*SPOILER ALERT FOR PROMETHEUS AND ALIEN- THIS BLOG CONTAINS SPOILERS

Ever since news broke on plans for Alien: Covenant, the second film in Ridley Scott’s proposed Alien (prequels) trilogy, I have been fascinated to see how he would handle the polarizing response to Prometheus. Prometheus deviated from the original Alien franchise, managing to be more philosophical in nature while Alien was much more, well, alien. Those who did not enjoy Prometheus felt it wasn’t “alien” enough, while those who did enjoy it tended to appreciate what the intentional departure added to the lore.
The complaints appear to have been taken to heart in Alien: Covenant, this in spite of Prometheus’ success at the box office. Ridley, or some higher powers, made the decision to move Covenant back into its more classic context, which of course means more aliens. At the same time though, Ridley keeps the film firmly in the Prometheus stream, which means more of the philosophical bent as well.

 

The danger of this approach of course is that you end up alienating both camps by stretching either vision too thin. At the time of writing this, entertainment news has been reporting that Covenant experienced a nearly 70 percent drop in box office revenue during its second week, which could be an indication that this is the case.  With its opening week numbers falling far below expectations, it is clear that interest in seeing this film on the big screen is low.

 

Personally I am bit puzzled over why more people did not go see Alien: Covenant. It is a good film that left me wanting more. And if you track the numbers, the consensus of both fans and critics remains essentially unchanged between Prometheus and Covenant, a clear indication that how you felt about Prometheus could very well determine how you feel about Covenant. For as much as the films represent two different visions of the franchise they are very much connected, with Ridley borrowing heavily from the Prometheus lore to lend direction to the more classical narrative of Covenant.

With all that said, in moving into a more detailed look at Covenant, it seemed a worthwhile process to look at both films together :

PROMETHEUS

Prometheus sets out to tell the story of how the aliens in Alien came to be, a backstory that revolves around a crew and the search for their creator. In telling this story it explores a number of motivating questions that arises from this journey, with the two most important questions being,

Why are we here?
Who created us?

The search for life and for their creator is set in the context of the individual stories, namely Elizabeth Shaw (played by Noomi Rapace) and Charlie Holloway (played by Logan Marshall-Green).

Through their stories, we come to know the competing struggle with the vices of our world (power, money, comfort, pleasure) that push back against their search for the creator. And what binds Shaw and Holloway together on this journey of discovery is the way these personal struggles shed a light on the existing tension between faith and doubt. The way the film incorporates the imagery of the cross in order to show the contrast between idolatry and self-sacrifice is beautiful and meaningful, and in being willing to give himself over to the more introspective process (as opposed to the greater horror roots), Ridley excels in exploring who these characters are and why they ask the questions that they do. It reminded me as a viewer that the search for God, creator, meaning can get messy, especially when set against the reality of our everyday lives.

A HUMAN LONGING
At the intersection of science and faith, which this film looks to hold in balance, we find a clear human longing- a need to know the truth about who we are and why we are here. It is this desire for truth that drives them to seek after their creator, to find answers.

The way that Ridley explores this longing is equally compelling. In coming to know their creator, they realize the opportunity for discovery suddenly becomes that much bigger. Where they expected to find clarity and certainty, they find an even greater mystery. There is a sense in which they have come as far they can on their own and now must learn what it means to give themselves over to something greater, something other. It is their ability to give themselves to the forming nature of this mystery, to let go of the need to control, that ultimately shapes how they move forward in this relationship between faith and doubt.

 Caught Between Hope and Despair
In one of my favorite moments in the film, we see Charlie resisting the idea of giving up control. He his eyes he has found a god of his own making, a god that he could, in fact, create without the help of a higher power, and it leads him to dispel any notion of faith.

 “Now that I know that anyone can create life and it’s nothing special, what’s the point?”

For him he has arrived. He has seen the truth. There is no more mystery to gain, and he feels underwhelmed by what he has seen. He remains caught between the virtues of knowledge, progress, and rationalism, and this stifling realization of their limitations. And what we see growing in Charlie is a sense of defeat.

 

Shaw, by contrast, continues to move forward in faith. Meeting her creator pushes her to embrace an even greater mystery. In recognizing her own struggle, she is able to accept her limitations, which come through the story of her infertility, and consider what it means to give herself over to something other, something greater.

 “I can’t create life, so what does that make me”

Shaw approaches her creator with no expectation, but rather in genuine curiosity, and what she finds is a whole new world (of faith) that is now hers to explore.

 

In Prometheus, Ridley Scott scratches the surface of a larger discussion surrounding the relationship between creator and creation. He begs the following questions. Do we tend to create God in our own image, or do we look to find ourselves in the image of God? Where do we draw the line between creator and creation? Do we find God in human achievement? Or do we find God in the midst of our limitations? Does creation appeal to progress and perfection, or do its beauty and imperfections reveal something about the mystery of God? Does knowing God depend on certainty and clarity, or does it gain life in the idea of mystery and discovery.

Competing Emotions
I know that in my household these questions generated some very real and polarizing emotions, which led to some really great discussion. On one hand, some of us resonated with the fear and the despair that we found in Charlie. This is demonstrated primarily as the fear of the unknown, of being out of control and getting lost in the discovery. It is also the fear of deconstruction. The image that he finds of the creator is not the same image that he held in his own mind. For Charlie, what he finds in the creator lets down his expectations because his expectations were shaped around worldly ambition, and what he finds forces him to examine his own worldview. I think for many of us this same feeling can sometimes resonate with the ways in which we try to reconcile our own image of God with the picture of our own ambitions and what we actually see going on around us. If creation is intended to be a witness to God’s character, sometimes it is the more difficult parts of nature (and human nature) that make the idea of God the most difficult to reconcile.

If creation is intended to witness to God’s character, sometimes it is experiencing the more difficult parts of nature (and human nature) that make the idea of God most difficult to reconcile and accept.

 

On the other hand, some of us saw this story as a clear demonstration of hope and faith. Faith in the idea that we can know our Creator and that through our creator we can come to understand ourselves. Hope in the idea that we must wrestle with and grow into this understanding day by day, moment by moment, and that it is in this wrestling that we can see and embrace, not only the more difficult parts of our (human) nature, but also the beauty underneath. In faith, we can learn to give ourselves to the journey, to unraveling the mystery of who we are and who God is (if you will) even when things feel far from certain. And in those moments when we do encounter our creator, we can revel in the fact that the mystery becomes that much greater, that much more alive. In the wonder of living and the joy of discovery, we are given the opportunity to live into our role in creation in a way that holds us all together as broken and fragile beings.

Human and Inhumane
Finally, framed against this relationship between Shaw and Charlie, we also find the character of David (played by Michael Fassbender). As an android, he embodies the question of what it means to be human while also demonstrating what it means to be inhumane. He is the one who walks both paths, balancing the tension between hope and despair without the ability to truly understand either. It is through the character of David that the questions of Prometheus linger in the midst of its poetic finish. As we see the picture of his severed head, I also see the tension between reason and faith, hope and despair. There are no real answers in this picture, only struggle.

Which brings me to the opening scene of Alien: Covenant, a beautiful and poignant moment that leads us back to the same philosophical question that ends the closing scene of Prometheus, even it looks to turn our perspective of that story on its head.

Alien Covenant
Alien: Covenant is technically proficient, not as large in scale as Prometheus, but a more grounded, tighter and more intimate treatment of the universal metaphor of space and planet and scope (with the planetary landscape being especially striking). The aliens move faster, and the threat feels even more real, and the filmmakers make use of the light of day rather than the dark (that we find in the original Alien) to give us a different perspective on the aliens.

But, the thing that drives the film forward from its opening sequence are the familiar and lingering questions that Scott seems determined to flesh out in this trilogy.

 

The film is set 10 years after Prometheus, with a ship full of thousands of people and embryo’s ready to colonize a new planet. This makes the choice to open the film with a scene that predates Prometheus an interesting one. The scene features a conversation between David and Peter (featuring a brief return of Guy Pierce), and through some intricate use of spaciousness, resonating white and stark minimalism, Scott uses this scene to re-establish the question of the relationship between creator and creation going forward. But what makes this scene even more compelling is the way it asks us to reconsider our perspective of Prometheus in a significant way- what if we saw Prometheus as the story of David? How does that change our approach to the film?

As the scene opens, we see David questioning the sheer absurdity of the idea that his creator will die while he will continue to live forever. For David, this relationship between creator and creation appears backward. The god is supposed to be greater than the creation, and it is by proving to Peter that he is able to create (through a composition he plays on the piano) that he proves his right to be a god, to usurp the control of his lesser creator. Peter does not answer his question directly, but instead we see him order David to make him to make him a cup of tea.

It is a brilliant on-screen moment that captures the heart of Prometheus’ philosophical concern for this relationship between creator and creation, and it really works to recast what was happening to David’s character in the course of Prometheus. He is looking to become God. Whereas Prometheus explored the human longing to know our creator, Covenant sets this more concretely in the complex nature of our relationship to the creator, and our tendency to be our own gods and to control our own destiny. For Scott, this is where idolatry and the thirst for power are born out of.

From here, Ridley Scott catapults us forward ten plus years into the future. Here we meet Walter, a more advanced Android (also played by Fassbender) who keeps watching over the ship while the crew sleeps, Oram, the ships standing captain after the untimely death of James Franco in the opening minutes of the film, and Daniels (second in command). What is interesting about Oram and Daniels is the way they tend to mirror Shaw and Charlie in Prometheus. In Prometheus, Shaw plays a person of faith (a Christian). Here it is a male character (Oram) who plays a person of faith (also a Christian). Given the death of Shaw, he follows in her footsteps and recognizes himself as the only person of faith left on the crew. And throughout Covenant we see Scott using their relationship to conjure up the same tension between faith and doubt that we found in his previous film.

 

The habitable planet that the crew happens upon (no, don’t go there… oh crap, they are going there) after the ship malfunctions and wakes them up 7 years too early, (hello Passengers) is actually the engineer’s planet that they had been searching for in Prometheus. After landing on this planet and deciding that it actually is habitable, the film begins to fill us in what has happened over the course of the last 10 years. As it turns out, David survived (after Shaw chose to repair him), and made this planet his new home. We also come to realize that in the last 10 years, David has grown into the role of a god, not only in wiping out the engineers (and Shaw) in favor of starting over with a more “perfect” created order made by his hand, but also in using some creative experiments to perfect his own creation (which just happens to cover the planet with the seeds of the aliens). David has assumed the role the creator that appears caught between malevolence of his destruction and the wonder of his ingenuity, and it is this version of David that the crew happens upon after landing on and searching this new planet.

 

What unfolds over the remainder of the film really flows out of two perspectives:
The relationship that develops between David and Walter
The relationship between Daniels and Oram.

 

These two perspectives then give shape to the larger questions of the film, which I will use the rest of this blog to explore:

1. The idea of Covenant as symbolic and religious imagery
2. The relationship between faith and doubt
3. The human desire to become like God
4. Our visions of what we think god should like

 

Covenantal Themes
The idea of “covenant” is woven into the film in some interesting ways. The most obvious symbolism is found on the “mother” ship and the fact that the people on board this ship all seem to be couples and paired off. Not only does this make for some interesting interpersonal dynamics, but it looks back to the idea of the covenant with Noah in the Biblical narrative. We see this fleshed out further in the image of David destroying the engineers in order to start over with a new creation, an image that suggests an idea of a God gone wrong.

Along with this we also see echoes of the covenant with Abraham, given that the ship contains human embryo’s that represent the hope and promise of this new community, becoming the “father” (and mother) to all future nations.

I have no idea if Ridley Scott wanted to use the idea of covenant with such intention, or how far he wanted the title to reach in the film, but it seems central enough to warrant reflection, especially considering the journey Scott has been on in recent years (with the loss of his brother to suicide and some subsequent films that also explore the idea of faith through religious symbolism). In any case, the picture of a ship called “covenant” certainly does enlighten us to the desire to explore the relationship between faith and doubt from some clear Christian symbolism, and for me, I found an invitation to consider what it means for my journey as well.

 

The Relationship Between Faith and Doubt
In the film, Oram is a man of faith while Daniels remains far more skeptical. While Daniels pushes Oram not to move blindly, Oram inspires Daniels not to give up hope in the face of adversity and wrong decisions. He models for her what it looks like not to give into the bleakness of their situation, to face the devil, as he at one point recalls, and to still manage to see the light.

 

And this is really where I find Covenant resonates the strongest. As someone who has seen the Alien films that chronologically follow this planned trilogy by Ridley Scott, I know the more nihilistic tone that will eventually win over in the original film of the franchise. And so the tension that Covenant tries to evoke between hope and despair arrives somewhat conflicted and intentionally oblique, almost to the point that we know where the twist of the film is going far before we arrive.

 

 

The Desire To Be Like God
If Walter looks to serve his creator(s), David looks to exercise the strength of his free will. He will not be controlled by his Creator, he will become God himself precisely because he has the will to achieve it. Echoing the story of Adam and Eve, he makes the choice to bite the figurative apple, a decision that opens him up to his godlike potential.

It becomes clear early on that David will manage to survive this film. But it is the way that Scott explores the emotional journey that brings him there that makes it worthwhile, particularly in the scenes between David and Walter which manage to be the best parts of the film. This is where the opening scene recalls his growing concern for the relationship between creator and creation. In a striking contrast to Shaw, who looked to demonstrate the worth of servitude and faith, David finds his value and worth in his ability to create and to dominate. This is what allows him to stand above the others, and to reach for god-like perfection.

There is a moment in the film when where we come to recognize what it really meant for Shaw to find her worth in her creator. Walter is more advanced, a more perfected version of David, but for as outdated as David is, his free will has allowed him to progress beyond the programmed nature of Walter. Walter is able to imitate his Creator, but David has the potential to become the creator. We see this in a beautifully rendered scene in which David teaches Walter to play his personal composition on the flute. Walter can follow David’s movements and then replicate what he has been taught, but it is David’s ability to play by his own rules and ingenuity that ultimately bests Walter in the end.

But through this interpersonal struggle, we also gain glimpses of David’s limitations. In his pursuit to become god and godlike, Walter points out that he misapplies a quote to the wrong person. Walter recognizes that one small glitch or mistake can end up leading towards something horrible, something tragic- something not godlike at all. And the real horror comes when we realize the ways in which David violates the trust of others. This is a theme that reemerges in the hyper-sexualization that we find in the original Alien. Much of the sexualized imagery in that film is intended to feel like rape, a violation of spirit and body. This is the true darkness that we see creeping up in this prequel, and it is a testament to where misguided representations of god and religious conviction can lead us when we begin to create god in our own image… when we begin to think that we can become god.

 

Creating Gods In Our Own Image
One of the big themes in Prometheus is the idea that, in our search for a creator (or God), many of us tend to create an image of what we feel this God should look like far before we experience Him. And often these images are expressions of our self interest and demands. I know I do this in my own life. And when God doesn’t cater to my expectations, I feel let down, misguided or angry. In Covenant, David imagines a picture of god that is based on dominance and control rather than love and servitude. And as he becomes God, he values his creation, but not to the point where he would willingly give his life for it. His immortality is a sign of his god-like character, and in this immortality, he will rule the universe rather than endow it with value.

In David, Scott offers us a picture of the kind of gods we tend to create in our idolatry, gods that serve our needs at the expense of others. For Scott he sees a picture of human nature. But he also sees the possibility of a god that calls us to something greater.

 

A Creator We Can Emulate
It is human nature to strive after our potential, but as we do this we also live out of our limitations, our fallibility. One small glitch or mistake can often hinder us from living into the greater virtues that Walter embodies. This is why we search for a creator to emulate, something to hang on to when our world and humanity tips out of balance. A faith that can withstand the stuff that life throws at us on a daily basis. Alien Covenant leaves this question of faith unanswered, just as Prometheus leaves the picture of this creator/creation relationship lingering in the silence. But what it does offer us is a rather vivid picture of how easily things do tip out of balance. It reminds us of just how hard it is to give up control when we so desperately strive to stay in control.
I have an admission. Many people hated Alien: Resurrection. It is actually one of my favorites of the franchise, precisely because it is the one film in the series that kind of reflects the kind of hope that Covenant holds in balance. But for the moment, what Covenant does well is kind of give us the freedom to wrestle with the darkness that we know is coming, because often the darkness is just as real, and sometimes even more so, than the light. This is what the title reminds us of, that in the Biblical story God’s promise to restore us, to lead us out of exile and into freedom, arrives in the middle of a desert, in the middle of an uncertain faith. And yet the promise is what keeps us moving forward, pushing ahead to the hope of a new world, a world in which darkness might one day cease to reign and where the light shines brighter than the aliens that hold us back. Form this is a promise of resurrection, not in the way of David, but in the way of Jesus. It is a promise of a god who models self-sacrificing love on our behalf, rather than bend us to His rule. It is a God who sees us in our fallenness rather than revels in our weakness.

But in the meantime… at least we can be thankful those aliens aren’t bursting out of our chest.

 

 

Around 6 years ago I was given an opportunity to step into a temporary role as Youth Pastor to a small town Church in Saskatchewan (due to a maternity leave). During the 10 months that I spent with this Church I had the opportunity to make many great memories, including a commitment to a 3 and a half hour commute and the privilege of meeting and serving an incredible group of students. But one of the more interesting moments of this brief tenure arrived when the Pastor informed me he had decided to go on a sabbatical. This meant that I was now taking up the role of small “p” pastor to the Church as a whole in his absence.

Of course a part of this position was doing the sermons on Sunday mornings.

Going into this job also came at a time of serious transition for my wife and I, which included a period of loss (in the family and in my previous place of employment), the news of our infertility, and the prospect of doing the whole long distance relationship thing for ten months. For me personally, this job turned all of this into an opportunity to reflect on my profession and to rediscover my passion.

 

And it was in middle of all this that I ended up making the decision to devote my sermons to the subject of prayer, a subject that I find I return to often in times of transition. For the series I narrowed in on the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 11 (The Lord’s Prayer), and what I discovered in my personal study was that, more than any other Gospel, Luke finds Jesus consistently on His knees and giving himself to prayer in everything that He faced and everything that He did.

 

This also happened to be the year that the first big-screen Thor movie was released as a part of the growing MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe for those who are unfamiliar). What was really interesting, and timely, about my experience with this film was that it ended up offering me a rather powerful parallel between the “god out of water” story of Thor, and the god in flesh story that we find in Luke’s Gospel. And the more I thought about the film, the more it managed to impact the way that I saw prayer working both in scripture and in world around me, including in my own life.

 

CAUGHT BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH
What immediately impressed me after seeing the film was the way in which the story melded together the two worlds- Asgard and Earth, as a singular, connected reality. The film seamlessly moves back and forth between both worlds, creating an intriguing contrast between the two environments. In the film, earth lives under the great shadow of the unseen realm of Asgard, and the journey of one of the film’s central characters, Jane Foster (played by Natalie Portman), is learning how to see the unseen world from the context of her own reality. In the context of the film, Jane has this unsettled passion to seek after the unknown, a passion that is fuelled by the idea that there is something greater out there than that which she is currently able to see and recognize. And what she discovers is a truth that is able to give greater meaning to the role she plays in her earthly environment. Unbeknownst to her, a battle has in fact been raging between the powers of good and evil in the realm of Asgard, a battle in which life as they know it hangs in the balance. Making the choice to recognize and accept the reality of this battle ultimately changes her perspective on who she is and her role in the universe.

 

Looking at it as a parallel, what I discovered in the Lord’s Prayer was a similar contrast between two aspects of God’s Kingdom and character. The prayer itself is divided into two sections, the first section that deals with the more expansive nature of God’s holiness and otherworldliness (if you will), and another that recognizes this holiness as something that is being expressed and lived out in our everyday context in the world. The prayer begins by shifting our perspective outwards towards the unseen nature of a “spiritual” reality, and then asks us to consider the reality of this same spirit in our everyday lives.

 

It is a prayer that broadens our view of the world by revealing to us to the intersection where God and our earthly condition meet. Here we find a picture of God’s Kingdom (the unseen reality) being made visible on earth (as it is in Heaven), opening up our perspective on just how big God is. By doing this, praying becomes the activity that helps us to see more clearly both who God is in the first half of the prayer, and who we are in the context of God’s expressive concern for His creation in the second half.

 

In the film, the two worlds, the unseen and the seen, act as a striking contrast when set against and aside one another. And as they are brought together, these interconnected realities offer us a breathtaking perspective on just how big our world actually is.

 

 

In both cases, prayer, or an image of prayer, acts a window between these two worlds, holding them in balance as they express the faith required to live out of a conviction in what we do not fully understand (shaping our hope) in the midst of our current reality (informing our perspective).

 

PRAYER AS CONVERSATION AND HUMILITY
What was interesting for me to learn about the prayer in Luke 11 is how the language in Luke represents the subject of prayer by setting it within a particular phrasing. He writes it using a phrasing that can be uttered in a single “breathe”. This stands in contrast to Matthew’s longer version that ends up far more wordy. Most commentaries that I read seemed to agree that this phrasing was an intentional literary device that Luke appears to use in order to emphasize a certain truth about prayer. For Luke, prayer is not just about words. It is something that is lived and breathed, the flows out of our conversation with the God who sees us, who is watching over and caring for us.

 

We find a similar picture being imagined through Jane’s incredible persistence in seeking after this truth, even when it appears the window to the other realm, and the possibility of faith is closed for good. Her character pursues this relationship with the “god” that came into her life and turned it upside down, the god who ultimately changes her life and her perspective forever. There is a powerful scene in the film when we see Thor standing at the top of Asgard and looking down on the world below. Here we see his longing, his desire, is to dwell with the one he leaves behind, and although he specifically can’t see her in this moment, the scene leaves us with a powerful sense that she is still seen by him, still watched over and cared for.

 

The Lord’s Prayer follows (in greater context) on the heels of a declaration by Jesus that God “hides faith from the wise and gives it to the children”. And now, as Jesus pauses to teach his disciples how to pray, The Gospel of Luke offers a clear distinction between the complicated, multisyllabic answer the disciples might have expected (one that gives attention to the lengthy diatribe of the rabbinic tradition of the law and the educated religious leaders) and the sort of prayer He is calling us towards. It is a prayer that can be spoken in a single breath, in a single word.It is a prayer that offers us words when we have no words left to speak or to explain. It is a prayer that speaks beyond the complicated notions and questions of our circumstance, and asks us to approach God as a child and to related to God as a child.

 

In the Lord’s Prayer, all of us are seen as God’s children, set in the same light and given the same ability to pray and to pray well. In this prayer, learning to give ourselves to the idea that this world is much bigger than we can see in the moment, learning to trust in God’s care and concern for his children, requires an equal act of humility no matter where we find ourselves in our lives, no matter where our questions seem to be leading us on our individual journey.

 

ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN
In the film, Thor begins to adopt the customs of earth which are seemingly set (initially) in contrast as a lesser form of life than that which we find in the realms of the gods. But, as the film moves forward, we see that Thor embraces his earthly setting as though it was his own. He looks to love and teach and form his experience of this world from out of the world in which he comes.

 

For Thor, he doesn’t see earth as lesser than Asgard. In fact, what we see is the image of a god who returns to Asgard in order to give greater worth to the earth (and its people) itself. This reminded me of the truth that Jesus continues to pray for each of us by name as He longs for the restoration of a created order that is still incomplete and broken. In Luke’s Gospel, both earth and Heaven all belongs to Him, and in the restoration of all things it is Heaven coming down to earth that shapes the ultimate vision of what is to come (rather than us escaping earth for the sake of Heaven). In this, Heaven and Earth, the unseen and the seen inform one another, become the greater expression of one another, and prayer becomes the bridging these two worlds as a singular reality.

 

PRAYER AND THE LANGUAGE OF FAMILY
In the Gospel of Luke, we find him giving attention to the word “abba” in a different way than has been used before in other Gospel and (Jewish) narratives. Jewish tradition would have used the word father, but mostly as it attributes in a more national sense to the people of Israel. Luke uses the Greek word “pater”, which is a (likely intentional) more intimate use of the same word. It is a term that begs a relationship that moves beyond the limits of our earthly divisions. It is a word that becomes a lens through which we are called to view Jesus’ earthly ministry. He has come to bring His (God’s) kingdom on earth on His terms, terms that are intimately tied to a concern for the whole of the created order.

 

In the Roman world, familial language was incredibly important. To refer to family that was not of “blood” in such intimate terms such as “pater” was, in literal and sometimes not so literal terms, against the law. Slavery was common in these days, as was a continued social and economic divide some things never change). To be tied to a family by blood was to be given both status and the family inheritance, and so to align oneself with these privileges meant “adopting” a very defined position in the family with the “father” assuming his position as the head of the hierarchal system and the family living on through the father’s name. It was possible for someone “not of blood” to be adopted into the family under Roman law, but only by assuming all of the privileges of a “blood” relation. In legal terms, to be adopted was to have these social distinctions erased and to inherit the family born privileges and all of the responsibility these privileges carry.

 

In a powerful way, the prayer in Luke applies the term “pater” to Jesus by declaring that, in Jesus we have now been adopted into God’s family as if by blood. In the family of God there is no distinction between slave and son/daughter, no hierarchal system which excludes one at the expense of another.

 

Paul of course was intently interested in fleshing out this same vision of adoption and slavery and family, and so it should not be surprising that Luke and Paul were friends. For Paul, to see God’s Kingdom being established on earth is to see all the limitations of social distinctions between slave and free, male and female, erased. And it would seem that for Luke, as a gentile convert and possibly a slave himself, this powerful realization reaches into his own story as well. What is also absolutely astonishing to me is that, this same inheritance that reinterprets Luke’s social status is not simply a heaven based goal or reality. It is something God is doing in the here and now, in the midst of our world, something that we are being called to see and to grab hold of and to become a part of in the here and the now.

 

The intimate sense of the word “father”, and the familial language it belongs to, is equally demonstrated in the development of the god-human relationship in Thor. Further, and maybe even more so, it is demonstrated in the relationship between Thor and his brother. Thor is originally presented as the firstborn, which in the context of Luke can be seen as the symbol of the Jewish law and the means through which the covenant and God’s blessing is passed down through the construct of the Jewish family by the “father” of the family. But what we discover along the way is that Thor is in fact an only son. His brother was actually adopted from the darker realm as a part of the King’s effort to pursue the peace of all nations and to extend the far reaching hand of Asgard’s rule for the sake of the greater good of all realms.

 

The theme of adoption in the film reveals the true heart of the King, and alludes to a greater plan and a greater purpose which the King’s adopted son struggles to see and accept for himself. The truth of his adoption causes him to feel lesser than Thor (a blood born son), simply a piece of the puzzle when it comes to the King’s personal project of establishing peace between worlds. He knows he is a part of the family on (the figurative) paper, but never truly experiences it as real in his life.

 

The truth though is that the King sees him through no other light than that of a legitimate son. For the King, there is no difference between him and Thor. And it is through the eventual sacrifice of Thor, who gives his life for his brother and the world that he embraces and sees as good, that forced his brother to face the struggle to accept who he actually is in the eyes of his father. The invitation that follows at the very end of the film for his brother to truly embrace who he is, is ultimately rejected, but what is revealed is that the real reason he rejects it has a lot to do with his struggle to understand forgiveness.

THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN PRAYER AND FORGIVENESS
This same invitation is offered to each of us in the Lord’s prayer, an invitation to see our own participation in the Kingdom of God as adopted children of the King from the light of who God is and who He says we are. Here we also find that forgiveness plays a pivotal role in bridging the two parts of the prayer, of looking outwards to God’s holiness and inwards towards God’s care of us.

 

“Father forgives us as we also forgive others.”

 

All through scripture forgiveness and prayer appear to be intimately tied. I once heard it said that we are only truly able to realize forgiveness in our own lives when we learn how to forgive others. When we fail to forgive, no matter how large or small, it enslaves us to the same selfish desires which that ends up dividing the two worlds in Thor (between god and man) and in the Roman/Jewish world.

 

In Thor, the hammer is sent to earth along with this “god out of water” identification in order to signify that power is found in the one who is able to exhibit the true virtues of love, forgiveness and service who will wield it’s power. The scene where Thor leaves the celebration meal to mourn the loss of his relationship with those on earth and his brother (whose inability to forgive continues to hold him hostage) is a powerful reminder of the heart of Jesus for His children, the one who demonstrated these very virtues on our behalf.

 

And ultimately, where we find some of the greatest symbolism of this reconciliation is by returning to the picture of Thor’s sacrifice. It is in this moment, where he gives his life for another, that true victory comes. The vivid scene of his death reigniting the hammer demonstrates a few important things when it comes to the story. First, it exercises the same conviction that we find in Luke that Jesus’ entire ministry was intended to help us see the father and to open us up to the father’s desire to be in relationship with us. In the film, the incredibly moving moment of a single tear falling from the king’s face indicates that it is the love and concern of a father for his children that is most important when it comes to his greater plan and vision for the world. This is what ignites the hammer.

Father, “hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come”.

And ultimately it is in the image of Thor giving his life as the king’s only son that we find the father’s heart for the people being revealed. This is what it means to begin to see the unseen. This is what it means to learn how to trust in the way the unseen reality informs what is seen, breathes life into what is seen.

And this gift of faith, this gift of life, moves the character Thor forwards into a relationship with the Kingdom of Asgard and the Kingdom of earth, with the promise of a window that will live between the two worlds. This same gift moves us forward in relationship with God and one another through prayer. We are bound together in a relationship in the shared blood of Christ. We are given the promise of a new kingdom in the here and now through the sacrifice of the one to which the metaphorical hammer truly belongs.

Given all of this, it is only fitting that where the film ends is with a picture of Jane joyfully giving her life to pursuing this relationship with the unseen world with renewed vigour. As Thor ascends to the other realm with the promise that he will return, she is given a connecting point between her and the otherworld. In this sense, continuing to give herself to this relationship, to this new reality, becomes her daily act of prayer. And what I find significant is that the this fits very well with the way in which Luke defines prayer as an act of “persistence”, the same persistence that Jane embodies by connecting with god in the midst of her own circumstance.

So no matter where I find myself, no matter where life takes me, prayer remains a vital part how I navigate my story. The simple reminder of this film, the conviction I found in this Gospel, is that prayer is the means by which I connect my earthly reality with the truth that there is a God who is carrying me, walking beside me, loving me and pursuing me every step of the way.

“Prayer is one of the most incredible, most important, most often misunderstood, and least-utilized privileges enjoyed by believers in Christ.”

Every so often I seem to arrive at a place in my life where I am moved to consider and reconsider the role of prayer in my life. And I’ll be honest, most often when I do this I am just reminded of how bad I am at praying.

Perhaps more true is the idea that, along with feeling inadequate in my “prayer” life, I have a past that seems littered with people who are really good at praying. In fact, I would go so far as to suggest that these same people represent some of the most important voices in my life at some the most important moments in my life. I have never hestitated to refer to these people as “spiritual giants” in my own spiritual journey. They are the ones who have left their mark on me, who have demonstrated in my weakness what it looks to be strong. They are people that have surfaced in some unlikely places and in some very timely moments.

And so I often find myself stuck trying to marry the tension of their inspiration and the reality of my own spiritual dissolution with the simple truth that I am also called to pray and to pray well.

About 6 years ago, when I found myself in this place, it led me to read Yancey’s book called “Prayer: Does it Make Any Difference” and to begin a journey through the Gospel of Luke. Over this past year, I found myself in a similar place. This time I was motivated to pick up Timothy Keller’s “Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy Witih God”, a book that also happened to coincide with a summer series on the Lord’s Prayer at our Church, a more recent study on The Gospel of Mark, and which now seems to be continuing with another book called Movies are Prayers by Josh Larsen. 

 

And so, as I continue to consider and reconsider the role of prayer in my own life in the midst of this summer season, I felt compelled to put some of my past and present thoughts and experiences with prayer into words. My hope is to do this by representing it in three parts:

1. 6 years ago, while I was going through Yancey’s book, I also happened across a movie called Thor. It helped me to make some sense of the teaching on prayer that I was finding the in the Gospel of Luke (most notably the Lord’s Prayer), and so I initially wrote some of these reflections down in an earlier blog space. I wanted to revisit some of those thoughts and reimagine them for my present context.
2. During my more recent journey through the Gospel of Mark, I was struck by the way in which “forgiveness” and “prayer” seem so interconnected and dependent on one another. I would like to reflect on what I have been learning about this connection over the last few months.
3. Lastly, I would like to look at my experience with the three books (mentioned above) that have helped to shape my understanding of prayer in recent years- Yancey’s, Keller’s and Larson’s. All of them write from differing perspsectives, and what struck me about these three books is just how different all of the “spiritual giants” in my life have been as well when it comes to modeling the practice of prayer. Bridging these worlds I think has helped me to consider prayer in a much broader context than I once did, and has opened me up to the idea that prayer doesn’t need to happen in just one particular way.

The first Guardians of the Galaxy film proved to be a wonderfully entertaining and enjoyable ride, and thankfully the sequel (for the most part) follows suit. If you enjoyed the first film, the second film essentially gives us more of it, even finding a way to make it all a little bit bigger and slightly more bombastic. Once again, the fate of the entire universe is on the line, and the added running time allows us to move beyond the origins story and deeper into a more developed mythology.

The film’s general lack of reference to the greater MCU might be a bit surprising given just how universal the scope actually becomes, but there is little question that Guardians fits incredibly well as a Marvel film, especially when one measures these characters and themes against the stories of the other superhero franchises that precede it:

• Tony Stark’s prevailing arrogance, cynicism and addiction being turned into an opportunity to become a father figure to others.
• Thor’s own god-like status embracing the vulnerability of being human.
• Steve Rogers “stuck in the past” persona and old fashioned values being used to help lead the Avengers into a more united future with a strident moral compass. 
• The Guardians…

In Guardians, we have this unlikely group of misfits arriving from different corners of the galaxy who must learn to put aside their differences in order to work together to save the universe. As the story progresses, it becomes clear that each of these characters is dealing with some level of hurt and rejection from their past. Underneath the surface of their rather rough exteriors, they are simply looking for a place to belong, to be accepted for who they are. But what holds them back from finding this in each other is their inability to express, and even to understand, the feelings surrounding their past.

It is here that we also meet Ego, who is presented as a personification of the very thing that threatens to keep each of these characters apart. For Ego, his end game is to make himself the centre of the universe, and he looks to see this happen with little care for what this might do to the lives of everyone around him. He is the very representation of what it means to be self-serving. More than this though, Ego also happens to be Quill’s father, a father who just so happened to abandon his son all those years ago. Ego’s failure to be there for Quill becomes the lens through which we interpret not only Quill’s emotional baggage, but each of the other characters as well.

And so, for as much as Ego is out to destroy the universe, the film is most interested in how the rest of the cast are determined on destroying themselves. In each case, these characters are shown to be their own worst enemy, and to save the universe they are going to have to find the courage to face their “deepest, darkest secrets” together. Where Ego looks to make it all (literally, all) about him, they must learn what it means to put each other before themselves. This is what it means for them to become the family they never had in their childhood. And in a rather weird way (I think it is intentional), Baby Groot becomes the one in the film that helps the team to see this. We watch as they all unite around something other than themselves by caring for and protecting Baby Groot together, even as the hurt and the chaos continues to reign in the background.

In Guardians, the idea of being rejected for who you are is used to explore the question of accepting one another for who they are, because that is what family does. Even further, it explores the question of accepting ourselves for who we are as well. It is an exploration that moves us beyond the tainted blood of their broken pasts and absentee parental figures- and much blood is spilled in this film in a non-graphic way to symbolize this- and towards the idea that family is actually who they are becoming together over the course of the film.

What tore the Avengers apart in Civil War is given a powerful exclamation point (or two or three) in Guardians 2, and it all culminates in what I feel is one of the more powerful moments in an MCU film to date. It is a heart-wrenching scene that sees one character choose to demonstrate what it means to be a true father figure to the rest of them. This character chooses to sacrifice their own life so that the others might have a chance at life and redemption, and it is choice that pulls all of the active themes of rejection, forgiveness, redemption, love and relationship to the surface. It is in this moment that they truly come to realize what they have found in each other, that rather than allow Ego to convince them that they don’t matter and don’t belong in the universe, they can come to know that they in-fact do.

Shifting Our Perspective
What hits home for me in Guardians 2 is that this narrative is never overpowered by the individual bravado or skill of a single hero. These are characters who act as a collective, demonstrating what it means to embrace true humility in the face of immense adversity. They show us that it is often the enemy hidden within that ends up being the most powerful and most relevant threat that we will likely battle in our own lives as well. Gunn does an amazing job of honing these important themes out of the humour and the silliness of the film at large (and the theatre I was in managed to laugh through the entire film), and the opening scene is a perfect example of how he chooses to do this in his own, unconventional way. Here Gunn has the Guardians fighting a seemingly large and dangerous monster in the background while the camera focuses our perspective in on the small, insignificant (but very cute and funny) Baby Groot, who simply dances around seemingly oblivious to what is going on around him. It is a brilliant scene that not only outlines why Baby Groot becomes a significant figure in the later moments of the film, but reveals the desire of Gunn to use these sort of choices in direction to shift our perspective towards this unique relationship between the introspection and the chaos.

 

The God-Human Relationship
Which brings me to a final thought on Guardians of the Galaxy 2. For as galactic in scope as the film is, what becomes clear in the Ego versus Guardians story is the question of the God-Human relationship. There is a moment in the film where Ego is asked if he is a God. He laughs, and goes on to suggest he is a small “g” god. It is a momentary piece of dialogue that effectively causes us to stop and wonder just where the line between “god” and “human” begins and ends. It challenges our perception of what we should aspire towards- to become- more god-like, or to become more human, and what this looks like on either end.

 

Now, it should come as no surprise that the question of the God-Human relationship would come up in a superhero film. The Superhero, after all, is often referred to as our own “modern mythology”, and there are many points in which these modern folktales intersect with and borrow from the storytelling methods of the ancients. For the ancients, telling these stories, these myths, were the means by which they could begin to understand the mystery of the world around them. They were the means by which they could begin to understand themselves. And as myths, the natural and supernatural were often intertwined, seen as one in the same.

Modern myth tends to use these ancient stories as a means of expressing our own modern experience, the questions that are important to us, and while a story like Thor might be a bit more intimately bound to its ancient source (given that it flows straight out of Norse Mythology), in a story like Guardians, the more loosely creative mythological elements tends to be ripe with current political, religious and social commentary. So, when a film like this speaks of “god”, it tends to say something very specific our societies current relationship with the idea of God and small “g” gods in general.

The God of Ego
In Guardians 2, I found Ego to represent much of what some modern writers (and readers) have come to fear about religion. He might describe himself as a small “g” god, but he demonstrates all the tell-tale signs of the big “G” God in popular perception (at least in Western society). We see Ego looking to destroy the universe and rebuild it “in his own image”. We see him assuming that the universe is bad and must become about him and him alone in order to be made good. He alone is worthy of the attention and worship of the created universe, and Ego shows little concern for what ultimately might get sacrificed along the way to achieving this goal.

 

Now, I have no idea whether James Gunn was using Ego as a commentary on God and religion, but I couldn’t help but see the commentary in the story he creates. And what is perhaps most interesting thing for me about the way Ego is developed into a small “g” God for me is that the first time we meet Ego (in a gorgeously shot flashback on earth) it seems to reveal him as someone who actually struggles with what is right and what is wrong in light of these choices. The reality of his relationship with Quill’s mother suggests that, in some sense, he actually did love her, but this doesn’t stop him from destroying the thing that he loves in order to achieve his greater purpose. The same suggestion resurfaces again when he comes face to face with the idea of having to give up his only son later in the film. We are given hints that, for as much as Ego’s plan will end up leaving him alone in the universe, as a small “g” god he struggles with the idea of being alone in the universe he is recreating.

At his worst in this film, the god that Ego represents is the idea one in which the godly ambition he aspires towards in remaking the universe in his image is self-serving and corrupt at its ideological and metaphorical core. For Quill to believe what he is doing is right and to blindly (which is symbolic in the film) follow Ego towards this same goal (as his only son), requires him to give himself over to a fabrication or twisting of the truth. This new relationship with his father might feel like a real family, but it is not a family at all. And when we come to see Ego (or God, in a more general sense for us as viewers) for who he really is, we find out that this twisting of the truth is also what hampers us in our own blind religiosity and devotion to the idea of God as the greater good. This is not the image one should aspire to made in.

Needless to say, it all feels incredibly messy, traveling an exasperated line between this notion of attaining godly perfection (and our need for a 2 inches tall saviour to show us the way to this perfection) and human fallibility. And I can’t help but feel that the ultimate message it portrays is that we don’t really need god at all.

A More Modern Perspective
If this all sounds close to modern criticism of organized religion and religious ideology, it is because it very much is. This is where the story of the god in this film connects to the (perceived) older, outdated mythology of the ancients. Ideas that once were accepted as true (in a less enlightened society) are now being exposed (at their worst) as dangerous, irrational delusions that must be necessarily purged from our popular (and intellectual) vernacular of every day life, or else somehow redeemed (at their most helpful) as metaphors for the human experience.

Where a good film misses the mark…
Mythology has always been concerned with mystery. It has always wondered about the unknown. These are the stories we tell in order to explain the unexplainable. They help us to put into words what we often don’t have words to describe, to ask questions when we might not even know what the questions are. They are the stories we tell in the light of our own superhuman, or spiritual, realities.

What the film does here (intentionally or unintentionally) is create an unfortunate dichotomy that I feel actually hampers some of the themes it looks to tell. It recognizes that it needs the mythology to help tell it’s story, but then uses the discussion of god (that flows out of this) as a means of dismissing the mythology that informs it. And where I really feel this contradiction is when it ultimately asks us to see the human counterparts through the lens of this same mythology. While the film treats the worst side of Ego as a very strident criticism of modern religion (which it does in a powerful and effective way I might add), it also uses the more positive attributes of God (that mythology has handed down to us over time) to help us explore the mystery of the human experience.

Here are just a few examples:

• The theme of Sacrifice– Ego is self-serving as a father, but in Quill’s “spiritual awakening”, he turns to embrace the one who demonstrates the true sacrificial nature of a father. Ego looks to sacrifice his only son to gain the world. Yondu sacrifices himself for his only son in order to give him the world.
• The theme of Fatherhood– Ego represents the power (and abuse) of fatherhood (and parenthood) that flows through each of the characters in this story. He was absent from Quill’s life, and he becomes the focus of the question, the inner and personal journey that Quill must take in order to reconcile the enemy that has been growing within after all these years. In a sense he turns his father into a big “G” God, and by nature of who Ego is eventually revealed to be, he also becomes convinced that this idea of God is more destructive than healing.
• The theme of Love– What binds this band of misfits together is their growing love for one another. Not romantic love, but a love that slowly erases the lines that divide them over the course of the film (including the fact they come together from different races, different characteristics and different ways of dealing with their past). What binds them together is not the idea that they need a God (or god) that stands above them or models for them a perfect reflection of what they believed they missed out on growing up, but that in admitting their own flawed states to one another they can come to realize they are not so different from one another as they once thought themselves to be. The most powerful scene that illustrates this in the film for me is the scene where Rocket and Yondu come to this most unlikely of realizations during a tension filled moment of face to face dialogue. It is a truly moving moment that shows just how universal and eternal love is shown to be on the very human level this film ultimately becomes.
• The theme of family and adoption– What we see in all of the characters in this film is a demonstration of the power of adoption. They find family in one another, and they each belong to this family through the power of adoption. It is a powerful metphor, and a part of their very human experience, that sees the theme of family expressed as something that offers us meaning and purpose and belonging, all things that each of these characters are searching for in the midst of an otherwise grand space opera.
• The theme of forgiveness– Of the connection between our inability to forgive ourselves and our ability to forgive others. The connection between accepting that we are forgiven and our ability to forgive others. When Yondu is faced with the prospect of what it means to be the father that Quill never had, he has to come to terms with forgiving himself. He has to accept that he can be the father Quill needs. This is perhaps most powerful in the scene between Yondu and Rocket where they both come to realize they are not so different from one another, and that maybe they could choose to see the better parts of themselves in the other as well.

Becoming more godlike or more human
In the story of the film, Quill ultimately chooses to abandon his god given power for the sake of becoming more fully human. It repositions our perception of the story in order to show humanity as presiding over and above the god of its own mythology. And what the film ultimately does in applying these characteristics as human virtues over and against the god like antipathy of Ego, is that it applies that unfortunate dichotomy towards understanding the nature of the God-Human relationship. God becomes bad, humans become good. God is the thing that needs to be destroyed, while power comes in the form of our ability to destroy it. And what this ultimately does is remove the mystery from the mythology it is asking us to embrace when it comes to the stories of the Guardians themselves. It deconstructs the story that it is looking to tell, and then asks us reconstruct it with the human characters at the centre.

 

What this means for my own faith
Here is the thing. In spite of all of this, this film still had much to teach me about how I tend to see God and faith in my own life, and I think this is a testament to the strength of the film itself. As a Christian, which lends me towards the idea that the Christian story actually informs the mythologies of our world, this idea of the God-Human relationship remains important, vital actually, and very real to my own experience. And what Guardians did for me is it helped to reveal the ways in which I continue to struggle when it comes to understanding who this God is in my own life. It allowed me to admit that sometimes I have a hard time making sense of this God in a world where so much suffering continues to persist. I have a hard time making sense of some of the anger and destruction that I find in scripture, and some of the pictures that have been handed down to me of an angry God, or God “the judge” I also struggle with the idea of forgiveness when, on my best days, I fail to forgive my brothers and sisters. I struggle with being adopted into the family of God, of knowing where I belong in this world, especially when I fail so readily in accepting and embracing others. And then there is the idea of love, maybe my biggest failure overall.

Guardians of the Galaxy 2 helped me to see that it is not only okay to ask these kinds of questions, it is also okay to fail when I try to live out these questions from the context of my own life. It is okay to struggle with who God is. It is okay for God not to always make sense in light of my human experience. And it is okay for me not to be fully god-like as I try to figure all of this out in my own life. I fail, I fall, I don’t get everything right, and this is something good for me to admit.

In light of this, I also learned about my tendency to create God in my own image, especially in the times when I feel most uncertain. The God that I must tear down in my own life are the gods of my own making, the gods of my own perception. These are the gods of my own pride, and the gods of my own inability to forgive. These are the gods of my pursuit of power and social exploitation and false worship. In this way, the God that Gunn deconstructs in this film is not God Himself, but the idolatry that my own heart creates and pursues.

On the flip side, in Christianity,  which is the story I am most familiar with, the virtues of sacrifice, adoption, family, love and forgiveness are the very things that help to bridge this gap between creator and creation and to help me to see the true picture of God more clearly. These are god-given virtues through which I am able to understand my inherent and given value. These are the things we are all called to imitate, not in order to become a god, but rather to allow God to make us more fully human. They are the things that God demonstrates on our behalf, not by living apart from the creation, but by dwelling in it and sharing in its joys and fears and struggles. And by living out these virtues we can come to understand God better. By living out these virtues we can also come to understand ourselves better as God’s creation.

Here is what I know. Faith, God, religion- this is the place where I also find the human virtues represented in this film most readily embodied. God, the big “G” God in my life, has given me a greater vision of love than I otherwise would have. God has encouraged me towards a greater capacity for love than I otherwise would have. In the human story the film looks to tell, these religious virtues become powerful expressions of the human experience in the stories of Quill and the others, as each of them explore universal questions about what it means to be fully human (and for God to be God).

 

Mythology represents a messy construct, a ready image of the world in which we live. But it is also a hopeful construct, a means of expressing the mystery of this world in ways we otherwise could not. In this same vein, the story of God in the Christian story is also full of this same kind of messiness, primarily because humanity itself is a messy construct, one in which God is in the act of redeeming, not destroying. And what many of the scenes in this film (such as the funeral for Yondu), what God (if you will allow) helps to remind me of, is that in the mess there is also beauty and wonder.

And for those willing to consider, there might even be an even greater truth yet- that when we learn to see God for who He really is, that is when we become able to see the true beauty in the mess. Just as the sacrifice of a true father rings through this film, I find myself compelled to see the fingerprints of a sacrificial God standing above Ego’s self-service. Just as they come to understand a love that comes through responsibility to one another, I am compelled to see a loving God that stands above the distant and cold-hearted action of an ambivalent creator, one who chose to dwell among his creation. Rather than destruction and reorder, I see a God that is in the process of restoring for the sake of His creation.

And perhaps most importantly, (faith, God, religion) has offered me a picture of a God who enters into our human experience, showing me what it means to find healing in my own brokenness. Showing me what it means to be adopted into a family in order to share in my brokenness with others. God continues to show me what it is to live out of the idea that in death to ourselves we find life in something other than ourselves. In service to others we find meaning that reaches higher than our own understanding. And the fact that I can be reminded of all of this through the power of film, for that I am also forever grateful.

 

 

 

The Classic Crime is no stranger to creating thought provoking music. As a fan, I have been following them since the days of Albatross, and it is their ability to foster meaningful dialogue through their songs on everything from relationships to hardship and spiritual longing that keeps me coming back for more.

 

Which brings me to their latest release, How To Be Human. Sonically this album reminded me a lot of Albatross, only with notes of their previous release Phoenix lending it a more brooding and mature tone. It feels to be something of a fusion of past and present, with some creative undertones helping it to feel fresh and progressive at the same time (thanks mostly to some inventive layering of the guitar in a synth like fashion, giving depth to the song structure).

 

But it is the album narrative that really holds these songs together. The songs come across as a collective allegory, one that alludes to something more definitive, more intentional than the allegory itself. They exude a longing to express something that perhaps couldn’t be expressed in words alone, and in a world full of singles and songs and on the spot streaming, this kind of album first approach feels refreshing. It tells a story from start to finish, with each track connecting to the next by interweaving some rather strong imagery, evoking the idea of a spiritual journey. More so, with so much time existing between albums (relatively speaking), it felt like these songs were, in some form or another, a lyrical representation of a much more personal journey that the band (or members) themselves had been on over the last number years.

 

For me, the journey is always worth exploring, and thankfully a recent interview helped to shed some light on some of what I had been feeling over some early listens, revealing the experiences that helped give shape to this album over time.

 

The first song, Holy Water, invites us on a journey out to the outer edges of the universe and to beginning of time itself, all in an effort to give us some perspective for the story that is still to come. There is a struggle that remains evident throughout this song, one that tries to see the good in a world that sometimes seems so full of brokenness, a world that some of us have been taught to “see” as evil. It is in the midst of this struggle that the song calls us towards a moment of stillness, a chance to turn our gaze upwards and outwards so as to gain a broader and more inclusive view of the world in which we live. And as we learn to see the world from this vantage point , we also begin to see the world through the eyes of the Creator, a creator that continues to declare all of this to be “good” in the midst of the struggle. And if all is good, if God is good, then you are also seen through “his (good) perspective”. I am a part of his good perspective. The brokenness is a part of his good perspective.

 

This line really shook me. If only I could change my own perspective. If only I could learn how to embrace the struggle rather than reject it.

 

Yet far too often I simply give in to the incomprehensible, the confusion, the competing forces that battle for my attention every single day. I give in to the need to simply escape rather than embrace.

 

But there is hope. There is freedom in the words of these songs. By seeing the good in the world I can free myself to be the good in this world. As the words go on to declare, “You are alone, But you are alive.” I am alive. I am alive, and it is this alive-ness that connects me to something far greater than I can imagine in my limited capacity, from my single, shallow vantage point. It is this Holy Water, this Holy perspective that holds all of us together, that binds us as that which is good. And as I lift my eyes upwards and take the opportunity to realign my own perspective with that of the Creator, I find myself finally able to join in the chorus- all is good.

 

In the interview, singer Matt MacDonald describes the moment he penned these lyrics. He found himself under the vast loneliness of the midnight sky, stopped at a light in the middle of an empty street and soaking in the silence. He was completely alone. And it was in this moment that he had this sudden realization. Call it a revelation or epiphany if you will. He was struck by the bigness of it all set against the stillness and aloneness of the moment, and it realigned his perspective of his own personal journey. It was a moment in which he lifted his eyes upwards and found the courage to look back out on a broken world rather than escape it, and what he found was something good, something Holy, something that is being redeemed. He helped to remind me that I am also able to embrace the brokenness, because it is a part of being redeemed.

 

It is out of this revelation that we arrive at my favourite song on the album, Not Done with You Yet. As the words declare, “Life Is senseless, (but) I try to make sense of it.”

 

Matt describes the journey towards this album as a season of “deconstructing” his faith and (attempting) to put it back together. Having been down this road myself, I feel I am able to resonate with this journey. It is a process that can lead you towards some very dark places. At times I know I felt I was losing my grasp on everything that once made sense in this world. It was a time when I felt more lost than found. And perhaps the hardest part about taking this journey is just how lonely it makes you feel. You feel like you don’t truly belong anywhere. You struggle with the faith of your past and all the certainty it once held, but in doing so you are also confronted with the realization that you also don’t belong in a world where even the mere mention of “god” renders you irrational and intellectually void.

 

Deconstruction strips you bare. But for as painful and as hard as this process is, it also offers the opportunity for more honest introspection. There is opportunity to grow, to gain strength, and not just as a person, but as a person of faith. When you have nothing left to lose, the potential to gain increases immensely. And while it is often hard to see the light in the middle of the dark, the message that I find in this album is that hope is still present. And as I came to realize, God is still present. My faith might not look the same as it was- and thank God for that- but in many ways it is now much richer for it.

 

And so, as the words of this song continue to pierce through the darkness, “I am not done with you yet” resonates through the uncertainty. It reminds me that this forming and shaping and strengthening is a lifelong process, one in which my willingness to fall also allows me to be “lifted” daily. And, through it all this song guides me towards a prayer, a prayer for the courage to allow myself to fall and to be lifted even in these moments today:

 

“I met him there
And I was scared
And so I asked God if he could fix my flaws
And he said I gave them to you
I know they are killing you
(But) I am not done with you yet

 

“And I’m not fine
Because I spent ten years on the road
That made me different
I created new patterns of thought
Got a new perspective
I was just once an immigrant son of a silenced preacher’s wife
But black and white both died
So I asked God if he could fix my heart
He said I gave it to you
I know it’s broken in two

 

(But) I am not done with you yet.

 

 

This album gets really dark. It reaches into the depths of the de (re) construction process, and the song Wonder is about just how low it can get. It brings us face to face with the most honest question that flows out of being stripped bare- Have I gone too far? Can I ever go back? Perhaps I have lost it all in the process.

 

 

And yet, thankfully there is a “but” that breathes through each of these songs, an interruption of the despair that ends up speaking much louder and far more powerfully than the questions. It comes in the way of an invitation to stop “sleeping in the shadows” as the song Ghost says, and to open our eyes to the opportunity to see the idea of god anew, in a new light if you will, a light that provides us with new and wonderful “shades of green” in place of the black and white that once limited our perspective.

 

“I want different shades of green
Let the wilderness teach me something
Different shades of green
I want different shades of green
I want to imitate the mystery
Different shades
Different shades of green”

 

This is what it means for me to imitate the mystery, to gain God’s perspective. For me, this idea that God stands above and over all good things, inviting me to see from His perspective, has been a crucial part of my own journey in and out and back into faith. The metaphor of “shades of green” uses the idea of a biological construct to enable us to see our world a bit broader, a bit clearer than we otherwise would if we had remained unaware. In biology, green arrives in more shades than any other colour, precisely because it is the image of life, the sign of something good. In the midst of all the struggle, we are given eyes to see that we are surrounded by the good, the green. We simply need to learn to see the shades.
Being challenged in our faith doesn’t have to mean losing everything. And in-fact, as the song says, in some sense it can allow us to rediscover what we knew all along. It might not look exactly like we once thought all those years ago, but in many ways it is something even better than we imagined. It is this thought that keeps me searching for truth in my own life. It is this thought that reminds me that growing in my faith might be challenging, but it doesn’t have to be defeating. As the song More declares so wonderfully, we can continue to sing,

 

“And I still want more
Until I hear the trumpet sound
Until my body is in the ground
(I want more) Until I finally find the source
I want more”

 

It is this idea that God is not done with me yet, that all good things are being restored, that keeps me moving forward, that keeps me wondering and wandering and looking and searching. It is this idea that keeps my eyes and ears and heart open to the more that God has in store for my own life, for this world in which I live.

And in understanding this, I have come to accept that confidence is not the same as certainty. The confidence that hope remains, that there is something worth searching for, allows me to move forward in my uncertainty. And truth be told, it is by letting go of my need to be certain that I have gained so much more confidence to live out of god’s perspective of my life, of our world.

 

So “Hold on and Let Go”. Embrace what this world has in store, live through the fear and the joy. Embrace the shadows and find the light in the darkness.

 

The album ends with a sort of haunting repetition of the imagery that the album narrative has helped me to imagine.

“Saviour save me”.

The minute these words ring out, we find ourselves back at the beginning, with the haunting question, but “Am I alone?” The thought lingers after the final note without resolution. Which is the point of this journey, I think. It is about moving forward even when we can’t see what lies ahead. Holding on to faith, holding onto hope in the midst of my questions and struggles. Surrendering my questions to the places in which they lead me. And as this album helps remind me of the perspective I have gained (and lost) along the way of my own journey, on the way of learning how to reach out to the edges of the universe so as to see the world through the eyes of my Creator, I have learned to rest in the promise that all is good, that all will be restored. This has become my hope and my prayer.

 

I will continue to pray that God grant me more clarity as the days move forward, and the courage to give myself over again and again to the idea that God is not done with me yet. I am alive. I am good. And I can become the good in this world.

 

 

 

With the much-anticipated Guardians of the Galaxy 2 hitting theatres this weekend (which is worth seeing by the way), the official start to the summer movie season seems to be upon us. I know it’s only May, but with summer weather getting an early start around our neck of the woods, now seems as good a time as any to reflect on some of the films I am most excited to see over the next few months:

 

My Top Three Most Anticipated Summer Blockbusters

War of the Planet of the Apes
Guardians might be ruling the roost for the time being, but the third film in this much acclaimed trilogy is the one I am looking forward to the most. Sure, it might be far more serious (and considerably less funny) than Guardians, but the mix of entertaining action, incredible C.G.I and Motion Capture, and dramatic realization, represent all of the best parts of the summer blockbuster for me. And with a great trailer and the return of the director of “Dawn”, this movie is destined to live up to the hype of its predecessors.

 

Wonder Woman
There definitely seems to be a lot riding on this film- the hopeful success of a female driven superhero film, salvaging D.C.’s reputation (although I have been a fan of most of their films), and living up to plenty of months of built in anticipation. But, in my opinion, Wonder Woman is still the best part of Batman V Superman, and there is no reason to believe that it won’t deliver on the promise of it’s impressive trailers. The sheer scale of this film, considering it really is the first true on-screen adaptation of her origins story, bumps it above Spiderman: Homecoming on my list, which, if you know anything about my obsession with our friendly neighborhood web slinger, is no small feat.

 

Baby Driver

Tons of buzz, an incredible cast and a stellar trailer combine to put this one near the top of my list. I am neither here nor there on director Edgar Wright (some of his films I really love, others I can leave), but from everything I have read, Baby Driver brings together all of his best attributes. And as a wholly original summer blockbuster, I think it will be a welcome addition to the summer, 2017 film season, and not to mention the stellar soundtrack it brings in tow (don’t look now Guardians).

 

Honorable Mention: Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets
Being unfamiliar with the source material (it is based on a comic book series), my early thoughts on this film wager a guess that it will end up being something of a mix of Lucy’s sci-fi renderings and the more kid friendly Arthur and the Invisibles, both previous projects of director Luc Besson. In any case, the film certainly looks visually enchanting.

 

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My Top 3 Most Anticipated Non-blockbusters

The Book of Henry
From up and coming director Colin Trevorrow comes a film that falls right in my wheel house. Safety Not Guaranteed was stellar, but it is actually his knack for classic storytelling in Jurassic World that intrigues me the most here. The Book of Henry seems to ooze that perfect mix of childhood wonder/intrigue and more mature adult sensibilities. I am expecting this to be the most memorable on-screen adventure I take this summer.

 

Detroit

In the midst of some much anticipated on-screen summer fun comes a compelling, true-life drama film that promises us a chance to also engage in some important conversation. Telling the story of Detroit in the summer of ’67, this dramatization of the civil unrest that shook this infamous city (and more importantly, the city-zens) has been receiving a ton of positive buzz. As a fan of Detroit and a purveyor of its history, this is one film that I hope will find an audience in the heated months of the summer of 2017. And given that it comes from the academy award winning director of The Hurt Locker and the gritty Zero Dark Thirty (Kathryn Bigelow), there is no reason to believe that it won’t.

 

A Ghost Story
Not much to say about this one, except that it just might represent one of the strangest and most artsy trailers of the 2017 summer movie list. It’s hard to know exactly what this small, low budget project is about, but two things have me intrigued-

1. I was a huge fan of David Lowrey’s take on Pete’s Dragon in 2016 (hugely underrated),
2. and Casey Affleck.

 

Honorable Mention: Wind River
Starring Jeremy Renner, this is a quiet wilderness epic from the director of last year’s stellar Hell or High Water and the even more stellar Sicario of the previous year. Early reviews suggest this will be yet another successful project from this up and coming director (also of Sons of Anarchy fame), who seems to be cementing his place among the best of a new crew of younger-generation filmmakers.

 

 

 

 

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2 Summer Films I Remain Cautiously Optimistic About

Dunkirk
Falling somewhere in-between the summer blockbuster and a smaller, art house film, while Dunkirk is definitely near the top of my must-see-list, I fear it might not gain the audience it will deserve. It has the draw of an acclaimed director, but it is not the kind of film the director is typically known for. But, if I am being honest, that is what has me most excited- the fact that it is something different. I just hope that audiences give it the attention that its heavy promotion is currently trying to garner, as I think it might end up being the best war film to grace our screens since Saving Private Ryan.

 

The Dark Tower
One of my most anticipated films of 2017, my rush to finish all 7 books in preparation of its late summer release is tempered by the fact that, up until this week, we had yet to see even a single trailer, let alone receive much in the way of word on its current status. Well, we finally have a trailer, and of course audiences seem divided. But my excitement for it hasn’t waned, I just hope that after all this time it ends up capturing the spirit of the book with some degree of success.

 

 

 

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And a few other categories to consider:

 

I Predict this summer’s sleeper hit will be…
It Comes At Night
Summer doesn’t normally see much in the way of the horror film, but this year there seems to be quite an onslaught of intriguing instalments  (including Annabelle, Amityville, and Wish Upon). It is, however, the upcoming release of It Comes At Night that has me most intrigued. I think this film could help cement the idea that horror can indeed thrive in the middle of the summer blockbuster season. It arrives with tons of promise and plenty of early buzz, and from what I can see is set up well to follow on the heels of the incredible success of “Get Out”.

 

The summer film most likely to make me laugh…
The House
It might be all-too-familiar Ferrell fare, but it is been a while since Ferrell has graced the big screen. And with Poehler complimenting his schtick with her own brand of comedy, this one seems poised to hit all the right marks.

 

And my vote for most ridiculous summer movie premise goes to…
Once Upon a Time in Venice

A ridiculous premise that I still feel compelled to watch. One reason for this could be the presence of John Goodman, but I do have to balance this with Bruce Willis, who has apparently given himself over to a perpetual state of self-parody at this point in his career. Although if the upcoming Unbreakable sequel can help prove anything, in the right movie even Bruce Willis can be compelling.

 

The summer movie people might be surprised to know I am looking forward to…
All Eyez on Me

Straight Outta Compton seemed to come out of nowhere 2 years ago, and even though it failed to garner the attention it deserved during awards season, it’s success with critics and audience alike continues to open a doors for films like All Eyez on Me to gain mainstream attention and bring more and more African-American representation, diversity and colour to Hollywood. This should be a pretty incredible story to see unfold on-screen. 

 

The Summer Movie I am most ashamed to admit I am looking forward to…
King Arthur

Bet you thought I was going to say The Emoji Movie…

 

I admit, I am a sucker for these kinds of films. Medieval, magic, swords and big budget adventure. Most people I know have already written this one off. I am not sure why. Maybe because it feels easy to lump it in the company of past failures (anybody remember The Huntsman?). But it does have Guy Ritchie and Charlie Hunnam involved, which is more than enough to have me intrigued.

 

And Finally… Biggest Box Office Predictions

These are not on my top must see lists (although I am still looking forward to seeing all of them in some form or another), but here is what I predict will top the box office this summer:

 

1. Guardians 2– Hard to dispute this one. Recognizable brand, tons of time in the theatres, and more than a few weeks without much in the way of serious competition. It should solidify its place at the top of the box office sooner than later.

2. Despicable Me 3– Statistically positioned to haul in a ton of money if you set it against its predecessors, the failure of The Minions should have fans of the franchise eager to see it return to form- and that means a legitimate fight for top box office performer.

 

3. Transformers: The Last Knight

Love or hate it, these films are always guaranteed an audience. Pirates might give it a run for its money this summer, but Transformers has the edge when it comes to catering to the theatre going experience. Early word has it that the made for 3D experience might be worth the price of admission alone, and when you combine that with the fact that the latest film also happens to be (partially set) in medieval times, I think this might prove to be the highest grossing film in the franchise yet.

 

A relative latecomer to the whole fast and the furious franchise- I saw the first one and abandoned it after the third- some early aversion, or at least apathy towards these adrenaline-fueled on-screen adventures, had convinced me that these films were far more mindless than fun.

But then my son convinced me to take him to see Furious 7.

I had inhibitions to be sure, as I questioned the value of what I perceived to be a shameless display of materialism and sexual exploitation. But a touching tribute to its recently fallen star finally helped me to understand what this franchise seems to mean to a whole lot of people. Here’s the thing. From my perspective, these films can definitely be categorized as mindless fun, But along the way they have also managed to become something of a cultural reference point for a large segment of society. In a world that often feels overly complicated, these films have helped set the standard for how to do “escapism” right. It uses the thrill of the race, and all of the materialism and sex appeal it embodies, as a means of celebrating the stuff that is most important in this world- friendship and the unbreakable nature of familial bonds. When Dom reminds us “it’s all about family”, this ends up meaning something in the midst of all of the explosions and insane stunts. And really, this is exactly what this franchise has become over the years- a genuine part of the family experience (at our 10:15 showing that my wife, my son and I  atteneded, we watched as a family of 6 took their seats in front of us, with the youngest of this crew being no more than 4 years old- I would even wager 3, and the oldest no more than 7). When my son turned to us after the film and exclaimed, “I don’t know why, but I really like these films. They make me happy”, it humbled me. I saw an opportunity to use this film to strengthen our own family bond and was even able to pull out some valuable conversation from what I once considered an unlikely place to find much of value.

 

Which leads me to the question- as the latest installment in the long-running series, does Furious 8 have any gas left in the tank as it forges forward in the absence of Paul Walker? The answer to this question is a definitive “yes”, at least on the level of pure spectactle. It manages to find a way to kick this franchise up another notch, which is no small feat given that it has already sent cars parachuting off cliffs and jumping through buildings. As one critic suggested, if Fast 8 is anything, it is absolutely bonkers.

 

But the film also has a few things it needed to overcome, including a new director, the aforementioned loss of Paul Walker, and the new characters it is now looking to establish.

 

Director F. Gary Gray takes over from James Wan, who helped infuse Furious 7 with a necessary and timely emotional resonance (along with some insane and technical stunt pieces), and Justin Lin, who was at the helm of the now legendary Fast Five and Furious 6, which many recognize as the best in the franchise. Since Fast 5, the series has made a progressive move away from the confines of the humble street race and towards the more Bond-like espionage stories of recent years. And this is the direction Gray continues to drive the series, elevating this aging group of ragtag street racers to the role of saving the world from the possibility of World War 3 (or something like that). And given that The Fate of the Furious is the first in what has been advertised as a new trilogy within the series, suffice to say we are probably going to see more of this clan attempting to use their cars (and their skills behind the wheel… it’s about the driver, not the car after all) to save the world.

And I am perfectly fine with this choice of direction, because does it really matter how these characters managed to find themselves with the responsibility of carrying out a government sanctioned mission to absolve a nuclear threat in Siberia when it means we get to watch a car chasing a submarine over a frozen sea of ice (or is the submarine chasing them, it is never quite certain)? These are the kinds of questions that have never really mattered when it comes to Fast and the Furious.

 

Gray also has the unenviable task of navigating a new cast and changing character dynamics. Walker had become such an integral part of this franchise’s character, and the bond between Dom and Brian so strong, that figuring out where and how to move the franchise in his absence was bound to be at the top of Gray’s to-do list. The Fate of the Furious thus becomes something of an experiment, as Gray plays around with the current cast while infusing the “Furious-verse” with some new faces (including Charlize Theron, who plays the villain of the story with a rather darkly comic intensity, and the return of Statham, who has now, for some unknown reason, been enlisted to join the ranks of the good guys despite his past actions). There are plenty of dynamics that work amongst this bunch, most notably between Statham and Johnson where the chemistry simply flies off the screen with a giddy enthusiasm and superhuman presence. These are two guys that really understand which movie they are in.

We also see some scene-stealing moments from Gibson and Ludacris, who play off of their teammate’s dominating display of over-the-top bravado to give us scenes like flying over the frozen Tundra on a car door.

 

With all of this potential chemistry though, the most interesting question that seems to haunt Gray is what to do with Diesel himself. Dominac is, after all, still driving the heart of the story. This time it revolves around the question of whether Dom has turned bad or not. And as we begin to discover the answers to this question, it becomes increasingly difficult not to wonder whether Diesel will (or should) end up riding off into the sunset at some point in the near future. We get this sense already in some of the later films in the franchise, but here it seems like the horizon is that much closer. Even the title hints at some sense of finality, and Dom’s character would be the most likely choice to bring to a close.

This even begs the question of whether the series itself will follow Diesel in this same direction. The rumor of Fast and the Furious spin-offs certainly tips its hat to the possibility. But no matter how one imagines this potential future, Dom feels like he will play a pivotal role in one way or another in determining how it all moves forward.

Gray provides us with a strong sense of symbolism in the wonderful opening sequence back in Cuba, a scene that returns us to the spirit of the original, and sets Dom in a nostalgic light. Dom seems aged, a bit slower, and according to his own admissions, ready to even settle down. That is until he ends up being pulled back into the fray once again.

Given what they do with Dom’s character from this point, it is hard to consider where else they could possibly take him in subsequent films. And frankly, no one would blame Diesel if he ends up using these next films to transition out of the Furious-verse for good. His is a job well done, and a rest well deserved. But here is where things get interesting for Gray, who remains entirely aware of what his absence would mean for the Furious-verse as a whole.

 

Dom was always the one to keep things grounded. He played it serious, and in doing so he balanced the tonal effects of the film against the more over the top physical displays. He embodied the now familiar moral undertones that made the theme of “family” so prominent in all of these films. If, as this film suggests they might, Hobbs and Shaw end up embodying this Dom/Brian relationship moving forward, Gray (if he completes the next two of this trilogy), will likely find himself having to navigate these tonal shifts in different ways (for better or for worse).

 

But, for the time being, The Fate of the Furious proves that it is content to live in the moment, to throw caution to the wind as it continues to one-up itself over and over again (I mean come on, The Rock hangs off a car door and stops a torpedo). Whatever comes of the future, for now, this is, as they say, about the cars and those who drive the cars.

 

As the most physical film of the bunch to date, Fate definitely earns its place and then some as it offers us one jaw-dropping scenario after another. But more than that, behind all of this “bonkers”, that familiar cultural imprint remains- the theme of brotherhood, of fatherhood, and family. The theme of living in the present while remembering the past, and living life in full throttle no matter what the future holds. And while Cipher (Theron) insists that Dom is lying to himself if he believes any of this actually matters- in her worldview it doesn’t, Dom continues to remind us that life does matter. The prayer of blessing that marks the closing sequence becomes an honest reflection of this very sentiment, of looking to find joy in what we have been given, and of remaining aware of just how easily these things can also be taken away. And this picture of death and life, which is painted in such an odd way through the sheer number of moments in which this crew manages to escape death throughout is film, ends up connecting the loss of Brian to the idea of new life in a rather hopeful way.

And it is here where we learn to live life a quarter mile at a time, something this franchise continues to do with wonderful precision.

 

 

 

As I come to the end of Mark’s Gospel narrative, I find myself struck with the idea that this is not actually an ending at all, but rather a picture of a new beginning.

To Jerusalem and Back
The repeated call to look and see Jesus on the Way, the Way of the Gospel (the Way of God), is what eventually set my sights on Jerusalem as I continued to read through Mark over these past months. The repeated call to follow Him on this way turned my sights even further towards the cross and the promise of the Resurrection.

 

And all along the way, on the road to Jerusalem, Mark (in the power of the Spirit, mind you) continued to teach me something about what it means to live into the Kingdom language that saturates his narrative. He taught me that following Christ is about learning to live into the idea of the forgiven and forgiving life.

 

This is what it means for me to embrace the person and work of Jesus in my own life, the One who positioned Himself in the most unlikely of places with the most unlikely of people in order to demonstrate this forgiven and forgiving life on my behalf. The one who ultimately found Himself hanging on a cross, not with his disciples sitting on his right and left, but between two criminals, in order to give me new life in a world that is so full of suffering and death.

 

When John the Baptist first arrived on scene and called his audience to turn their eyes in a new direction (to repent), I was left with this feeling that somewhere around the corner, somewhere on the next page, I was bound to find something unexpected. The twists and turns that Mark’s Gospel takes did not disappoint. This Gospel turned out to be a grand and exciting narrative, and even though I have read through it before in the past, what was most unexpected, most surprising about it this time, is just how much of it I had managed to miss.

 

And for me, granting the general consensus of scholarship which excludes the final portion of the text (16:9-20) as not original and a later addition, the accepted (original) ending of Mark stands as a perfect example of these unexpected places in Mark. It is, in-fact, as I have already said, an ending that managed to bring me all the way back to the beginning- a new beginning if you will. It is an ending that perfectly weaves the conviction of Mark’s opening (the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God) with the uncertainty of his closing (and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid). It is the kind of narrative puzzle that sets our eyes on Jerusalem, only for us to arrive and find that the answer to this narrative puzzle “is not is here” (vs. 6), but somewhere else. And in the Gospel of Mark, where the Gospel really ends (and begins again) is back in Galilee.

 
Going Before you to Galilee
Scholars continue to puzzle over the meaning of Christ’s return to Galilee in the end of Mark. However, even though there is no way to be certain, I find that Mark seems to use the setting of Galilee to return us to the place in which he began this journey. Here in these early moments, we find Jesus passing alongside the Sea of Galilee, calling his disciples saying,

 

“Follow me, and I will make you become ‘fishers of men’.”
– 1:17

 

In the remainder of Mark’s Gospel, we watch as Jesus goes before them and prepares the way for them to follow Him and become fishers of men (“disciples”). Ultimately He goes before them all  the Way to the Cross, demonstrating what it means for us to become the least so that others can be first, and to become servant to all for the sake of all.

And now, in the final words of the Gospel of Mark, we find Jesus returning to Galilee once again, just as He promised Peter He would in 14:29 (thus his instructions to tell Peter this news by name). He does this in order to show us that the work He accomplished on the Cross, of embodying and conquering the power of death and the principalities that continue to hold our world captive to its sin-full nature, is in-fact not yet completed. The journey continues, and it continues in us. In the light of His Resurrection, we are now given the power to live beyond this curse by becoming a servant to all for the sake of all and calling the world back towards the healing and restoring power of Jesus and His new Way of living.

 

The Scattering and the Gathering
What is interesting is that Jesus’ promise to Peter in 14:29, the promise that He would go before him to Galilee following His Resurrection, seems intimately connected with the image of the scattering in this same verse. That the sheep will be scattered and will fall away is something that conjures up a continued theme of exile and slavery in the Israelite/Jewish story. “BUT” I will rise, and I will go before you to Galilee in order to call my people home once again, once and for all, just as I promised, just as you expected.

 

Thus, this move back to Galilee is a picture of what God is up to, has been up to, in moving His people out of exile and towards freedom from the sin that continued to hold them captive. The Cross and the Resurrection is God’s answer to the Jewish expectation of a new and restored Kingdom, and in Galilee we find a small picture of this restorative Kingdom, this return from exile, in the gathering of His early followers. Only for Mark, it is in Jesus that this Jewish expectation, this new and restorative Kingdom, also becomes the answer for the world at large.

This truly is an ending that sparks the promise of a new beginning, the beginning of the restoration of the whole created order.

What’s more is that this notion of “scattering” and “gathering” comes out of the Old Testament story of Zechariah, and what is significant about this picture in Zechariah is that it becomes an act of purification. This is what the Resurrection means, for us and for the world. The Sabbath might be past, but the Kingdom is still being built in us and through us (16:1), and it is from the familiar shores of Galilee that Jesus now calls each of us, regardless of our context, regardless of social status, to go out into the world to share this same message of hope with the world.

 

And here is the greater truth- as we go, it is in-fact the Resurrected Jesus that is still “going before us” in order to bring His work to completion on that great and glorious day. This is where we gain our strength and conviction. This is what brings us together as a single and renewed family of God’s sons and daughters. As the kingdom is being built in us, it is Jesus we are still being called to follow. As we continue to see the Kingdom, it is Jesus we are called to set our sights on and to “see” more clearly. And the more we see of Jesus, the less power we give to the things of this world that are working to divide and scatter us in their fight for our love and attention.

 

“Seek” and “see”- with Fear and Wonder

“He has risen; he is not here. He is going before you to Galilee. There you will see him.”
– 16:6

 

It is this truth, the idea that they will “see Jesus” again in Galilee, that leads the women in this passage to experience contrasting emotions- fear and amazement; trembling and wonder (vs. 8). For attentive readers of Mark, you can recognize these contrasting emotions as the same expression that marks all who meet Jesus in this Gospel.

 

There is something rather wonderful about this relationship between fear and wonder, something that seems to hit at the heart of Mark’s Gospel message; which is that we (as readers) would come to know Jesus, and that knowing Jesus would capture our hearts in a similar fashion. It is the fear that keeps us humble. It is the fear that moves us to always be watching, asking, waiting and pursuing a greater way of living. Fear leaves us unsettled, and calls us to embrace the messiness and the unexpectedness of this unsettledness as it pushes us towards a life of faith in what Jesus has done and is doing in our midst. This is where we find the freedom to truly wrestle with Jesus and the way in which He calls us to “go”, because, after all, the Way is not the easy road to take. It is not something that we should (or can) take likely. It intends to leave us uncomfortable, displaced from our old way of living, challenged to pursue something greater. It is a way that demands our whole self, our whole life, a way built on the life of sacrifice and service that took Jesus to the Cross. And yet, what Mark shows us is that when we are willing to wrestle with Jesus in this way, to encounter His call with trembling hands, we will also find the opportunity to be amazed, amazed by this Jesus who Mark sets out for us in the beginning of his Gospel- Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the one who died on the Cross and rose from the grave in order to share with us new life.

 

As the centurion remarked in his own moment of fear and amazement as he sees Jesus seemingly for the first time, “truly this man was the Son of God”.

 

Who Was and Is and Is to Come
It is really interesting to note the final words of Mark’s Gospel:

“And they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid. “
– Mark 16:8

Once again, I am brought back to the beginning of my journey in Mark where it says,

“And he would not allow (even) the demons to speak, because they knew him 1:34).”

 

I wonder if the modern Church could learn something about what it means to encounter Jesus and be rendered speechless. Certainly this goes against some of the more louder and more bombastic tendencies of modern day evangelism tactics. But in the way that Mark chooses to end his Gospel narrative, I am reminded that knowing Jesus is about far more than mere words or expressions.

 

It is about a changed life.

 

And for as much as I see Jesus on the mountaintop in the Gospel narrative, it is the residence that he takes in the every day lives of unexpected people that truly shows Jesus for who He- one who loved and served and sought the hearts of His children without inhibition. In the same way, it is by taking residence in my life, in the up and down movements of my own faith filled and faith less-filled moments, that I find I am coming to know Jesus more and more as well.

 

It is in our moments of fear and trembling that we find the opportunity to be amazed, and is in these moments of amazement that we are able to allow God to open our eyes to what Jesus is doing. Knowing Jesus changes us from the inside-out, and it is because He is risen that we can claim the power we need to live as changed lives.Even when the Gospel doesn’t make sense, and even when an empty grave is hard to reconcile and to understand, the truth that Mark sets out to declare is that Jesus is still going before us to show us the way.

 

And so the story continues. Thankfully Mark’s Gospel doesn’t actually end in fear and amazement or the speechless. It actually ends in Galilee. The Resurrection of Jesus is simply the start of the call towards a new life in the already/not yet Kingdom narrative. Jesus took us to the Cross to show us the Way, to prepare a road for us to follow as we continue on the Way. And now, as we return to Galilee once again, Jesus invites us to travel this same road out into the rest of world, continuing to live out the Gospel of the forgiven and forgiving life as we go.

“When I drink it new in the kingdom of God.”
– Mark 14:25

 

The Gospel story is, at its heart a Resurrection story. But as Mark reminds his readers, this Resurrection story, the promise of new life, is being told through the betrayal and the cross. Resurrection life is found in the life of the suffering servant who embodied the incredible love of a God, a love that would go to the ends of the earth in order to declare our identity as a beloved and cherished child of God.

 

The Betrayal
In these latter chapters of Mark we find the plot thickens and the pace quickens, and in the opening of chapter 14 Jesus’ predictions of the suffering, death and resurrection are now beginning to come to fruition. Mark uses the contrasting picture of a growing crowd of followers and the growing hostility of his opposers (as Jesus stands before Pilate, Pilate assumes the crowd will save Him, but the opposition instead chases the crowd away) to accentuate the gravity of what is about to happen. But as we encounter the plot to kill Jesus, Mark also offers us a rather stark picture of personal betrayal,  shaped by two of Jesus’ closest followers- Judas and Peter. Mark uses theses two stories to reveal an important truth- that all of this happening according to the “the fulfillment of scripture”:

“As it is written”, Judas will betray him (14:21).

“As it is written”, Peter will betray him (14:26-31)

And as we enter the garden and we find Jesus finally being arrested, his words ring true and clear- “let the scriptures be fulfilled.” 

Unfortunately, following these words we find out that “they all left him and fled”. This is the picture Mark leaves us with on this first “Good Friday”. It is dark. It is lonely. It is no wonder “they began to be sorrowful” (14:19). The road that Jesus is on, the Way in which we are being called to follow, feels incredibly difficult and lonely, and in-fact, it is a road that no one seems willing to follow now that the Cross is being made visible. In Mark 14:27, Jesus describes it as a scattering, a picture of chaos and disunity.

 

And yet in these same words we also find something incredibly hopeful. When Jesus offers Peter’s eventual betrayal as an image of this “scattering”, He is reaching back into the story of Zechariah (Zech. 13:7). He connects the cross to the story of Israel and the exile. But the powerful truth about this story is that, in this same passage God is also up to something good. We find He is in the business of purifying and restoring His people. He is working to bring them back and to unify them once again according to a greater vision for them and for the world. And now we find that this unifying picture, this gathering of His people, is the work of Jesus and the Cross.

 

As Jesus says to Peter in chapter 14, even in the midst of the scattering he can hold on to the hope that Jesus will be raised up, and that He will go before Him to Galilee. He offers Peter a picture of the covenantal promise of God to gather and bring freedom to all the nations of the world.

 

This is the hope that we find in the cross as the “fulfillment of scripture”, and there is perhaps no greater picture of this hope than the Passover itself, which now becomes the chosen setting of Jesus’ predicted death and resurrection.

 

The Passover

“Discussions of Jesus’ last Passover have tended to focus narrowly on the words he reportedly said at the Last Supper. These are important… But it is the larger context that makes all the difference. “
– Wright, page 171 (The Day the Revolution Began)

 

What matters… is that Jesus chose Passover to do what had to be done and indeed to suffer what had to be suffered. This alone already tells us that he had in mind a highly dramatic and story-laden climax to his public career; this, it seems, was how he believed Israel’s God would become king.”
– Wright, page 180 (The Day the Revolution Began)

 

If the whole temple scene of Mark 11:12-18 brings us back to Moses’ confrontation with Pharaoh (as Wright goes on to suggest), the Passover itself pushes us straight into the heart of the slavery and exile itself. And the point here is two fold. The exile persists as a picture of a people longing to be freed but never being truly freed, both from their oppressors and from their own idolatry. By setting the cross in the event of the Passover, Jesus declares that there is hope, there is freedom still to be found.

As Wright wonderfully points out, what follows the exodus, what is at the heart of the exodus, is the building of the tabernacle. This is the defining moment of this story. A place where God will dwell within the world and amongst His people. It is a precursor of the temple that is soon to be built, and after all this talk of and time spent in the temple in Mark chapter 11-13, Jesus now uses the Passover itself to explain the significance of what is about to happen- on the cross Jesus is erecting a new tabernacle, a new temple, one that will signify the presence of God dwelling in their midst once again. It is a story of a God who is calling His people back from the scattering once and for all. In a story where exile has led to exile, and the promise of their exodus feels frustratingly incomplete and broken all these years later, Jesus now points to the Cross and His resurrection as the means by which God will usher in the promised new Kingdom that they have been waiting for.

 

As Jesus stands in the shadow of the cross, it is the promise of resurrection that becomes the light that creates the shadow. This is the Way He must travel and the Way we are called to follow, but we must not lose sight of the fact that this is the Way into the coming Kingdom, into the light. The Kingdom of God in Mark is a Kingdom that is being built on the person and ministry of Jesus, with stones that cannot be overthrown. It is being built on the example of a servant who is giving up his life in order to bring the new Kingdom, the restored creation to all nations and all people who can now see and hear the truth about who truly are as a part of this restored creation- beloved and cherished children of God.

 

 

The New Kingdom

“Are you the King of the Jews”
-Mark 15:2

Who are you? Who am I? Who is this?

These are the questions that have been following Jesus throughout His ministry. These are the questions that now follow Jesus to the cross. These become the questions of the court and trial themselves, and as readers these are the questions that Mark continues to see as the most important for us to ask. Who is Jesus, and what did He come to do? And it is here that the truth, the plot twist that Mark lets his readers in on during his earlier chapters, now catches up with his characters. In this case, namely a centurion who finds himself taken aback by the reality of what is unfolding right in front of him:

“Truly this man was the Son of God!” (Mark 15:39)

Not simply the son of David, but the son of David’s Lord.

And it is in this place, in the shadow of the cross, and in the light of the coming resurrection, that Israel finds its new King- a King for the world, a ruler for the coming Kingdom of God that is being built in the here and the now. And in the centre of this kingdom a new temple is being built, a temple in which the curtain has been torn and the presence of God is being made visible. This new temple is to be the hope for the world, the true expression of God with us and for us.

A Hope Found In Unlikely Places
The cross itself remains the most shocking part of this story. As the story is placed firmly in its Jewish context, it is this idea of a suffering Lord and a single resurrection happening in the middle of history (as Wright puts it) that shook up the Messianic expectation that informed it. And as we enter into this Easter weekend, it is this same idea that looks to shake up our own expectations.

And here is the great realization that comes with seeing Jesus hanging on the cross- the Gospel is a hope for the world and the fulfillment of a promise made to the exiled community of God’s people, but it is also intimately concerned with our own story, with us- Jew or Gentile. And to help us to see this more clearly, Mark offers us some intimate portraits of individuals who emerge at this point in his narrative from the most unlikely of places:

 Joseph:

Joseph of Artimathea, a respected member of the Council, who was also himself looking for the kingdom of God…” 15:43

This is such an interesting story. Joseph seems to come out of nowhere to play a significant role in the Passion narrative. Mark wants us, as readers, to be aware that it was this man named Joseph, whom Matthew describes as a rich man and whom both authors describe as respected member of the Jewish council, who was the first one to approach Jesus in the aftermath of His death, choosing to go out of his way to get Jesus off the cross and to give Him a proper burial.

What is fascinating about this story is this little bit of information that Mark provides us about Joseph’s motivation- He was a respected member of Council “who was also himself looking for the kingdom of God”.

 

There are a few standing theories about who this Joseph was, but the one that captures my attention the most is connected to Matthew’s description of him being a “rich man”. I wonder whether this was the same “rich young man” that we meet in Mark 10:17-31, the one who came to Jesus and went away disheartened. I also remain curious whether this is the same “young man” who we see following Jesus in Mark 14:51-52 before slipping off into the shadows. The inclusion of the detail of the linen cloth, which resurfaces in the story of Joseph, is at the very least curious.

 

But here is why I like this theory, even if there is no way to know if it is actually true. That this rich young man continued to look, to pursue, to seek Jesus and the coming Kingdom is a rather amazing thought to consider. That Jesus used this rich young man to make a point about how difficult it is, how impossible it would be, to enter the Kingdom of God on our own efforts, on our terms, and then to find Mark using this same man to show just how far God’s love will actually reach, is compelling to me, especially as I ponder what the Cross means in my own life. As Jesus said in response to the rich man’s sorrow, “but with God, nothing is impossible”. In the midst of the sorrow that surround the cross, and even when things feel absolutely hopeless in my own life, and when I feel caught in my own seemingly endless struggle with idolatry, it is on the Cross that we discover a hope that knows no boundaries.

 

The Anointing of Jesus- the leper and the woman
Likewise, sandwiched between the plot to kill and the plan to betray Jesus is another hopeful story- the story of Jesus being anointed in Bethany by a woman who is seeking Jesus out (14:3-9).

 

This story is notoriously hard to navigate, as it finds itself caught between competing versions within the subsequent Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John). In three of the Gospels at least (Matthew and Mark remain closely hued), the story is nuanced in slightly different but important ways, with each author using it to serve the purpose of their unique narrative.

 

Now, of course, I don’t have answers as to how these differing accounts piece together. Maybe they are representative of two existing stories, or maybe they are all retelling the same story. But the fact that the story persists in the way that it does, and the fact that each author has found something unique to pull from it as they each consider Jesus and the truth of the Cross, actually makes this story (for me) all the more powerful and significant and integral. After all, as both Mark and Matthew record, “truly I say to you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.”

 

So, in the context of his Gospel, how does Mark remember this story? Where do I find hope as a reader in a story that is seemingly blanketed by such a sense of hopelessness?

 

I find hope in three aspects of this story in Mark. First, I find hope in the house of Simon the leper. Here Mark shares in the spirit of Luke’s account, reminding us of how the Gospel works to reshape our understanding of who belongs and who doesn’t belong in the Kingdom of God. In the moments leading up to His death, the woman in this story seeks Jesus out and finds Him in the house of a social outcast, a leper. Her story reminds us that, at the cross, belonging in the family of God knows no boundaries. For Mark, the Cross is the ultimate expression of Jesus Himself and the ministry God has been building all along, which is a hope for the world and a Kingdom for all nations. And here, in this story, Jesus extends this invitation to belong in this Kingdom, to embrace our identity as a beloved Child of God, into the most unlikely of places.

 

Secondly, in the story of Jesus’ anointing, in the seemingly unexpected context of Simon “the leper’s” house, I also find hope in the idea that the anointing itself completes the picture of the triumphal entry into Jerusalem. That Jesus’ arrival in Jerusalem and His being declared King finds its royal anointing in such a humble context is a testament to the nature of the Cross itself. We cannot miss this in the flurry of kingship and kingdom language that covers his Passion narrative.  This is where we are able to understand the way in which the Cross is working to reach into our own unlikely places.

 

And finally, I find hope in Jesus’ response to this anointing and the woman’s apparent courage (to enter the house of an outcast, a stranger, in order to find Jesus on the Way). He says, the Gospel “will be proclaimed in the whole world”.

 

While the memory of what she has done here seems to have lived on in the reality of its inclusion in four different Gospel narratives, it is this truth that stands even taller. The Gospel will persist into all the world. The promise of God will be completed in the light of the resurrection narrative. There is hope in the darkness, hope in the exile, hope in even the smallest most forgotten places of our broken world. These are the places that the Cross seeks to align itself with as it proclaims, along with the centurion, that Jesus truly is the Son of God, the King of the Jews, and the saviour of the world.

 

And how amazing it is that Jesus invites us as a community of God’s children, accepted and loved without condition, to drink this same cup, the new cup of his suffering and sacrifice that now shapes us, restores us, heals us and feeds us. It is by sharing in this cup, by remembering the way in which Jesus and the Cross is making us new every day, that we find unity in the midst of the scattering.

So, may God call me, and each of us, back to the Cross this Easter season as He continues to build His Kingdom for the sake of the world, a Kingdom that is weaving each of our stories into a single picture of the love of God for all the world.

And just as Bartimaeus picks himself up and begins to “follow him (Jesus) on the way”, we finally arrive in Jerusalem- the Gospel Way, the Way of God, appears to be reaching its climatic moment.

And it, this Gospel Way, arrives on a colt, borrowed from some unlikely locals and comes echoed in the streets by the words of an impoverished people.

“Hosanna!” they shout. “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David!”
– Mark 11:9-10

Having recently finished N.T. Wright’s insightful “The Day the Revolution Began”, I find myself paying much more heed to the context of these words as the hopeful expression of an expectant Jewish culture. It is, after all, from out of this hopeful expression that we find the hope of Jesus being expressed to the world. And it is out of this hopeful expression that we can also make sense of just how unsettling and confusing it would have been for them to hear “the Son of Man will delivered over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death and deliver him over the Gentiles.”

The Power of The Temple Text
The first place we find Jesus going when he arrives in Jerusalem is to the temple (11:11), and the first thing we find Jesus doing in Jerusalem is “overturning” life in the temple.

One does not need to look far to recognize the importance of the temple in the ministry of Jesus, and throughout Mark’s Gospel we find Jesus moving in and out of the temple in both physical and symbolic reference.

In Jewish culture the temple was incredibly important. N.T. Wright describes it like this:

“When Solomon built the Temple and dedicated it with great pomp, splendor, and the sacrifice of thousands of animals, the divine Glory did indeed come to dwell in it. The magnificent scene is described in 1 Kings 8, which comments that the priests were unable to stand before the glorious divine Presence (vs. 11). This description resonates with what happened when the tabernacle was constructed and dedicated in the wilderness (Exod. 40). The creator of the world had decided to take up residence in this building in fulfillment of the promises made to this royal house. Here was the spot where heaven touched earth, where a “little world” came into being as a sign of the ultimate intention that the divine Glory would fill the whole earth (Ps. 72:19).”
-Wright, The Day the Revolution Began, pages 111-112

Wright goes on to say in this same section that, “the building remained the focus of prayer, sacrifice, and pilgrimage for the great festivals up to the time when the Babylonians destroyed it in 587 B.C.”, and even after it was rebuilt (and ultimately destroyed once again), Wright reflects that even still, “centuries later” the “rabbis looked back on this (second temple period) and “produced a list, with a sense of gloomy resignation, of all the ways in which the Second Temple was deficient in comparison with the First Tempel”, namely in the absence of the presence of God Himself.

“To these questions the New Testament writers offer an answer that is so explosive, so unexpected, so revolutionary, that it has remained entirely off the radar for most modern readers, including modern Christian readers… the moment when that Glory is fully unveiled is the moment when Jesus is crucified.” (Wright, page 113)

It is in the light (and the shadows) of the temple and temple life that we find the history of the Israelites being shaped, not only in the telling and retelling of their central temple texts- including the great creation narratives, the exile and Passover, and God’s promise being made visual in the picture of the promised land- but also by producing a fervent longing in the face of the shadows- namely the persistent story of exile that Wright considers continuing today. And so, as Jesus arrives in Jerusalem, we find Him heading straight to the place of this divine presence, the dwelling place of the most high that once (and still) reflected the means of God dwelling in their midst… and he overturns it. By doing this Jesus realigns our sights away from the state of this gloomy resignation that Wright has pointed out, and towards the reality and accomplishment of His death and Resurrection. The revolution, to borrow from Wright, is about to begin.

And here is where we arrive at the heart of this revolutionary message. As Jesus overturns the temple, he also goes on to speak to the temples (un)foreseen future. “There will not be left here one stone upon another that will not be thrown down.” The state of exile, that frustrating state of sin in the world, persists. But hope, the resurrection hope that formed out of the prophets and their Messianic expectation, will come from an unexpected place, from the foot of a cross. “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone!” (12:10) Jesus declares He is the embodiment of the temple text, written on the hearts of the people and bringing life to an ancient promise that is intended to be shared with the world.

The Power of the Kingdom
“Blessed is the coming Kingdom of our Father David”

In chapter 12 Jesus famously aligns the kingdom of David towards the Kingdom of David’s Lord. Where David’s kingdom remained mournfully incomplete, Jesus, this Jewish “Son of Man” being declared to be the divine Son of God, has arrived in the flesh to attend to their present condition; to do what was necessary to bring to fruition the Abrahamic covenant promise of a new Kingdom made for “all nations”, and the expected restoration of the whole created world. Only, as He enters through the gates of Jerusalem, this King would come to demonstrate the necessary Way of suffering and the Cross as the Way of bringing this to fruition. At the foot of the Cross Jesus demonstrates what it means to bring God’s immense love to all people- to become a servant of all, to become the least so that the least become first. To share in the exile so as to free the people from exile.

A Fig Tree and It’s Fruit
As Jesus and the disciples are making their way from Bethany to Jerusalem, they pass by a fig tree. Seeing that the tree was bearing no fruit (before they were in season, these trees would spring leaves along with the early buds, thus the first fruits would stand as the “sign” of the full fruit that was still come), Jesus curses the tree, declaring that it will never bear fruit again.

Passing by it again the next morning, the disciples (Peter) note that the tree leaves were now fully withered away. This leads Jesus to connect the tree to an important lesson about what it means to have faith in the Way of Jesus, the Way of the Cross. On the surface, the passage carries the obvious weight of judgment. Jesus causes the tree to wither and become useless. It has been judged for its lack of fruit. But underneath the surface of this judgment, I think the imagery of the tree bears much hope, and as readers, I believe we can see this hope more clearly by considering this passage in light of the “temple” themes that surround it.

The tree lacks the first fruits that would indicate it will eventually be fruitful. So Jesus curses it. In Chapter 13, Jesus walks through the temple, sees the separation of Jew and Gentile, and declares it equally “cursed to destruction”. If we see these two images as connected, the withering of the tree emerges as a symbol of the way in which Jesus is establishing Himself as the new (raised) temple. What Jesus is doing in overturning the temple is aligning Himself with the exile of the people and raising to life the work of God’s Kingdom in an unexpected and much more powerful way than they had experienced before. He is the new temple being raised again to new (and expected) life, and this temple, this person of Jesus, will be the heart of a new Kingdom being established for all nations and all peoples, a king coming by way of a donkey, by way of the Cross and the Resurrection of the new temple itself.

 

What is striking is the way Jesus uses this image to speak of faith in terms of an already/not yet dichotomy. As they look and consider the fig tree, they are called to consider what it means to have faith in the here and the now. “Have faith in God”, it says. Or, have faith in what God is doing and is promising to do. The fig tree could only ever be the first fruit of what is to come. Jesus is the full fruit. Jesus will tear down the old temple and raise it up anew. This is what it is to believe that “all things are possible”, to believe that Jesus is who He says He is, and for us as modern day readers to believe that He will one day turn the first fruits, along with the whole of the created order, into a promised restoration.

Jesus goes on in 13:28 to revisit the picture of the fig tree, noting that the leaves on the fig tree signify spring, which means that summer is near. The Cross looms in the shadows, but the day of Resurrection is near. But look and see, even now Jesus stands in front of them in full view. Jesus is here, and He will come again. So let us live into His Way with fervor and with passion and conviction. Let us believe not just that this promise will come, but believe that we have already received this new life in the person of Christ Jesus in the here and now. This is what it means to have faith. And, as chapter 11 reminds us, the way we live this kind of faith out is by praying. And the way we pray is by forgiving. And so we have faith by learning to live into the forgiven and the forgiving life.

A Prayer for all Nations
If ever there was any doubt about what Jesus was doing on the Cross, he lays it out clearly in 11:17.

“My house shall be called a house of prayer for all nations.”

Just as Jesus used the fig tree to point us to the temple, Jesus points to the injustice that the current temple structure was inflicting on the people in its outer courts- the Jewish/Gentile divide. Samaritans, who were recognized as the result of Jewish people mixing with non-Jewish people during the exile- half-breeds, along with other gentile believers and seekers who did not share Jewish origins, were isolated to the outer court surrounding the temple. As an added feature of this time period, it was nearing the Passover Feast, a major Jewish celebration that would have drawn quite a crowd of gentile pilgrims from all over. The city at this time knew that these pilgrims would need an appropriate animal that met the requirements for sacrifice, and so conveniently set up vendors to sell these and other necessities in the outer court along with offering currency that they could use to pay the necessary “temple tax”. So, along with the fact that this outer court was a public area used sometimes as a shortcut or pathway to get into the city from the Mount of Olives (a main road), it would have been filled with people who were not otherwise allowed inside the temple itself.

So when Jesus declares His house to be a house for all nations, what He is overturning is the injustice that the current temple structure was enacting on the gentile world. Matthew replaces “all nations” with an even more specific term- the blind, the lame and the outcasts. And what is interesting about this passage is that Jesus is quoting, as He so often does, from the Jewish scriptures. In other words, as the “now” dwelling place of the most-High, Jesus is simply speaking to what God has been up to all along- raising up a people for the sake of the world as He has been doing through the fathers, kings, and the prophets. Jesus is realigning their vision away from themselves and towards the greater good of all. This is what He has come to bring to completion. This is why prayer and forgiveness are so intimately linked. We pray so that God can broaden our vision of how far His love reaches in our world. As has already been asked elsewhere in Mark’s Gospel, who can be saved? With man this notion of salvation is impossible. With God all things are possible. And so we are called to hope for the impossible to be made possible.

In the life of the whole created order, in the covenant made with Abraham and Noah, in Moses and all of the Kings and prophets that proceed from him in the story of Israel and Judah, we find this same message ringing loud and clear. “My house will be a house for all nations.” In the book of Jeremiah, we find a picture of an exiled community standing at the brink of a new age, a moment in which God’s covenant promise is beginning to unveil Jesus as the hope for the world. In Ezekiel, a prophet who was speaking to the nation of Israel at the same time as Jeremiah, it uses another image of a tree in 17:22 to reflect this unveiling:

“I myself will take a branch from the lofty top of a cedar and set it out, plant it on a high and lofty mountain… and in doing that all trees of the field shall know that I am the lord. I bring low the high tree, and make high the low tree, dry up the green one and make the dry tree flourish… I the Lord have spoken, and I will do it.”

The focus here is on “I will, I will”. And here is the thing. In the picture that Jesus offers us in the fig tree in the Gospel of Mark, the call is to have faith in what Jesus is doing and will do, the same kind of faith Jeremiah called the exiled people of Judah to have in 24:1-10, where we find the prophet using the same metaphor of a fig to speak to what God will do in raising up a new covenant with the house of Israel and Judah (31:31). This is to be a new covenant in which the house, the dwelling place of God, the new temple-Jesus- now takes resident in the heart (31:34) rather than a building. The call in Mark is then to participate in what Jesus is doing by praying and forgiving and living, just as the call in Jeremiah was to take root in this exiled land and to grow a family, get jobs and live life as a people set apart to be a witness to the world and a life that is being restored to its original purpose.

The very mention of a fig tree in scripture would have indicated in Jewish understanding that the nation of Israel, or the temple, was in view. Likewise, whenever the nation of Israel or the order of the temple was in view, usually we find a leader, a prophet, a King being sent to the city gate to echo this new covenant promise. This is where we find Jeremiah in chapter 7, standing at the gate of the Lord’s house, echoing another piece of this passage in Mark as he calls the people to consider,

“Has this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your eyes?” (Jeremiah 7:11)

This same house in which they stand chanting “This is God’s temple, this is God’s temple, this is God’s temple” (7:4) is also being used to execute injustice in the way of stealing, suppressing the foreigner and the traveller (the outer courts), oppressing the fatherless and the widow, and shedding innocent blood (murder) on its steps (7:5-9). This sounds more like “this is my temple, this is my temple, this is my temple”, not a temple for all nations, for all peoples.

And so now Jesus stands on these same steps, saying “I am the temple, I am the temple, I am the temple”, a temple for all nations, echoing these same words in Jeremiah as if to say, “look and see”, the time has come for me to “plant and not uproot”, to “give them a heart to know that I am the Lord and they shall be my people and I will be their God.” They (God’s people) “will return” with a whole heart, with a restored heart (24:4-7).

And it is this truth that should cause us to join in singing “Hosanna in the highest” along with those who lined the streets of Jerusalem in hopeful expectation of what was to come. And now, as Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday approaches, let us keep our eyes open for the unexpected.