Lost in translation

At the 5:30 mark -

CNN host: Jay, you're a wealthy, single guy yet you still live at home with your mum. How come? Doesn't the bachelor life appeal to you? Having your own space?

Jay Chou: I don't think I'll move out. My parents divorced when I was a kid, and I've made up my mind that even if I get married someday, I'll still live with my mum so that I can take care of her and keep her company. I've been having this thought for many years. No matter what happens in the future, I'll live with my mum.

CNN host: [Laughs] You're kidding!

Jay Chou: Yeah, perhaps there are some cultural differences between Chinese and Western people. The Western kids grow up to break away from their families, to become totally independent and make their own lives, but I think Chinese people are very different. We value our roots a lot. No matter how much money you make outside, you still have to go home because we have this duty, this responsibility to take care of our parents. This is the difference I see, at least, from what I know.


I found this part of the interview particularly fascinating. I had a similar conversation with my British friends when I told them that I would live with my parents when I returned to Singapore. In the Western context, living with one's parents post-university comes close to an admission of personal failure - you do so because you cannot make it on your own. It's also seen as a compromise of personal freedom and individuality, signifying a prolonged adolescence and an inability to fully assume the responsibilities of real adulthood. It’s also seen as a failure of parenting, the failure of parents to equip their children to be independent adults. A recent example would be Matthew McConaughey's character in Failure to Launch. The title says it all. As a single man living at home with his parents, he is like a rocket that has failed to launch. In fact, his parents are so desperate to get rid of him that they hire Sarah Jessica Parker's character, a "professional motivator", specifically to achieve just that.

Almost the exact opposite is true in the Asian context. Asian graduates tend to live with their parents until they get married. In fact, parents are often dismayed when their unmarried adult children express a desire to live on their own (if they work in the same city where their parents live). Parents like to be able to provide and care for their children as long as possible, even when they are grown. Family unity is more important than individual liberty, and generally, the most "acceptable" reason for moving out of your parents' home is to start a family of your own.

Instead of individual independence, in the Asian context, being a responsible adult includes caring for your elderly parents. The Confucian ideal of "filial piety", a respect for parents and ancestors, is one of the most important virtues in Chinese culture. The point of view that Jay Chou expresses in this interview is not considered strange, but admirable. Though not all families would choose the same living arrangements, many adult children choose to live near their elderly parents so as to better care for them. There are also attendant benefits for these adult children, such as free child care for grandchildren, which elderly parents/grandparents are more than happy to provide in most instances. This happily symbiotic relationship is openly encouraged by the Singapore government through generous public housing subsidies.

This is not to say that one approach is necessarily better than the other. Each culture tends to be built around a dominant cultural narrative and the potential ill-effects are not hard to see. Excessive individualism can lead to an overly atomised society in which people only care about their own selfish interests, to the detriment of the greater good. Casual viewing of any Chinese TV series based on a large family would sufficiently inform the viewer of the potential pitfalls of exalting the family above all else. These shows are generally peopled by overbearing patriarchs, unreasonable mothers-in-laws and beleaguered adult children.

Different cultures hold up different versions of the good life and so very often, people are driven into the ground chasing after it. Tim Keller points out that the Bible says that all cultures are fallen (because all people are fallen), and that all cultures oppress. Every single culture, puts in front of men and women certain objects and says, "If you don't have them, you're nothing. If you don't have them, you have no worth, no significance. Your existence isn't justified."

Traditional societies tend to make the family unit and the clan into an absolute, ultimate thing. This can lead to honor killings, the treatment of women as chattel, and violence toward gay people. Western, secular cultures make an idol out of individual freedom, and this leads to the breakdown of the family, rampant materialism, careerism, and the idolization of romantic love, physical beauty and profit.

In Ezekiel 14:3, God says about the elders of Israel, "These men have set up their idols in their hearts." ... God was saying that the human heart takes good things like a successful career, love, material possessions, even family, and turns them into ultimate things. Our hearts deify them as the center of our lives, because, we think, they can give us significance and security, safety and fulfillment, if we attain them.


In Romans 1:21-25 St Paul shows that idolatry is not only one sin among many, but what is fundamentally wrong with the human heart:

For although they knew God, they neither glorified him as God nor gave thanks to him... They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator. (Romans 1:21, 25)

Paul goes on to make a long list of sins that create misery and evil in the world, but they all find their roots in this soil, the inexorable human drive for "god-making." In other words, idolatry is always the reason we ever do anything wrong. No one grasped this better than Martin Luther. In his Larger Catechism (1528) and also his Treatise on Good Works he wrote that the Ten Commandments begin with a commandment against idolatry. Why does this come first in the order? Because, he argued, the fundamental motivation behind law-breaking is idolatry. We never break the other commandments without breaking the first one. Why do we ever fail to love or keep promises or live unselfishly? Of course, the general answer is "because we are weak and sinful", but the specific answer in any actual circumstance is that there is something you feel you must have to be happy, that is more important to your heart than God himself. We would not lie unless first we had made something — human approval, reputation, power over others, financial advantage — more important and valuable to our hearts than the grace and favor of God. The secret to change is always to identify and dismantle the basic idols of the heart.

Tim Keller in Counterfeit Gods,
and How to Find Your Rival Gods

One has only the choice between God and idolatry. If one denies God ... one is worshiping some things of this world in the belief that one sees them only as such, but in fact, though unknown to oneself imagining the attributes of Divinity in them.

Simone Weil

Drag Me to Hell?

Though not a fan of horror movies (I avoid them almost entirely - the last horror movie I saw was the The Sixth Sense and I must confess that it scared me quite a bit), I was persuaded to go to a screening of Drag Me to Hell with the assurance that the movie had received rave reviews.

The movie was full of well-executed thrills and scares, topped off with wacky humour and numerous "gross-out" moments, though it was surprisingly free of gore. The story revolves around a young woman who humiliates and angers an old gypsy lady, who then puts a curse on her. Predictably, said young woman is in imminent danger of being dragged to hell by an evil spirit, and most of the movie revolves around her valiant efforts to avoid this nasty fate. The zany humour and the over-the-top action tempered the scariness of the film, and I was relieved to leave the cinema mostly untraumatised.

I was struck by the film's implicit acceptance of good and evil, the need for atonement and forgiveness of one's transgressions (at one point a poor goat is led out to be slaughtered), and the existence of a supernatural realm - hell included, of course.

The hell depicted in the movie seemed to be typical of most horror movies, full of raging fires and ghoulish souls reluctantly condemned to eternal punishment for the wrong that they did while they were alive on earth. People are dragged there kicking and screaming.

Most biblical commentators agree that the language that is used to describe hell in the Scriptures is metaphorical - hell is portrayed as eternal fire as well as the outer darkness (which are of course literal contradictions). Tim Keller points out that "[t]hey are vivid ways to describe what happens when we lose the presence of God. Darkness refers to the isolation, and fire to the disintegration of being separated from God. Away from the favor and face of God, we literally, horrifically, and endlessly fall apart."

The scariest part of all of this, is that no one is reluctantly "dragged" to hell as the movie suggests with equal amounts of hilarity and horror. We chose it.

In short, hell is simply one's freely chosen identity apart from God on a trajectory into infinity. We see this process "writ small" in addictions to drugs, alcohol, gambling, and pornography. First, there is disintegration, because as time goes on you need more and more of the addictive substance to get an equal kick, which leads to less and less satisfaction. Second, there is the isolation, as increasingly you blame others and circumstances in order to justify your behaviour. "No one understands! Everyone is against me!" is muttered in greater and greater self-pity and self-absorption. When we build our lives on anything but God, that thing - though a good thing - becomes an enslaving addiction, something we have to have to be happy. Personal disintegration happens on a broader scale. In eternity, this disintegration goes on forever. There is increasing isolation, denial, delusion and self-absorption. When you lose all humility you are out of touch with reality. No one ever asks to leave hell [note: as is the case in Jesus' parable of The Rich Man and Lazarus]. The very idea of heaven seems to them a sham.

Tim Keller in The Reason for God

In the words of C. S. Lewis in The Great Divorce, "Hell begins with a grumbling mood, always complaining, always blaming others... but you are still distinct from it. You may even criticise it in yourself and wish you could stop it. But there may come a day when you can no longer. Then there will be no you left to criticise the mood or even to enjoy it, but just the grumble itself, going on forever like a machine. It is not a question of God 'sending us' to hell. In each of us there is something growing, which will BE Hell unless it is nipped in the bud."

The Christian doctrine of hell has never been a popular one. It's one that has often been caricatured and trivialised. However, as Tim Keller points out:

Unless we come to grips with this "terrible" doctrine, we will never even begin to understand the depths of what Jesus did for us on the cross. His body was being destroyed in the worst possible way, but that was a flea bite compared to what was happening to his soul. When he cried out that his God had forsaken him he was experiencing hell itself. But consider - if our debt for sin is so great that it is never paid off there, but our hell stretches on for eternity, then what are we to conclude from the fact that Jesus said the payment was "finished" (John 19:30) after only three hours? We learn that what he felt on the cross was far worse and deeper than all of our deserved hells put together.

And this makes emotional sense when we consider the relationship he lost. If a mild acquaintance denounces you and rejects you - that hurts. If a good friend does the same - that hurts far worse. However, if your spouse walks out on you saying, "I never want to see you again," that is far more devastating still. The longer, deeper, and more intimate the relationship, the more tortuous is any separation. But the Son's relationship with the Father was beginningless and infinitely greater than the most intimate and passionate human relationship. When Jesus was cut off from God he went into the deepest pit and most powerful furnace, beyond all imagining. He experienced the full wrath of the Father. And he did it voluntarily, for us.

Fairly often I meet people who say, "I have a personal relationship with a loving God, and yet I don't believe in Jesus Christ at all." Why, I ask? "My God is too loving to pour out infinite suffering on anyone for sin." But this shows a deep misunderstanding of both God and the cross. On the cross, God HIMSELF, incarnated as Jesus, took the punishment. He didn't visit it on a third party, however willing.

So the question becomes: what did it cost your kind of god to love us and embrace us? What did he endure in order to receive us? Where did this god agonize, cry out, and where were his nails and thorns? The only answer is: "I don't think that was necessary." But then ironically, in our effort to make God more loving, we have made him less loving. His love, in the end, needed to take no action. It was sentimentality, not love at all. The worship of a god like this will be at most impersonal, cognitive, and ethical. There will be no joyful self-abandonment, no humble boldness, no constant sense of wonder. We could not sing to him "love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all." Only through the cross could our separation from God be removed, and we will spend all eternity loving and praising God for what he has done (Revelation 5:9-14).

And if Jesus did not experience hell itself for us, then we ourselves are devalued. In Isaiah, we are told, "The results of his suffering he shall see, and shall be satisfied" (Isaiah 53:11). This is a stupendous thought. Jesus suffered infinitely more than any human soul in eternal hell, yet he looks at us and says, "It was worth it." What could make us feel more loved and valued than that? The Savior presented in the gospel waded through hell itself rather than lose us, and no other savior ever depicted has loved us at such a cost.

From The Importance of Hell

See also Hell: Isn't the God of Christianity an angry Judge?

He's just not that into you

The movie was passably pleasant but what really surprised me was that it was actually based on a book which had earlier been published in 2004. Both writers had been involved with Sex and the City, one as a writer and the other as a consultant. I actually remember this line from the series. In one of the episodes, go-getter career woman Miranda has a relational revelation one fine day, when she realises that she doesn't need to keep agonising over whether or not a guy calls back or reciprocates interest. If he doesn't, it just means that he's just not that into you. Armed with this new-found knowledge she goes round the city trying to dispense this wisdom, but is unceremoniously rebuffed by women who want to persist in their self-denial. "He will call," their friends assure them (despite all evidence to the contrary) and they blindly believe.

Which begs the question - why are we so blind?

The contents of the book reads as follows, and the movie is structured along the same lines:

1. He's Just Not That Into You If He's Not Asking You Out
2. He's Just Not That Into You If He's Having Sex With Someone Else
3. He's Just Not That Into You If He Only Wants to See You When He's Drunk
4. He's Just Not That Into You If He's Breaking Up With You
5. He's Just Not That Into You If He's Married

None of these statements are earth-shattering revelations - in fact one would think that they are common sense. And yet the movie - and the book - seems to have struck a chord with quite a few, which leaves me to conclude that we have an amazing capacity for self-denial and deception. What is patently obvious to a disinterested outsider is hardly obvious to the one who is in the throes of a largely one-sided, intense relational experience. This is best exemplified by the character of Gigi (played endearingly by Ginnifer Goodwin). Guy after guy, rejection after rejection, she persists in the hope that the current object of her affection will reciprocate.

I've been reading a bit more about the science of decision-making recently, and one of the things that comes up again and again is that our minds are extremely good at filtering information to confirm pre-existing notions and desires. We all suffer from cognitive biases. (Try this exercise.) I'm guessing that this is one of the main reasons why so often, we just don't see that he's just not that into me/you. So what's a girl to do?

Personally, I know I'm much more susceptible to relational idiocy when I've spent more time marinating in our romance-obsessed culture and not enough reading up on real love. We so often reserve 1 Corinthians 13 for wedding readings, but how often do we singles need to be reminded that love is patient and kind and not envious, boastful, proud, or self-seeking. Armed with such truth, we're much less likely to fall for any cheap love knock-offs.

And probably the best antidote to this relational settling is being filled up with perfect love. The kind that casts out all fears, that was offered to us first and when we were still wretched messes. Love that's unconditional, sacrificial, unending. Love that comes from the One who knit you together in your mother's womb, who knows the number of hairs on your head, who gathers your every tear in a bottle, and who's etched you on the palms of his hands. And why does he do all these things? Because he's just that into you.

From "Men Behaving Badly, Women Being Idiots"
by Camerin Courtney

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Much of the film's romantic and philosophical posture hinges on Benjamin and Daisy getting together at the right time, and they do so in an entirely satisfying way; by the time of consummation, with Brad Pitt now in full physical glory and Blanchett at her womanly peak, they - and the audience - are more than ready for it. But their passion is all the more pointedly ephemeral due to the consciousness of being headed in opposite physical directions. The necessary acceptance of this fact produces a sincerely and genuinely earned sense of melancholy about the transitive nature of love and life. - Variety

The movie left me with a wistful sense of longing - does nothing truly beautiful last? Perhaps we all pass through this life - and meet here - but once. Benjmain and Daisy only have a few blissful years together - she is growing older and he is growing younger, and they cannot help but grow apart. He leaves before this happens.

We might have a few more years - a few more decades even - than they do. Yet everyone and everything we love is fleeting. Everything is slowly falling apart. Time catches up with all of us and in the end, death rips us apart.

Why does this feel so unnatural? Why does this hurt so much? Deep down, something tells me that this is not the way things were meant to be. This atrophying world can't be all there is. We were made to last. Love lasts.

If you really are the product of a material universe, why don’t you feel at home in a world where you die and disintegrate? Do fish complain of the sea for being wet? Or if they did would that not strongly suggest that they were once not purely aquatic creatures? Why are we continually shocked and repulsed by death? Unless, indeed, something in us, is not temporal.

Tim Keller paraphrasing C. S. Lewis
in Death and the Christian Hope

Never Gonna Break My Faith

Who knew that Bryan Adams - former king of the sappy rock ballad and my erstwhile childhood idol (his So Far So Good was one of the first CDs I ever got) - was capable of writing a gospel anthem? And a pretty fantastic one at that. "Never Gonna Break My Faith", sung by the Queen and Princess of Soul, Aretha Franklin and Mary J. Blige, just picked up the Grammy for Best Gospel Performance. It's off the soundtrack of the movie Bobby, which is about the assasination of Robert F. Kennedy in the early morning hours of June 5, 1968 in the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles, and 22 people in the hotel whose lives were never the same again.

My Lord
I have read this book so many times
But nowhere can I find the page
that says what I experienced today
has any grace

Now I know that life is meant to be hard
that’s how I learn to appreciate my God
Though my courage made be tried
I can tell you I won’t hide
Because the footprints show you were by my side

You can lie to a child with a smilin’ face
Tell me that colour ain’t about race
You can cast the first stones, you can break my bones
But your never gonna break, you’re never gonna break my faith

And hope ain't yours to give
Truth and liberty are mine to live
You can steal a crown from a king
Break an angel's wings
But your never gonna break, you’re never gonna break my faith

My Lord
Won’t you help them, help them to understand
that when someone takes the life of an innocent man
Well they never really won because all they’ve really done
is set the soul free where it’s supposed to be

For those we lose before their time
I pray their souls will find the light
I know that the day will surely come
When His will, His will, will be done

Hairspray (I Know Where I'm Going)

I can't remember the last time I watched a film that was as much fun as Hairspray. One late Saturday morning a few of us found ourselves in a rather empty cinema (11am not being the most popular time to catch a movie), thoroughly enchanted and captivated by this zesty musical about a round, bubbly teenager who challenges conventional norms of beauty and marches against racism in her hometown of Baltimore (it is set in the 1960s after all, the decade of the civil rights movement). Most of the song-and-dance numbers were buoyant, exuberant affairs that got you toe-tapping and head-bopping along in no time at all. The swinging, retro, dance moves were such a breath of fresh air - a much welcome change from all the sexually explicit bump-n-grind that dominates MTV. The people in Hairspray just looked like they were having so much fun moving to the music, while my general impression of the people on MTV is that they're trying so desperately hard to look sexy (more importantly, sexier than all the other people on MTV), that much of the fun has been taken out of it.

All the songs are fantastic, but my favourite one is actually one of the slow songs, "I Know Where I've Been". It's the rousing civil rights anthem that Queen Latifah sings as they march in protest against the local TV station's racist policies.

There's a dream in the future
There's a struggle that we have yet to win
Use that pride in our hearts
To lift us up to tomorrow
'Cause just to sit still
Would be a sin
I know where I 'm going
Lord knows, I know where I've been
Oh, when we win
I'll give thanks to my God
'Cause I know where I've been

I liked that the song acknowledged the profoundly religious roots of the civil rights movement, especially given that it is now fashionable to bash religion as the cause of a great deal of the world's conflicts. Many argue that religion should be relegated solely to to private sphere, while some say that we'd be better off without it altogether. But as Alister McGrath points out, "Why should not people exercise their religious faith in public, and press for changes in public policy in line with it, in a democratically accountable and responsible manner? What about William Wilberforce's refusal to relegate his faith in the created equality of all people before God to the private sphere, instead using it as the basis for his campaign against slavery? Or Martin Luther King's demand that black Americans' "God-given rights" be given political expression, despite the social confrontations this demanded?"

"I know where I'm going," sings Queen Latifah's character Motormouth Maybelle, de facto leader of the mini civil rights movement in the movie. This same certainty colours much of Martin Luther King Jr.'s monumental "I have a dream" speech. As Tim Keller points out, the reason the speech was so powerful was because it was completely infused with the certain hope of Christianity. King had no doubt that his hope would be fulfilled, that his dream would become reality.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed..."

Here he is referencing Isaiah 40:4-5, where the prophet Isaiah talks about the future glory of God, when the Messiah will be bringing God's kingdom and God's justice into the world.

"This is our hope," King says.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.

...We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream." Amos 5:24

The hope that is spoken of here is absolutely certain. When Christ was resurrected, more real and glorious than he had ever been before, he gave us a foretaste of what is to come. At the end of the book of Revelation, we see heaven coming down to purge, and purify, to renew and restore, the material world. This world. And everything sad is going to come untrue.

I know where I 'm going
Lord knows, I know where I've been
Oh, when we win
I'll give thanks to my God
'Cause I know where I've been

The Da Vinci Code

The most hilarious movie-cum-book-review, ever.


The New Yorker
HEAVEN CAN WAIT
by ANTHONY LANE
"The Da Vinci Code."
2006-05-29


The story of “The Da Vinci Code” goes like this. A dead Frenchman is found laid out on the floor of the Louvre. His final act was to carve a number of bloody markings into his own flesh, indicating, to the expert eye, that he was preparing to roll in fresh herbs and sear himself in olive oil for three minutes on each side. This, however, is not the conclusion reached by Robert Langdon (Tom Hanks), a professor of symbology at Harvard, who happens to be in Paris. Questioned by Bezu Fache (Jean Reno), the investigating policeman at the scene, Langdon starts rabbiting about pentacles and pagans and God knows what. But what does God know, exactly? And can He keep His mouth shut?

Help arrives in the shape of Sophie Neveu (Audrey Tautou), a police cryptographer. She turns out to be the granddaughter of the deceased, and a dab hand at reversing down Paris streets in a car the size of a pissoir. This is useful, since she and Langdon are soon on the run, convinced that Fache is about to nail the professor on a murder charge—the blaming of Americans, on any pretext, being a much loved Gallic sport. Our hero, needing somebody to trust, does the same dumb thing that every fleeing innocent has done since Robert Donat in “The Thirty-nine Steps.” He and Sophie visit a cheery old duffer in the countryside and spill every possible bean. In this case, the duffer is Sir Leigh Teabing (Ian McKellen), who lectures them on the Emperor Constantine and the Council of Nicaea, in 325 A.D. We get a flashback to the council in question, and I must say that, though I have recited the Nicene Creed throughout my adult life, I never realized that it was originally formulated in the middle of a Beastie Boys concert.

Fache is not the only hunter on Langdon’s scent. There is also Silas (Paul Bettany), a cowled albino monk whose hobbies include self-flagellation, multiple homicide, and irregular Latin verbs. He works for Opus Dei, the Catholic organization so intensely secretive that its American headquarters are tucked away in a seventeen-story building on Lexington Avenue. Silas answers to Bishop Aringarosa (Alfred Molina), who in turn answers to his cell phone, his Creator, and not much else. Between them, they track Langdon and Sophie to England, where a new villain, hitherto suspected by nobody except the audience, is prevented from shooting his quarry because, unusual for London, there is a gaggle of nuns in the way—God’s Work if ever I saw it, although I wouldn’t say so to a member of Opus Dei.

The task of the Bishop and his hit man is to thwart the unveiling of what Teabing modestly calls “the greatest secret in modern history,” so powerful that, “if revealed, it would devastate the very foundations of Christianity.” Later, realizing that this sounds a little meek and mild, he stretches it to “the greatest coverup in human history.” As a rule, you should beware of any movie in which characters utter lines of dialogue whose proper place is on the advertising poster. (Just imagine Sigourney Weaver, halfway through “Alien,” turning to John Hurt and explaining, “In space, no one can hear you scream.”) There is a nasty sense in “The Da Vinci Code” that, not unlike Langdon, we are being bullied into taking its pronouncements at face value. Such nagging has a double effect. First, any chance to enjoy the proceedings as hokum—as a whip-cracking quest along the lines of “Raiders of the Lost Ark”—is rapidly stifled and stilled. Second, one’s natural reaction to arm-twisters of any description is to wriggle free, turn around, and kick them in the pentacles. So here goes.

There has been much debate over Dan Brown’s novel ever since it was published, in 2003, but no question has been more contentious than this: if a person of sound mind begins reading the book at ten o’clock in the morning, at what time will he or she come to the realization that it is unmitigated junk? The answer, in my case, was 10:00.03, shortly after I read the opening sentence: “Renowned curator Jacques Saunière staggered through the vaulted archway of the museum’s Grand Gallery.” With that one word, “renowned,” Brown proves that he hails from the school of elbow-joggers—nervy, worrisome authors who can’t stop shoving us along with jabs of information and opinion that we don’t yet require. (Buried far below this tic is an author’s fear that his command of basic, unadorned English will not do the job; in the case of Brown, he’s right.) You could dismiss that first stumble as a blip, but consider this, discovered on a random skim through the book: “Prominent New York editor Jonas Faukman tugged nervously at his goatee.” What is more, he does so over “a half-eaten power lunch,” one of the saddest phrases I have ever heard.

Should we mind that forty million readers—or, to use the technical term, “lemmings”—have followed one another over the cliff of this long and laughable text? I am aware of the argument that, if a tale has enough grip, one can for a while forget, if not forgive, the crumbling coarseness of the style; otherwise, why would I still read “The Day of the Jackal” once a year? With “The Da Vinci Code,” there can be no such excuse. Even as you clear away the rubble of the prose, what shows through is the folly of the central conceit, and, worse still, the pride that the author seems to take in his theological presumption. How timid—how undefended in their powers of reason—must people be in order to yield to such preening? Are they reading “The Da Vinci Code” because everybody on the subway is doing the same, and, if so, why, when they reach their stop, do they not realize their mistake and leave it on the seat, to be gathered up by the next sucker? Despite repeated attempts, I have never managed to crawl past page 100. As I sat down to watch “The Da Vinci Code,” therefore, I was in the lonely, if enviable, position of not actually knowing what happens.

Stumbling out from the final credits, tugging nervously at my goatee, I was none the wiser. The film is directed by Ron Howard and written by Akiva Goldsman, the master wordsmith who brought us “Batman & Robin.” I assumed that such an achievement would result in Goldsman’s being legally banned from any of the verbal professions, but, no, here he is yet again. As far as I am qualified to judge, the film remains unswervingly loyal to the book, displaying an obedience that Silas could not hope to match. I welcome this fidelity, because it allows us to propose a syllogism. The movie is baloney; the movie is an accurate representation of the book; therefore, the book is also baloney, although it takes even longer to consume. Movie history is awash, of course, with fine pictures that have been made from daft or unreadable books; indeed, you are statistically more likely to squeeze a decent movie out of a potboiler than you are out of a novel of high repute. The trouble with Howard’s film is that it is far too dense and talkative to function efficiently as a thriller, while also being too credulous and childish to bear more than a second’s scrutiny as an exploration of religious history or spiritual strife. There is plenty going on here, from gunfights to masked orgiastic rituals and mini-scenes of knights besieging Jerusalem, yet the outcome feels at once ponderous and vacant, like a damp and deconsecrated Victorian church.

This is grim news for Tom Hanks, who has served Howard gamely in the past. How does the genial mermaid-lover of “Splash,” or the jockish team player of “Apollo 13,” feel about being stranded in this humorless grind? Apart from Paul Bettany, who finds a leached and pale-eyed terror in his avenging angel, the other players seem bereft. Molina, so violently vulnerable in “Spider-Man 2,” is given no room to breathe, and, as for Audrey Tautou, it is surely no coincidence that Howard sought out and hired almost the only young French actress who emits not a hint of sexual radiation. “The Da Vinci Code” may ask us to believe that Jesus married Mary Magdalene, that she bore him a child, and that the Catholic Church has spent two thousand years not merely concealing this but enforcing its distaste for the feminine (and thus for all bodily delight), but did the movie have to be quite so pallid and prudish about breaking the news? Whose side is it on, anyway?

Behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people, except at Columbia Pictures, where the power lunches won’t even be half-started. The Catholic Church has nothing to fear from this film. It is not just tripe. It is self-evident, spirit-lowering tripe that could not conceivably cause a single member of the flock to turn aside from the faith. Meanwhile, art historians can sleep easy once more, while fans of the book, which has finally been exposed for the pompous fraud that it is, will be shaken from their trance. In fact, the sole beneficiaries of the entire fiasco will be members of Opus Dei, some of whom practice mortification of the flesh. From now on, such penance will be simple—no lashings, no spiked cuff around the thigh. Just the price of a movie ticket, and two and a half hours of pain.

http://www.newyorker.com/critics/cinema/articles/060529crci_cinema

i carry your heart with me

Today I sat for my first quiz in three and a half years. What an odd feeling. Quizzes are such a distinctly American tradition (I managed to escape last semester because I only took seminars, but I'm taking more classes this term.) They take their testing very seriously in this country. Did you know that a "quest" is that which is between a quiz and a test? We certainly took no quizzes, quests or tests at Oxford. Only exams. Big exams. Also, the Spelling Bee is a national sport which many middle schoolers (and their parents) earnestly devote themselves to, in search of fame and spelling glory. All this brings to mind another country which also takes its testing very, very seriously. But in any case, I digress. I mentioned the quiz only because I felt so accomplished at having actually taken one, that after class I stopped by the video store and rented In Her Shoes. (I haven't rented anything since Christmas.)

I rather enjoyed the movie. It's one of those rare dramedies that's mainly about family instead of romance. The core relationship between two sisters, while histrionic at times, was mostly quite moving. In the DVD extras, the scriptwriter mentioned that what she loved about the book was something that isn't just true for sibling relationships or family relationships, but true for every relationship. And that is that the people whom you love best, who know you best, are the ones who can hurt you the most. This is the risk of loving.


It was C. S. Lewis who said: Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.

To love at all is to be vulnerable.

It always amazes me how God chose to love us, how he willingly allowed himself to be vulnerable, firstly in the very act of creation and then later on the cross. For the very relationship of love is premised upon the existence of free choice, without that it would simply be compulsion. So we can choose to love God, but clearly we can also choose to reject him.


This movie will do for the poetry of e. e. cummings, what Four Weddings and A Funeral did for the poetry of W. H. Auden (Stop all the clocks...)

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)


I think about how the most beautiful celebrations of love always carry hints of the transcendental.

I think about how the best aspects of earthly love always echo the eternal.

As Pope Benedict writes so utterly movingly in his first encyclical on Love: It is part of love's growth towards higher levels and inward purification that it now seeks to become definitive, and it does so in a twofold sense: both in the sense of exclusivity (this particular person alone) and in the sense of being “for ever”. Love embraces the whole of existence in each of its dimensions, including the dimension of time. It could hardly be otherwise, since its promise looks towards its definitive goal: love looks to the eternal. Love is indeed “ecstasy”, not in the sense of a moment of intoxication, but rather as a journey, an ongoing exodus out of the closed inward-looking self towards its liberation through self-giving, and thus towards authentic self-discovery and indeed the discovery of God: “Whoever seeks to gain his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will preserve it” (Lk 17:33), as Jesus says throughout the Gospels (cf. Mt 10:39; 16:25; Mk 8:35; Lk 9:24; Jn 12:25). In these words, Jesus portrays his own path, which leads through the Cross to the Resurrection: the path of the grain of wheat that falls to the ground and dies, and in this way bears much fruit. Starting from the depths of his own sacrifice and of the love that reaches fulfilment therein, he also portrays in these words the essence of love and indeed of human life itself. [6]

Anyone who wishes to give love must also receive love as a gift. Certainly, as the Lord tells us, one can become a source from which rivers of living water flow (cf. Jn 7:37-38). Yet to become such a source, one must constantly drink anew from the original source, which is Jesus Christ, from whose pierced heart flows the love of God (cf. Jn 19:34). [7]


i carry your heart with me

i carry it in my heart

The greatest thing you'll ever learn...

Had a really good discussion with my college Chaplain at lunch in Hall today. I asked him if he was at the William Lane Craig debate on Friday (see Friday April 29 entry) and he said he wasn't. He asked for a brief recap. We then talked about how when it comes to knowing God, there's a limit to how far your understanding can take you. At some point you have to acknowledge that it is just a mystery, that your finite mind cannot completely grasp the infinite.

That is not an excuse for mysticism and superstition of course; we should push the limits of understanding as far as possible, but there comes a point where you can push no further. Locke, in his Essay on Human Understanding points out in the introduction that we can't know everything, but what we do know, we can systematically understand.

We are not forever groping about in the dark, because even though we don't know the intricate workings of God's mind, we know his very character and his very nature, as revealed in Scripture and supremely in the life and work of Jesus Christ. And if you believe, we can know him also through his very presence and work in our lives. Because knowing is not just a purely intellectual exercise, but a personal experience as well.

When you reach the limits of human understanding, it takes humility to say, Lord, I don't know, but it is enough for me that You know, all the while trusting in His goodness. I don't know exactly how my heater works (clearly I wasn't paying attention in science class...), but I can feel the heat that it produces and it keeps me warm. And that is good enough for me. Of course there is no need for that now that summer's here, thank God.

Another analogy that struck me when I was thinking about the limits of human understanding. This might surprise you (or it might not), but when I was young I was quite the little monster. And when I was punished for my various misdeeds, I never understood why I deserved it - I had done nothing wrong. Much kicking and screaming would ensue. Including several "I hate yous", which of course I never actually meant. The thing is, even though I couldn't (or wouldn't) accept why I was being punished, fundamentally I never doubted that my mother loved me.

So while I don't understand everything (how exactly does the tsunami fit into God's plan?), I know enough of the very nature and character of God, to know that He loves me, and that He loves you.


Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror;
then we shall see face to face.
Now I know in part;
then I shall know fully,
even as I am fully known. - 1 Corinthians 13:12


This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him.

This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. - 1 John 4:9-10


I remember we spoke about this once, how the Moulin Rouge tagline reads "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return."

When actually, "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is how to be loved, and to love in return."

Because God loved us first.

Good Friday

Watched the Passion of the Christ today. This was the first time I'd ever seen it. What better day to watch it than on Good Friday? The day that we commemorate Jesus' crucifixion. I am very grateful to my friends who came to see it with me even though they'd seen it before - I do not think I would have dared to go alone. To be perfectly honest I think the reason why I did not see it the first time round was that I was too afraid. Most people will watch the movie as a graphic depiction of a historical event. They might not even agree with how entirely historical the events of the movie are. Sure, Jesus suffered and died, but that was it. How could he rise from the dead? Nobody rises from the dead. Nobody except God.

I don't agree with every single part of the movie - I think Mel Gibson overdoes the violence and includes too many bits which are not in the Bible proper but derive more from Catholic tradition. But I believe that most of the events depicted did happen - that Jesus was the Son of God who descended to earth, that he taught widely during his earthly ministry, that he was flogged and then crucified, surrendering his life on the cross, only to rise again three days later.

The night before he died, Jesus ate with his disciples one last time (The Last Supper).

And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.” (Luke 22:19)

Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins." (Matthew 26: 27-28)

Jesus died in our place, taking the punishment that we deserved, so that we can be reconciled to God. For the essence of sin is separation from God and rebellion against His authority, above all else. It is separation from everything that is good, pure and true.

I know that very many people say that they do not believe that people are innately sinful, they cannot believe that people are innately sinful. But personally, looking at the state of the world today, and more often looking into the reaches of my own heart, I always think this cannot be all that there is. In the very eloquent words of Miss Stacie Orrico - there's gotta be more to life. And in the words of the very awesome Switchfoot - we were meant to live for so much more.

But Christianity isn't doom and gloom and condemnation - it's the greatest hope of all. God's love for us is the greatest love of all. Because despite our undeserving brokenness, we are already redeemed.

For a fuller exposition please see: "Two Ways to Live"

I must confess, the reality of Jesus' sin-bearing substitution is something that I constantly grapple with. Sometimes I think that my finite mind simply cannot comprehend God's infinite mercy and grace. I believe that it is only with Jesus's death on the cross that God is both just and merciful. He is just in that he rightly judges us all guilty of sin, but he is merciful in his abundant forgiveness of it.

I recently read a very helpful illustration of what it meant for Jesus to die on the cross that I would really like to share with you. It's a bit long but please bear with me; I promise it's worth it.

Joshua Harris, who's written many awesome books on relationships, recounted this dream he once had.

The Room

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings.

As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed".

The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled At My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done In My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath At My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented. When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't mattered now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared With About My Belief In Jesus." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.

I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished!"

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.


Thanks for reading to the end.