Author Archives: Josh Andrzejewski

godsnotdead

God must be dead tired of films like this

I would’ve been content to let God’s Not Dead come and go from theaters un-commented-upon, but a movie that makes $33 million over three weekends demands a response. Mine is: ugh.

There is a moment early in the film that seems to perfectly encapsulate its worldview: a student, tasked by his abusive philosophy professor with proving God exists, includes in his PowerPoint presentation a slide with Michelangelo’s “Creation of Adam” painting. Something struck me as wrong with the image (mainly because I remembered this) and a quick Google search after the film assured me I was correct: Adam’s penis was gone, airbrushed out of the movie, along with any hints of sensitivity, intellectual rigor, or genuine struggle with faith.

I don’t even want to waste any more time trying to summarize the “plot” of this movie, which many reviewers have already compared to an adaptation of all those infuriating email forwards that well-meaning people sent you years ago. The story exists only to create moments in which Josh (Shane Harper) can refute Professor Radisson’s (Kevin Sorbo of the television series Hercules) increasingly bizarre attacks on religion. This probably shouldn’t have been surprising after the opening sequence credited an “apologetics researcher” as a member of the crew.

About halfway through, I began to wonder if God’s Not Dead takes place in an alternate universe. In that universe, “gotcha” reporters are offended that the Duck Dynasty family hunts and prays — not that they spout antiquated remarks about homosexuality; professors are free to date students currently taking their classes (!); Chinese exchange students speak to their parents in Cantonese but text them in English; minorities exist only as potential converts or awful tropes; men and women get into long-term relationships without realizing the people they’re dating are monsters.

But those are fairly trivial concerns and, in the end, it’s obvious the producers aren’t trying to create a sci-fi vision of another corner of the multiverse — they think what they’re showing us is a reflection of reality. They perceive America as a place in which Christians are part of a dwindling group whose persecutors lurk around every corner.

This is the state of affairs that Fox News commentators often describe to their viewers, despite recent polling showing 74 percent of Americans identify as Christian and despite news of actual persecution of Christians elsewhere in the world. This is the world that Sen. Ted Cruz lives in, saying that, due to the Affordable Care Act, “religious liberty has never been more under attack” in a speech at the ultra-conservative Liberty University. In the world depicted in this movie, Christians are blind to the many, many privileges they receive and instead focus all their energy on utterly trivial slights.

What’s worse, God’s Not Dead shows us very little about what it means to be a Christian. If an alien civilization were given only this film and then asked, “What make someone a Christian?” they would likely respond, “Intellectual assent to the proposition that God exists — and going to Newsboys concerts” (or however they’d say it in alien). They might also mention prayer, because people in the film talk about it fairly often, but there’s only one really memorable prayer in the film, and its purpose is to convert someone to Christianity. There is never a genuine attempt at communion with the divine and there is very little concern with helping one’s neighbor (unless you count telling them that God exists) — the two things Jesus said were most important.

Also absent from the movie is any genuine struggle. Josh certainly takes some risks by accepting the professor’s challenge: he may lose his girlfriend (he’s better off without her) and his future career as a lawyer is somehow in jeopardy (although he is in his first semester of college), but the decisions he makes are never really difficult. Unlike the main character in Noah, Josh is certain that he’s choosing the right path at every fork in the road.

Another of the characters [spoiler alert] is a Muslim who secretly converts to Christianity and, in a disgustingly bigoted scene, is beaten and thrown out of her home by her father. A student from China is inspired to talk about God with his father, who shuts down the conversation and tells him to listen to the professor. But don’t worry — the next day they are both rocking out at the aforementioned Newsboys concert. Aside from these racist stereotypes, there are several other characters who, in the course of the movie, decide to believe in God (and go to that damn concert!), and yet, for the life of me, I can’t explain why. They just … do. The writers chose to spend all their time crafting arguments instead of characters.

This inability to recognize people as people is not just bad film-making, it’s antithetical to Christianity. (I am an ordained Christian minister as well as a flawed person, so please forgive me for the preaching you’re about to read.) My faith means nothing if it doesn’t connect with real-life, flesh-and-blood human beings — people who’ve experienced pain I can’t imagine and who draw strength from beliefs I can’t begin to comprehend. I will have failed in my calling to love my neighbors if I see them only as drones to be assimilated to my way of thinking.

Instead, I must seek “not to be understood, but to understand.” I have to work out my faith with fear and trembling. I have to care for the “least of these” by working to provide food and water, welcoming strangers, clothing the naked, and caring for those society deems unworthy. I really need to go volunteer at a Habitat for Humanity work site, or a homeless shelter, or a soup kitchen.

At the very least, I have to start seeing better movies.

noah

Noah makes you think — and keep on thinking

Darren Aronofsky’s epic Noah, which opened this weekend, is facing considerable criticism, primarily from Christians who view it as an unfaithful rendering of the biblical story. Rather than worry about whether or not the film uses the word “God,” I prefer to view it as a successful attempt at the Jewish interpretive practice of Midrash — whether Aronofky realizes it or not — and a meditation on our modern-day limited experience with divine intervention.

Midrash is a practice that seeks answers for the questions that remain once we’re finished reading the stories in the Bible. It explores unexplored details, pushing us to think more deeply about the implications of the text.

“The Holy Scriptures abound with gaps, abrupt shifts, and odd syntax,” writes Judith Kunst in The Burning Word. “Jewish Midrash views these troubling irregularities not as accidents or errors or cultural disparities to be passed over, but rather as deliberative invitations to grapple with God’s revealed word — and by extension, to grapple with God.”

Grappling with God is at the heart of Aronofsky’s film, which presents Noah as a man of faith who, in a departure from the biblical narrative, does not hear directly from “the Creator.” The concern about God’s presence in the film is laughable — even the film’s primary antagonist, Tubal-cain, believes in and despises the Creator, for seeming to abandon humanity. Both men are forced to act with a great degree of uncertainty. Noah is compelled to make certain decisions but has no guarantee that they are, indeed, correct.

I’m glad Aronofsky held back from giving Noah a voice from heaven, because it’s not often that we get one to help guide our choices. Oftentimes, all we can do is acknowledge our imperfections, wrestle with the decisions, and move forward in faith.

The story of Noah is often reduced to cute cartoons about paired animals on a boat with a smiling, grandfatherly character taking care of them. The horrific backdrop to that scenery is the divinely-sanctioned genocide of all of humanity. If I believed the story were historically accurate (rather than an adaptation of an even older Babylonian myth), I would be terrified of the deity it reveals and wonder how the main character could allow innocent human beings to perish outside his Ark.

By filling in some of the narrative gaps that exist in the story, this film actually provides a palatable explanation for how Noah could live with himself [mild spoiler alert], positing that, in fact, he thinks God is calling him not to repopulate the earth with humans, but to rid the earth of them — he and his family included. Further, it shows how much of a struggle this is for Noah and how uncertain he is about what he feels he must do. Aronofsky presents his main character as someone who recognizes how flawed he is and is prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice in order to prevent his flaws from destroying creation.

Here, too, the film explores the ambiguity of the biblical text as it relates to the question of what the Creator has directed humans to do with creation. In the first chapter of Genesis, God creates humankind, giving them “dominion” over all the earth and commanding them to “subdue” the creatures and plants within it. The Hebrew word radah (“dominion”) is used to describe the way kings rule over their territories, while kavash (“subdue”) is used in the context of slavery. Does the Creator want humankind to rule the earth as benevolent monarchs or as heartless slaveholders? The film depicts both viewpoints, obviously coming out in favor of Noah and his message of environmental protection.

In fact, Aronofsky’s surprising lack of subtlety is far more objectionable than any liberties he may have taken with the plot. Consider the conversation between Noah and his adopted daughter, Ila, at the end of the film. He explains a choice he made, and his reasoning is exactly what we would’ve assumed it was. (If I were any more specific, it would dampen some of the climactic tension of the film.) Suffice to say: that conversation is completely unnecessary for intelligent film-goers.

Noah is a film, a story — a character — designed for anyone who’s wondered: Should I take this job? Should I marry this woman? Can I keep this baby? Is this the right college? The right city? The right treatment plan? Do I keep moving forward or try to start over?

Still, this is not a perfect film: the performances by Russell Crowe, Jennifer Connelly, and Emma Watson are great, but the script is at times heavy-handed, the special effects (especially the animals) are nowhere near Life of Pi quality, and the movie overall is weird but “not weird enough.” However, it got me thinking and kept me thinking. For several days, I continued to ponder the moral and ethical questions it posed. This film will bring you face-to-face with questions about humanity’s capacity for good and evil and about the relationship we have with the divine.

Oh, and if you’re hung up on the rock monsters, just know that they’re far from the strangest things found in the Bible.

himym1

HIMYM favorite episodes: ‘Arrivederci, Fiero’

After nine seasons, the final episode of How I Met Your Mother airs in the United States on Monday, March 31. Curiata.com is reliving the series this week by looking back at our favorites of the 208 episodes.

I have always loved the use of nonlinear storytelling in How I Met Your Mother. As the Ted Mosby of 2030 recounts to his kids (who now look like this and this) the epic saga of meeting his mother, he jumps around in time, remembering, forgetting, and obfuscating certain details. The second season episode “Arrivederci, Fiero” is a great showcase for this storytelling device. Even though the episode tells us nothing about The Mother, it works because of its focus on a particular theme and its revelation of complicated characters.

Marshall’s Pontiac Fiero is less than one mile away from the 200,000-mile mark when it stalls out. As the gang waits for a mechanic to assess the damage, they recount memories of their experiences with the vehicle. Along the way, we discover how Ted and Marshall became best friends, how Lily and Robin bonded over a shared secret, and how Barney (almost) learned to drive.

Each of these characters is shown to be multifaceted. Ted is an insufferable snob but is also fiercely loyal. Marshall is a goofy slob who also cares deeply about the proper use of “affect” and “effect.” Lily is usually the voice of reason but is undone by a particularly nasty pothole, forcing Robin to show her decisive, take-charge side.

And Barney, who always seems so self-possessed, is a totally different person when he gets behind the wheel. That is, hands down, the best scene in the episode. From his overly dramatic introduction to the story (“Why? Why!? WHY!? … WHY!!!???”), to his white-knuckled attempt to outrun an old woman on a mobility scooter, to his breathless relief as he rolls to a stop in front of a bush, Neil Patrick Harris nails this performance. (His final check in the mirror is flawless.) It’s a joy to see Josh Radnor, as Ted, delighting in Barney’s freak out — this is a real showcase for the chemistry between the two actors.

At its best, How I Met Your Mother allows us to see these characters as complex people who can’t be reduced to a single quirk or descriptor. By telling a story that spans decades, it gives us glimpses of who they used to be and who they are becoming.

In this episode, we also see Marshall coming to terms with his changing image of himself, from environmental activist to corporate sellout. Self-image is one of the ongoing themes of the show: Ted’s image of himself as a soon-to-be happily married man; Lily’s image of herself as a successful artist; Robin’s image of herself as an untethered, globetrotting reporter; Barney’s image of himself as legen- wait for it! -dary Casanova.

Throughout the series, dreams have changed and aspirations have evolved. In “Arrivederci, Fiero,” Marshall has to let go of something he thought defined him and struggle with the idea of redefining himself. That seems to be a microcosm of what How I Met Your Mother is trying to talk about as a series.

Best Line: “Is it cool if I still light these?”

Best Cutaway: “Hitchhiking Waldo”

Mother Lore: None!

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Choose your own biblical view of marriage

An article published in the Washington Post last week draws attention to the claim in Rep. Steve Pearce’s memoir that a wife is to “voluntarily submit” to her husband. While the fact that this statement issued from the mouth of a U.S. congressman attracted headlines, the idea itself is not news. There is already a best-selling book that posits this idea: the Bible.

Rather, there is an anthology of ancient literature, considered by many to be sacred, containing a couple of letters that posit this idea. It’s important to remember that the Bible as we have it today is not a book like Harry Potter. Instead, it is a compilation of 66 books, letters, collections of poetry, folktales, instructions, myths, and legal codes.

One of my least favorite sentence-starters is, “The Bible says…” because the Bible says a lot — much of it contradictory. After all, these works were written by countless authors and revised by innumerable editors over the course of several thousand years. It’s essential, then, to understand the context in which “the Bible says” something. For example:

The Bible says that polygamy was taking place from the very beginning of the faith, and the practice is never condemned. Abraham, the patriarch of Judaism, had two wives and a slave, all of whom bore him children. His grandson, Jacob, married two sisters and had two concubines. Much later in the history of Israel, King David had at least seven wives, and his son Solomon is said to have had a harem including 700 princesses and 300 concubines. Each of these men was routinely criticized when he failed to do what God wanted of him, and yet polygamy was never something for which they were punished.

So let’s look at the context. At the beginning of a faith intended to spread to the whole world (Genesis 12:1-3), it’s critical for members of that faith to procreate and for their offspring to survive. Polygamy is a social structure that seems particularly suited to achieving these goals. We now live in a context in which very few places in the world — if any — are unaware of the Judeo-Christian faith; polygamy is no longer a necessity. This line of thinking is also pertinent to the conversation about same-sex relationships, which I will not address here.

The Bible says that, should a married man die with no male heir, his brother is to sleep with his widow until she gives birth to a son. This command — and it is a command — is known as levirate marriage, and it is the central conceit of the story of Judah and Tamar. In Genesis 38, Judah is punished for failing to provide one of his sons as a husband for Tamar. In the Book of Ruth, the character of Boaz is commended as a “man of valor” for taking Ruth as a wife after her husband dies.

The law of levirate marriage seems to have developed, in part, as a way for men to maintain control over the wealth within a family; however, it also arose in a context in which there was no social security, no unemployment pay, and no such thing as a homeless shelter. This practice was, in effect, a social safety net for widows and children who would otherwise have no way to care for themselves. In a culture that has systems in place (at least, in theory) to provide for the less fortunate, this practice is truly obsolete.

Before we return to Pearce’s perspective on marital relationships, let’s look at one more thing the Bible says: namely, that it’s better for single people never to marry at all. This idea comes to us most clearly from the Apostle Paul, the author of many of the letters that make up the New Testament. In 1 Corinthians 7:8-9, Paul recommends to the unmarried and the widowed that they “remain unmarried as I am.” Indeed, Jesus himself was never married.

Marriage clearly wasn’t the highest priority for these two men. The context here is that Jesus and Paul lived their lives believing that the final culmination of history was just over the horizon. Jesus proclaimed that “this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place” (Matthew 24:34 and verses following), and Paul wrote that “the Day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night” (1 Thessalonians 5:2). In light of such apocalyptic thinking, dedicating oneself to marriage took a back seat to dedicating oneself to the faith. Jesus made this explicit when he said, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26). Nearly 2,000 years later, we recognize that life on Earth is probably one of God’s long-term projects; perhaps marriage is back on the table.

The New Mexican congressman’s understanding of marriage, namely that “the wife is to voluntarily submit, just as the husband is to lovingly lead and sacrifice,” comes from the “household code” found in Paul’s letters to the Ephesians and the Colossians. Paul’s mission was to continue the expansion of the Church. The “code” sections of the letters are a set of directions for maintaining the hierarchical order of society: women obey men, children obey parents, slaves obey masters.

At the time these letters were written, Christianity was a developing faith. Some thought it was primarily subversive — after all, these people were talking about a King up in heaven, which some of the Powers-That-Were took as a threat to their own authority. Christianity does demand radical change, and so these passages may have been an attempt to say, “Yes, we’re different, but we’re not clueless! We know how the world works.” The way the world worked in the first century was that men were in charge. Perhaps the household code was meant to reflect, rather than to legislate, that reality.

In America today, that reality is no longer uniformly the case. Women have more discretion (though not absolute freedom, especially in oppressive or abusive situations) in the forms their relationships will take. Reading the passages from Ephesians and Colossians, we might choose to focus less on the gender of the person in charge and more on the idea of mutual care and respect: that husbands and wives, parents and children, even, er, “bosses and employees,” are to show concern for one another.

In each of these examples, there is a practice and a principle: the practice of polygamy served the principle of spreading a faith; the practice of levirate marriage served the principle of concern for the powerless in society; the practice of eschewing marriage served the principle of wholehearted dedication to one’s faith; the practice of the household code served the principle of maintaining social order. Far too often, we get bogged down in the practice, without going a step further to discern the principle it serves.

So choose your own biblical view of marriage, but do so recognizing that context is crucial and that the Bible isn’t a book of answers; it can’t live our lives for us. What we need is a faith that engages such a book, a faith that is alive, adaptable, and not afraid of change, a faith that is born and reborn each day. That’s the kind of faith that can show us how to live.

The author is an ordained minister in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) and serves as a chaplain in the Virginia Commonwealth University health system.

For further reading on these topics, check out Unprotected Texts: The Bible’s Surprising Contradictions about Sex and Desire by Jennifer Wright Knust (New York: HarperCollins, 2011).