Prodigal Kiwi(s) Blog

Letting Your Life Speak as You Listen to It.

One of a group of special books I’d recommend to every thoughtful, deep-thinking person is Parker J. Palmer’s wonderful little book Let You Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation. I can’t remember who recommended it to me, but it was truly life changing. It represented the beginning for me of a journey – a continuing “pilgrimage” of the heart; a dark night of sorts; an interior journey – still harangued by the voices of illusion and the ‘demons’ of ego and false self – out of which I daily seek, trusting grace, Spirit, and love to live into a fuller, deeper, richer humanity. 

Reminding me too of the importance of letting your life speak and of a deep listening (in the love of others) was the French documentary – The Look – in which the focus is on the observations, experiences and gained wisdom and perspective of the then 65-year old English actress (Tessa) Charlotte Rampling. 

As I watched it, one couldn’t escape the sense that I was both watching and benefiting from the gifts of a journey taken, a life lived and continuing to be lived fully, self-critically, and deeply. Albeit I’d have to say this documentary feels, in places, somewhat superficial. A fact that’s hardly surprising, and thus it benefits the viewer to the degree that it serves as a reminder that there is always more, because so much about us is mystery, mystery to others, and indeed a mystery to ones own self. There's more to Rampling, more to you, and more to me than what others experience, and most especially than we experience of ourselves. We're always only at the edge of vast uncharted territory when we take the inner journey - though it would seem few do, for it takes great courage and great honesty. 

There is always a becoming, though sadly, for many, this becoming remains deeply stunted and they never become all that they are capable of becoming in order to become more freely, deeply, and wholly human. Palmer, in the book noted above, in other books, interviews etc reminds us why continuing the journey is just so important, and most especially when its painful. 

“In the tradition of pilgrimage … hardships are seen not as accidental but as integral to the journey itself. Treacherous terrain, bad weather, taking a fall, getting lost — challenges of that sort, largely beyond our control, can strip the ego of the illusion that it is in charge and make space for true self to emerge. If that happens, the pilgrim has a better chance to find the sacred center he or she seeks. Disabused of our illusions by much travel and travail, we awaken one day to find that the sacred center is here and now — in every moment of the journey, everywhere in the world around us, and deep within our own hearts.” 

Parker J. Palmer, from Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation. 

Via Len. 

Art Museums are Pointless…?

An interesting opinion piece by Alain de Botton on why Art Museums have become Pointless and what they should learn from Christianity. Here’s how it opens: 

“You often hear it said that "museums of art are our new churches." In other words, in a secularising world, art has replaced religion as a touchstone of our reverence and devotion.

It's an intriguing idea - part of the broader ambition that culture should replace scripture - but in practice art museums often abdicate much of their potential to function as new churches (places of consolation, meaning, sanctuary, redemption) through the way they handle the collections entrusted to them. While exposing us to objects of genuine importance, they nevertheless seem unable to frame them in a way that links them powerfully to our inner needs.

The problem is that modern museums of art fail to tell people directly why art matters, because Modernist aesthetics (in which curators are trained) is so deeply suspicious of any hint of an instrumental approach to culture. To have an answer anyone could grasp as to the question of why art matters is too quickly viewed as "reductive"…” 

Read the rest of his reflection here, plus questions and answers provoked by his book Religion for Atheists, and posed by an imaginary interlocutor: 

Here’s a couple of the questions excerpted: 

“You have argued that living without God is dangerous, can you explain why? What are the dangers?

In my book I argue that believing in God is, for me as for many others, simply not possible. At the same time, I want to suggest that if you remove this belief, there are particular dangers that open up - we don't need to fall into these dangers, but they are there and we should be aware of them. For a start, there is the danger of individualism: of placing the human being at the centre stage of everything. Secondly, there is the danger of technological perfectionism; of believing that science and technology can overcome all human problems, that it is just a matter of time before scientists have cured us of the human condition. Thirdly, without God, it is easier to lose perspective: to see our own times as everything, to forget the brevity of the present moment and to cease to appreciate (in a good way) the miniscule nature of our own achievements. And lastly, without God, there can be a danger that the need for empathy and ethical behaviour can be overlooked.

Now, it is important to stress that it is quite possible to believe in nothing and remember all these vital lessons (just as one can be a deep believer and a monster). I am simply wanting to draw attention to some of the gaps, some of what is missing, when we dismiss God too brusquely. By all means, we can dismiss him, but with great sympathy, nostalgia, care and thought ...

Is it possible to be a good person without religion?

The problem of the man without religion is that he forgets. We all know in theory what we should do to be good. The problem is that, in practice, we forget. And we forget because the modern secular world always thinks that it is enough to tell someone something once (be good, remember the poor, and so on). But all religions know better: they insist that if anyone is to stand a chance of remembering anything, they need reminders on a daily, perhaps even hourly basis…”

The Descendent: The Unconscious Death of a Marriage, Infidelity & Betrayal.

I recently got the opportunity to watch 2011 American comedy / drama The Descendents which is directed by Alexander Payne (Sideways, About Schmidt) and is based on the novel by Kaui Hart Hemmings. In January 2012, The Descendants won two Golden Globe Awards and earned five nominations at the forthcoming 84th Academy Awards including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor for Clooney. 

It is a very good film; one of those very human, very ordinary stories that Payne is very good at translating into film. In that sense it makes for a moving film, one that touches the heart and moves the emotions; albeit different people will bring different life experiences to it; people will identify with all or only one of the characters (husband, wife, children, relatives, friends, or the object of an affair, i.e. the “other person”). Some will find it very uncomfortable, difficult and/or painful to watch. Some with undoubtedly find it therapeutic. Some tears will be shed. Others will just go to see George Clooney. 

I recommend it, as I do those rare films that are able to touch and move us; that are somehow able to partner us in becoming more fully and deeply human. 

Key themes: 

• Marriage.
• The slow unconscious death of a marriage.
• Infidelity and betrayal.
• The downstream consequences, costs, and impacts – in every direction – of infidelity.
• Hope and life post-the end of a relationship.
• The possibilities of relational restoration when both partners are truly awake and can truly see.
• Relational and family dynamics.
• Crisis & awakening. The personal invitations to face into reality; the invitations to change and growth.
• Grief and loss (“loss” and “endings” can be ‘read’ on a number of levels, not just in the sense of “death” as the ultimate loss and ending) 

“…For all of us, there’s a distance between how we are seen and how we see ourselves. ‘T think [The Descendents] is a coming-of-age film, but the guys who’s coming of age is a 50-year-old guy,’ says Clooney… ‘He’s woken up to the fact that all of these betrayals that he feels – from his wife, to his children not really being great kids, to the fact that he’s the only adult in terms of his family – he’s as responsible as anyone else for being there. Then it comes down to forgiving yourself…” Empire Magazine, February 2012, p. 15. 

 

Alan Roxburgh - Moneyball: Adaptive Change at the Movies

Al Roxburgh’s latest newsletter (1-2^nd Feb 2012) offers some useful reflections on adaptive change in response to the invitation to mission and the “great ‘unravelling’ of church life.” 

He offers two questions that are well worth reflecting on: 

• How do we function in disruptive new spaces?
• What do pastors and denominational leaders do in this strange, disorienting new space into which the Spirit has brought us? 

He continues: 

“… I find myself continually searching for metaphors that capture the experience of congregations, denominational systems and leaders in being in a new land. The metaphor of unravelling is one people find helpful. It captures the sense of things coming apart at the seams and, no matter how hard we try to fix things with our existing skills and capacities the unravelling continues. The other helpful thing about this metaphor is that it doesn’t have hidden in it implicit solutions or hints about the where the Spirit is taking all this. It just seems to us that the work of God at this moment is to move us out into these unravelling spaces that disorient us but without providing, for now, solutions or directions. Language such as emergence too often carries an unintentional element of solution. 

One of our primary defaults as well trained North American church leaders [very true of NZ Church Leaders too!] is to quickly look for solutions. We really do want to know what the plan is or what the next steps are going to be so we can apply our expertise and fix this unravelling. But there are bigger issues at stake for churches just now. Solutions can quickly turn to technique, even among the best intentioned of leaders. Technique will generally take us away from the key questions we need to be asking as leaders in this new space. The question we have to start with isn’t what do we do? As important as that is; rather, the critical question is: What is God up to among us in creating this great unravelling? It’s the God questions that are key not the techniques and solutions. This is why metaphors of desert and exile are so critical in the Scriptures - they are not places of technique or solution but places for discerning what God is up to in strange, difficult places.  

Once leaders begin to see this question and get a sense it’s the right one to be asking, they struggle with how this is done when existing skill sets and habits keep defaulting to solutions and fixes…” 

You read the whole reflection here. The film starts in Hamilton (NZ) later this month (Feb 16th).

A Wounded Prophet, Arthur, and the Visionary-Prophetic.

When his family heard about this, they went to take charge of him [Jesus], for they said, “He is out of his mind.” Mark 20-22. 

Mike Riddell over on The Insatiable Moon blog recently featured a fascinating essay, The Wounded Prophet, by Sally Clay. When I read the title I must say I thought of Henri Nouwen, specifically the biography with the very similar title A Wounded Prophet: A Portrait of Henri JM. Nouwen by Michael Ford. Nouwen suffered from debilitating depression (see also the excellent Henri Nouwen: A Spirituality of Imperfection (pub. 2006) by Wil Hernandez). You might also think of Nouwen’s own title The Wounded Healer. Think too of John the Baptist! Picture him in a contemporary urban Western context! 

Anyway, Sally Clay’s essay is well worth a read, and if you’ve had the opportunity to see my favourite movie of 2010 The Insatiable Moon then Clay’s essay will likely bring to mind some of the central themes of that movie, especially as they coalesce around the themes in Clay’s essay. Indeed, reflect on Arthur’s role as a “wounded prophet” (that's Arthur up there on the left). 

Here’s some excerpts from Clay’s essay: 

…I found psychology presented as part of a spiritual process, a psychology of the heart (Freemantle, 1975; Govinda, 1969; Trungpa, 1972). Finally I could admit openly that my experiences were, and always had been, a spiritual journey -- not sick, shameful, or evil. I was already a worthwhile person, right from the start, and there was a way to work with my own mind to transform fearful mental states to peaceful ones… 

…If mental illness is a disease of the mind, what is the nature of the mind? If altered states have value, what is there to recover from? What is our model of wellness? Is it true, as some say, that spiritual realization is the highest aspiration of the human race? If it is, should not that be our model of wellness? How do we recover to that state of wellness? Is recovery for a mental patient something different from the wellness of any other person?

Why do people in mania consistently experience an urgent call to save the world, and call themselves messiah or savior? Is this merely grandiose, or do such people truly hear a call to help others?

We know that people called schizophrenic hear voices. But why do they listen to them? Why in this culture are some forms of mental illness so excruciatingly painful and so interminable? Is illness the reason, or is there a tragic misunderstanding of global proportions? Who is ill -- is it the visionary or is it the society itself? 

… Until recent times, altered states of the kind I have described were an integral -- and integrated -- part of human experience. Among the ways they were incorporated into society were the shamanistic/healing way, the contemplative/teaching way, and the prophetic/leadership way. It is only recently that altered states have been medicalized and stigmatized. It is only recently that powerful drugs have been used to suppress the altered states that once produced our prophets and our saints.

Not surprisingly, it is also recently that society has fallen into a spiritual crisis of unprecedented proportions. In case you had not noticed, we no longer have any shamans or prophets. There may be those who go by those names, but somehow the mental experience that shapes such people is missing. This lack is sorely felt. We are lost now, lost on a global scale. Our world has lost its meaning, and our religions have lost their authority.

Not surprisingly, millions of people today are seeking to reach an altered state in the only way that they know how -- through the use of mind -- altering drugs. We may try with all our might to get rid of the drugs, but as long as we are human, we will not get rid of the need for altered states…”

You can read Sally Clay’s full essay here. I highly recommend it as a meditation written around the core question: what does it mean to be human, to be truly human…?

Reel Formation: The Gift of Cinema

Canadian friend Len Hjalmarson sent me a great little 2010 reflection on cinema as spiritual formation – Cinema Divino by Ron Reed. It echoes many of my own thoughts on film and its importance – see here or here as examples. 

Here’s the opening two paragraphs:

“Sister Rose Pacatte writes for the National Catholic Reporter. In her recent article Seeds of the Gospel in Cinema she talks about cinema divina – a practice of watching film as a spiritual discipline, derived from lectio divina. She mentions Father Benedict Auer’s article “Video Divina: A Benedictine Approach to Spiritual Viewing,” in which he writes “Video divina requires a set disposition which says, ‘This evening, I wish to get closer to God, so I think I’m going to watch this film, which might give me better insights into myself or why my neighbor acts as she or he does.’” 

I’m quite in tune with this idea, though it has its risks. If you enter into a story “looking for the message,” or intending to distill some simple moral lesson, you’re really not engaging with the film on its own terms. Playwrights say “If you want to send a message, use Western Union,” and the desire to boil a story down to a handy tip for living or a high school English paper theme statement may deny us the rich experience of actually engaging with the piece as a narrative, a world to inhabit, a work of art (or at least craftsmanship). The story – indeed, the performances, the design, the film’s rhythms and music and cinematic aesthetic – are not just the pretty wrapping paper to be discarded to get to the good part, the message. They are themselves the good part, the thing itself, and whatever a film (or play, or novel) may mean is entirely embodied in those particularities. A good story doesn’t say just one thing: it layers meanings and perspectives and contradictions and ideas, choices and consequences, all the complexities of actual life intensified and shaped by the artists…” 

You can read Reed’s complete reflection here. Thanks for the link Len. 

For more resources through which to engage film, I’d recommend:

John Pungente SJ and Monty Williams SJ, Finding God in the Dark: Taking the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius to the Movies, Ottawa: Novalis, 2004. 

I see Monty Williams also has a revised and updated edition of “Finding God” and a new book out in March 12 on discernment. It looks like some of the material I heard him lecture on in Auckland a few years back. Mike Frost also has a useful book which he co-wrote with one of my everyday theology hero’s Robert Banks: Lessons from Reel Life: Movies, Meaning, and Myth-Making; see also: Cinema & Sentiment: Film’s Challenge to Theology by Clive Marsh (film watching, what films do to people, and cinema going as religious practice); Reframing Theology and Film: New Focus for an Emerging Discipline edited by Robert K. Johnston (a collection of technical theological essays – some real gems amongst them); and Reel Spirituality: Theology and Film in Dialogue by Robert K. Johnston.  

The Insatiable Moon Wins Two Acting Awards

What a treat it was to see two of The Insatiable Moon’s cast pick up awards at the recently held 2011 Aotearoa Film and Television Awards (held in Auckland 12/11/11) 

Best Lead Actor in a Feature Film

Rawiri Paratene, The Insatiable Moon

Best Supporting Actor in a Feature Film

Greg Johnson, The Insatiable Moo 

I had the tremendous privilege in seeing both actors work their magic and art out on set, and at the time thought Rawiri Paratene had gifted us with his best performance ever. I told him as much when we chatted briefly at the function that followed the international premiere. In particular I was deeply deeply moved as I watched the filming of the scene where there is a community meeting to discuss / debate the place of the peculiar and the marginalised in the community. Rawiri was stunning. My spine tingled and tears well up in my eyes. 

So, congratulations to The Insatiable Moon. If you haven’t seen it, please do. It won’t be for everyone, but it’s a very special movie – a movie with incredible heart and one that will move you, whether to tears, to anger, so sadness, to joy, and more besides. 

For more on this wonderful film it has featured on this blog a number of times. Here, for example.   

Eustace Scrub and Contending with Our Own Dragons

For a number of reasons, not least the presence of a large Welsh flag in our office (World Cup Rugby tournament in NZ at the present time) I’ve been thinking about Eustace Clarence Scrubb (a sixteen year old boy) who is a fictional character in C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia. He appears in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, The Silver Chair, and The Last Battle. In particular I’m thinking of the scene in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader where Eustice is transformed into a dragon out of his own “greedy, dragonish thoughts”. 

Significant parts of the narrative of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader concern Eustace’s growth – his becoming more human – as he is drawn into Narnia and aboard The Dawn Treader (a sailing vessel) along with Lucy and Edmund, and into adventures that bring him to realize how self-centred and self-absorbed he is; how blind he is to who is and how he is, particularly in relation to others. Part of the story is told with extracts from his diary, where we see how skewed his point of view is. He describes the ship sailing in perpetual storm (though the weather is fine), and portrays the others as foolishly denying the supposed rough seas and refusing to face the "truth" of the situation. One could add, the “truth” of his own life and the inner realities from out of which he sees and experiences, not only himself, but also his world. 

Eustace wanders off by himself when the ship puts ashore on an unexplored island. He falls asleep on a dragon's hoard and finds himself transformed into a dragon by "greedy, dragonish thoughts" in his heart (again, its important to take seriously the role of the heart; and to understand it as more than muscle that pumps blood through our bodies (was thinking here of a lecture Cynthia Bourgeault delivered earlier in the year in Auckland, and particularly the question and answer session where the metaphysics and mystery of heart transplants was touched on). 

Eustace is in constant agony from Lord Octesian's arm bracelet, which he put on as a boy but which is too small for a dragon's leg. Upon return to the Dawn Treader, he is nearly attacked by the crew until Lucy asks if he is Eustace, to which he vigorously nods his head. Being a dragon changes Eustace; instead of behaving like his usual sulky self, he helps the travelers find food, shelter, and a tree to serve as a new mainmast. The problem comes when it is time to leave the island, as the ship cannot hold or maintain a dragon. Reepicheep (a mouse) displays sympathy to Eustace's plight despite the boy's prior cruelty to the mouse and they eventually become friends. 

Eventually, Eustace meets Aslan, who returns him to human form by peeling off his dragon skin and sending him into a refreshing bath. Edmund shares with Eustace his own redemption story, observing that "you were only an ass, but I was a traitor." Eustace improves after this, though he still exhibits bad habits. Isn’t that so very human; to expect perfection in others; rather than to live with the full humanity of others, their struggles, strengths etc? 

For more on the “dragon” scene and the Narnia Chronicles more generally I highly recommend Archbishop Rowan Williams’ “Holy Week” 2011 lectures, which you can find here (downloadable as Mp3 podcasts). The titles of each lecture were: 'Not a tame lion', 'I only tell you your own story' and 'Bigger inside than outside'

 

Of God’s and Men – Finally!

Recently I finally got to see the award-winning film Of Gods and Men on the big screen. It’s in my top 5 movies of the decade (2000 to 2010). Based on the true story of a small group of Cistercian monks who inhabit the Notre-Dame de l’Atlas monastery in the Atlas mountains near Tibhirine south west of Algiers in northern Algeria it examines links between French and Islamic culture; and too some degree, between Christianity and Islam. I’m halfway through the book-length account of the story behind the film. It’s titled: The Monks of Tibhirine: Faith, Love, and Terror in Algeria by American journalist John W. Kiser. The now-abandoned monastery is located near Medea, 70 km south of Algiers. “…The monks had worked among the people in the poor district. They had provided free medical care, a service that is deeply missed by the locals…” according to the Catholic News Agency. 

Sitting in a dark theatre was a truly special experience, from the script to the cinematography, to the acting, to the soundtrack – everything worked. I loved it and was profoundly moved through a range of feelings and emotions. It’s a movie that can be ‘read’ on so many levels. It’s a profoundly human story, while also a story of friendship, community and of interdependence – in this case between the monastery and the village of Tibhirine. It’s also a story of “interiors and interiority” wrapped in a message of peace. Surely a message that is desperately needed today. Br. Jean-Pierre (age 87), one of the two survivors has said of the film that it is “an icon”. 

In many ways this is a classical and profoundly modest film, and perhaps that’s an important reason why the film really touches and moves you. There’s something about its portrayal of a full range of human emotion in the face of which, for many of us, the unrest and tension would be a sufficient reason to sever connection with relationships and place. They beautifully transition through anxiety, fear, and deep inner anguish to a place of deep rootedness, trust, and commitment. They resist every urge in their bodies which whispers to them that they should leave; or that independence is more important and transformative than interdependence, relationship, love of God and neighbour, belonging, and community. Truly important and subversive messages at a time in our Western culture(s) where everything is disposable and every person and relationship can be thrown away when the circumstances of life, inside and outside of us demand that we stretch, change, and grow. The monks of Tibhirine face into their fear and in the process create something truly beautiful, truly human against a backdrop of dehumanisation. Its a profound reminder that love is not a feeling; its an action; its actions.  

So much resonated with my own experiences of regularly being in a monastery within the Trappist / Cistercian tradition.

From the Film: 

Reading at Meal (34:22) 

“Accepting our powerlessness and our extreme poverty is an invitation, an urgent appeal to create with others relationships not based on power. Recognizing my weaknesses, I accept those of others. I can bear them; make them mine in imitation of Christ. 

Such an attitude transforms us for our mission. Weakness in itself is not a virtue, but the expression of a fundamental reality, which must constantly be refashioned by faith, hope and love. The apostles’ weakness is like Christ’s, rooted in the mystery of Easter and the strength of the spirit. It is neither passivity nor resignation. It requires great courage and incites one to defend justice and truth and to denounce the temptation of force and power…” 

This excerpt from the films script (above) is courtesy of a really helpful study guide for the film produced by Christopher Page (he’s written a few really helpful study guides for church or Christian communities with which to accompany films). You can find a PDF of the study guide here.

A written interview with the films director can be found here.  Some of you may also be interested in this essay: “When an A-Dieu Takes on a Face”: The Last Testament of Christian de Chergé, O.C.S.O (PDF) by Karl A. Plank.

 

 

Layers: A Poem by Stanley Kunitz

On my bookshelf I have a first edition copy of Stanley Kunitz’s The Collected Poems. I haven’t pulled it down from the shelf for a while, but yesterday I received a poem from a person I no nothing about; a person named “Jane” who left a comment and a poem on yesterday’s post.

On the back cover of The Collected Poems is a black and white photograph of Kunitz (died, aged 100 14^th May 2006). I hadn’t heard of Kunitz, but I brought the book on the basis of the photograph. I love the picture of Kunitz. He must be in his early 80’s – weathered, worn, but with a twinkle in his eyes, a gentleness, and openness to life, and the beginnings of a smile. It looks like he’s been gardening. Beneath the photograph is a quote from Kunitz who reflects:

“…The poem comes in the form of a blessing – ‘like rapture breaking on the mind,’ as I tried to phrase it in my youth. Through the years I have found this gift of poetry to be life-sustaining, life-enhancing, and absolutely unpredictable. Does one live, therefore, for the sake of poetry? No, the reverse is true: poetry is for the sake of the life.”

On page 217 is the poem Layers. It’s the poem Jane gifted to me yesterday.

Layers by Stanley Kunitz

“I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was, though some principle of being abides, from which I struggle not to stray. When I look behind, as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey, I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon and the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp-sites, over which scavenger angels wheel on heavy wings. 
Oh, I have made myself a tribe out of my true affections, and my tribe is scattered! How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses? In a rising wind the manic dust of my friends, those who fell along the way, bitterly stings my face, Yet I turn, I turn, exulting somewhat, with my will intact to go wherever I need to go, and every stone on the road precious to me. In my darkest night, when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice directed me: 
“Live in the layers, not on the litter.” Though I lack the art
to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations is already written. I am not done with my changes.”