and ruthless.

Nat may have believed that he could tame the land, but he underestimated the power that land can have over people.

Part II to follow

August Osage County

2009-06-28T19:03:00.007+10:00

Last Friday evening I went to see the Pulitzer Prize-winning drama, August Osage County.

The play is set in modern-day Oklahoma. Despite this, the audience is first greeted by a set that is more reminiscent of a previous era when houses were built of weatherboard and contained grand, timber staircases and 'libraries' rather than 'offices'. The charming - though dilapidated - house looked like, according to one of my companions on the evening, a child's doll house.

Living in the house was the alcoholic Beverly Weston - a former poet and professor at Tulsa University - and his pill-poppin' wife, Violet. The play opens with Beverly talking with (or, rather, to) a young Native Indian girl who he is about to hire as a house-maid. Through this conversation we learn that all is not well in this particular home in Osage County. Indeed, this is the last we will see of Beverly.

His death brings his three daughters and sister-in-law back to the family house to be with Violet and to attend the funeral. Two of the daughters have moved away from Oklahoma with their partners. The other daughter has stayed and consequently suffers from small-town suffocation, the burden of being the only daughter still near her parents and the embarrassment of not having 'made it' somewhere else. Not only that, but she is in her forties and has not found a life partner.

The family has not been close geographically, nor emotionally. It is this tension that provides the context for the ensuing family drama. A tight and funny script explores the characters' angst that has been simmering just below the surface.

The first two acts introduces the audience to the problems and paranoia that each of the characters is plagued by. The drug-induced, uninhibited verbal assault from Violet during a family dinner makes for an awkward meal. When challenged as to why she is being so 'mean', Violet suggests that she is 'merely telling the truth'. The result is a moment of group-catharsis complete with yelling, name-calling and violence to finish the second act.

This sets up the final act which becomes a series of conversations and confrontations which are an exercise in truth-telling. Of course, the question then becomes one of whose truth is being told? Indeed, we must consider one of the key philosophical questions: what is truth? As sisters confide in each other, husbands tell wives why they have no future and aunts reveal forty year-old secrets, it becomes apparent that it is, perhaps, more correct to say that Violet initiated the unfurling of honest divulgences.

The reality is that honesty brings much hurt, but also provides each character the opportunity to confront what has been spoken of them and to deal with it. At times these honest appraisals seem to be insights that perform a liberating function. Other times, however, the 'truth' of the appraisals is more ambiguous and, thus, may be damaging rather than liberating.

We often tell our children that it is always best to be honest. There is the crude phrase, often spoken as an axiom: honesty is the best policy. Yet August Osage County causes us to rethink this. We are forced to consider the difference between honesty and truth. Jesus in the New Testament declares that 'the truth will set you free'. It is a comment that seems to assume that truth obtains an objective quality. However, it seems to me that while honesty may be linked with the Truth, it is not necessary. Rather, honesty can be simply based on a truth. That is, it may be true that someone has offended me and I can be honest about the fact that I feel offended. Yet what has been said or done to offend me and how I articulate this may have no basis in Truth.

So, while the Truth may set us free, perhaps honesty may not always set us free. If we are honest without any discernment, then it may actually be a selfish act. Certainly, August Osage County illustrates how being honest can both liberate and bind. The complexity of human relationships is explored in a way that invites the viewer to read the play through the lens of their own family dynamics.

Running for almost 4 hours, there is potential for the emotional nature of the play to create too great a burden for the audience to endure, yet the script provides the moments of comedic relief necessary to keep the viewers engaged. Furthermore, the performances by each of the cast members - but especially Robyn Nevin as Violet - are wonderfully balanced.

The show is only being staged by the MTC until July 4, so if you are in Melbourne, you'll need to get in quick if you to enjoy this epic, modern-day gem.

Samson and Delilah

2009-06-22T22:04:00.002+10:00

Not long ago, I went to see the somewhat acclaimed Kazakh film Tulpan. Having spent a year in Kazakhstan, I was looking forward to the film. What ensued was, in part, a couple of hours of discomfort. Despite some great shots and the raw capture of the sound of the fierce, unshielded winds on the arid steppe, I found that the film quite simply did not draw me in.

The Australian film, Samson and Delilah was, in some respects, a similar film to Tulpan. Set in the isolated, dusty, harsh outback, the film follows closely the lives of very few characters. Moreover, both films explore complex love stories with minimal dialogue - most noticeably between the two subjects of the love story.

I'm not entirely sure why - perhaps it is because I know Australia so much better - but Samson and Delilah managed to do what the Kazakh film couldn't: capture my imagination, emotions and interest.

Set in a small settlement, the film focuses on a bored, disengaged, petrol-sniffing teenage boy - Samson - and a quiet, caring, responsible but choice-starved girl - Delilah.

The opening sequences are the same. We watch each day pass in the same manner; beginning with Samson waking to the sound of his brother's tireless three-piece band and deeply inhaling from the old tin near his mattress.

Routine, rhythm - perhaps liturgy - seems to be an important motif. There is little to do in the red desert and not much to which one may aspire. As such, it is the daily routines that each person in the community performs which provides any sense of purpose. Samson's brother and his two music friends play the same basic riff from morning until night. Delilah waits until she has put her Nana to 'bed' before laying back, eyes closed, in a 4WD to escape with a tape of latin music. Samson always listens to the same country program for Aboriginal listeners on his old 'ghetto-blaster'.

Every day, Delilah takes her Nana to the health clinic and then to the 'abandoned' church, where she sits waiting for her grandmother to finish her prayers.

When Delilah's Nana dies and Samson lashes out in frustration due to his brother's incessant music playing (of which he desperately wants to be a part but is routinely ostracised from), the religiosity of daily life is broken.

Samson and Delilah, now some kind of awkward couple, make their way to Alice Springs. While a certain rhythm develops here, it is thwarted by the increasingly mind-numbing effects of sniffing petrol. While there is potentially more opportunity in the 'city', life has decidedly less to offer Samson and Delilah. Life unravels.

It seems that the movie may end a couple of times before it finally does. With each anticipation, one can't help but feel concerned that there will be no hope to this story. Indeed, while there does appear to be some kind of return to routine and liturgy, and a connectedness with the land, it does not, for me, seem to be enough. There is certainly no relief for the audience and I wonder if that is because we sense that there will be no real, long-term relief for the characters.

It is a film that has the quality of forcing us to think and, importantly, feel even after we leave the cinema. Wonderfully shot, sensitively developed, Samson and Delilah is a powerful film that, should you brace yourself for the experience, will leave a lasting impression.

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

2009-06-14T08:14:00.000+10:00

While it is clearly true that the past significantly affects the reality of the present, we tend to perceive ourselves and our world according to the present. Indeed, the way we act in the present often suggests that we must have, as the Australian federal Minister for Environment, Heritage and the Arts, Peter Garrett, declared during his rock star days, ‘a short memory’. This human predilection is a problematic one that leads to unfortunate situations in all areas of life. Thus the old adage, ‘Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it’, acts as a proverb of which we would do well to take heed.

Back in the days when I frequented the local video shop, it was not uncommon for me to pick up a movie case and say to my wife ‘this looks alright, what do you think?’ The answer, far too often and with an ever increasing tone of frustration, was ‘we’ve already seen that!’ Yet, the issue of course is that the problem of having a short memory does not only impact upon the more trivial aspects of life. This is made clear by Midnight Oil in ‘Short Memory’ as they sing about hundreds of years of powerful nations’ exploitation of the weak, before stating bluntly ‘If you read the history books you’ll see the same things happen again and again’. The song’s despair at the repetition of history’s failing is in need of an eschatological hope.

In a recent post, David alerted us to the terrible comment made by Ken Judge not long ago. The devastation we know as the Holocaust is, in a sense, well-remembered. It would be fair to assume that a basic recognition of the event could be made by most people. However, the basic recognition may be the result of a passive encounter with the history. When this is the case, it is easy for one to forget what is actually important about the event.

Participation – active engagement – is key to remembering. When I watched The Boy in the Striped Pajamas last night, I engaged with the story of lives that were ruined by the Nazi policies regarding Jews and other undesirable minority groups. I experienced the fear felt by the eight-year-old Jewish boy who was violently yelled at by the SS soldier. I felt the despair of the former doctor who was now peeling potatoes with great difficulty because he himself was malnourished and physically spent. I entered into the confusion of the young son of the SS Commander who wanted to befriend the Jewish boy but was expected to hate him. I was moved deeply by the shocking conclusion to the film. I remembered not just the event of the Holocaust, but also that about the Holocaust which is actually important.

There are plenty of people in Western societies who know about the death of the man known as Jesus, but there are relatively few who truly remember what this means. This is perhaps part of the reason why there was so much hype surrounding Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ. By watching the film, we were forced to not forget that Jesus’ crucifixion was historical and not mere theology.

So too, when we meet together on Sunday, we participate in the Eucharist as an act of remembrance of what is important about the Cross. We choose to enter into the event of Christ’s crucifixion because it is the only way to ensure that we continue to engage with its significance. The Eucharist keeps the grace of the Cross real and compels us to respond to this grace, with grace. Indeed, it may be that when the Apostle Paul addressed the church at Corinth in respect to their meetings (1 Cor 11:17-34), his disapproval was that rather than participating in the grace of Christ, they were eating and drinking the feast ‘without waiting for anybody else’ (v.21). When Communion is seen, and engaged, as a sacrament of grace, the communal act is one of eschatological hope (v.26). We move from the solemn memory of death into the celebratory anticipation of the future.

Truly remembering the Holocaust, by reading, talking, and watching films is important. It prevents us from seeing any of humanity as anything less. Ultimately, even more important is our continuing engagement with the death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth – the Christ – through the communal sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.

Our pasts do indeed affect our present, but perhaps not nearly as much as should be. Our perception of ourselves and our world is transformed when we choose to live in the present, continually engaging with the past and looking forward to the future hope. Grace and peace to you (v.3).

Reviews

2009-06-13T14:31:00.002+10:00

I have been out of blogging for some time now. Yet, it is something that I miss. Of late, I have been wondering about starting a blog again. I was not sure, though, what the nature of the blog would be. When I cam across the Thomas Nelson Book Review Bloggers programme, I thought it a good blog idea. So, we'll see how things progress!