Opinion


Image result for black roseHowever you complete the sentence above, the point is the same—it’s not the name, but the nature that matters. People have been arguing for years that the word ‘evangelical’ is a hindrance to the evangelical cause, and Tony Campolo is one of the most recent, according to Ian Paul at Christian Today. Paul’s comment:

I wonder how much difference it makes to non-Christians for us to say to them “Oh, I’m not a horrible Christian like those miserable evangelicals! No, I am a nice kind of Christian – you can trust me!” I am not sure that those outside the Christian faith find it quite so easy to draw these neat lines – and I am pretty sure that God doesn’t.

Campolo believes Evangelicals would be better Christians if they restricted their attribution of divine authority to the ‘red letters’ in the Bible—to the words of Jesus, which are printed in red in some editions. Paul points out the fatal consequences of doing that, here, and ends by saying

To be evangelical means to see the Bible, rightly interpreted, as the supreme authority in matters of life and faith. If my fellow evangelicals are giving the family a bad name by their misreading, then I need to stay in the family and have the conversation. And, guess what? There are some red letters about that: “If a brother or sister sins, go and point out the fault, just between the two of you. If they listen to you, you have won them over” (Matthew 18:15).

To all of which I say ‘Amen.’ The only thing I would change would be to delete the words ‘rightly interpreted’. No one chooses a wrong interpretation, even when they are interpreting wrongly, and since God’s word achieves God’s purposes, those of us who believe our interpretation is right and another’s wrong can trust that God will be at work even in someone who is misunderstanding His word. It’s only when we believe that the Bible, or even a part of it like the part only ever printed in black, is the word of man rather than the word of God that we are no longer interpreting, but editing, and therefore subjecting God’s word to our own judgement.

A common word heard a generation or two ago was, “The pew cannot rise higher than the pulpit.” The idea that the herald of the gospel must be soaked in a regular regimen of study and prayer in order to present the congregation mature in the sight of God is easily lost in the weekly pressures of parish ministry. Just as preparing a balanced, nutritious sermon takes forethought and space for the word to work first on the preacher’s heart and then be able to be conveyed with authenticity, so the spiritual life of leaders is not like the turning on or off of a light switch, but is something rather to be cultivated.

Author Ruth Haley Barton is a practitioner of wisdom and spiritual discernment. Several years ago her book Pursuing God’s Will Together: A Discernment Practice for Leadership Groups caught my attention. I was feeling a sense that our parish leadership wasn’t going into the depths. I lamented that I couldn’t address this very well out of my own reservoir, shallow as it so often was. But, just as Jesus summoned the early disciples to put out into the deep, it felt that we were much too content with fishing the shallows. And I was with them, although I knew that deeper water summoned.

The question was: were we content with our vestry being a board of directors or, in some fashion, were we being called to a place of spiritual eldership? In our case, we had already committed to becoming a learning community. That is to say, we would take the first forty-five minutes of our monthly meetings to discuss an article or a chapter from a book that we were reading together and apply it to our church, Saint Gabriel’s. These discussions were often fruitful, and I would take the ideas back to the staff or work on them in my mind over the coming month. And yet, it also seemed as if this, too, was artificial and that we could either take it or leave it. In other words, there wasn’t yet a collective conviction that we were operating as a Spirit-led community with certain non-negotiable assumptions about being spiritual elders.

Barton asks whether our approach to decision making is different in the church from secular models. Is there more to becoming a church with a biblical eldership than “the perfunctory prayers that bookend the meeting”? Does our community life mean something, does it have its own integrity, independent of the financial statements, ministry reports, and “arguing over the cost of sharpening the lawnmower blades,” as one my clergy colleagues memorably put it?  If so, how do we become that kind of community?

One thing we know is that becoming a community of spiritual discernment differs dramatically from throwing on a light switch. Further, we also know that corporate leadership discernment around God’s will presumes that each person who is called to be a spiritual elder carries the potential—and responsibility—in his or her individual life to cultivate a receptivity to the Spirit of the Lord.

In other words, if corporate leadership is “the capacity to recognize and respond to the presence and activity of God as a leadership group relative to the issues we are facing,“ (italics, Barton original) it is what happens in the in-between time, the ordinary time, in individual hearts that make up the corporate body, that allows discernment to be, truly, corporate. The practices, the rules of life, the habits of the heart—the prayer, daily office, sustained Bible study, times of meditation or centering prayer—these practices till the soil of the individual in such a way that when we come together, we can practice corporate leadership discernment and fulfill our calling as spiritual elders for our congregation.
At Saint Gabriel’s we are novice step-takers, to be sure. We do not always hold up well, necessarily, as a model. But now we have the conviction that unless we do this as a body of leaders, the pew cannot rise higher than the board room. If we rest content with the shallows, the potential of Christ’s calling in us will remain just that, potential.

“One thing have I asked of the Lord; one thing I seek; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.”—Psalm 27:5

Christopher Ditzenberger, Rector, Saint Gabriel the Archangel Episcopal Church
Cherry Hills Village, Colorado

Just finished browsing the latest issue of the Journal of Theological Studies, and found much to be thankful for. Of particular interest to the readers of this blog will be more reminders that the most reliable sources for knowledge of what Jesus actually did and said remain Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. This has been generally admitted by academic scholarship for some time, but has yet to percolate into the press, most seminaries, and too many pulpits. I find myself having to challenge the idea that it’s been conclusively proved that the New Testament was all made up in order to repress true Christianity two or three times a year; if you don’t, you’re shirking your duties.

So it’s great to read, for instance, that the latest and most authoritative commentary on the Gospel of Thomas confirms that ‘any relevance to historical Jesus research is negligible’ (p 805), and that ‘agreement in substance between… scholars with distinct perspectives may be indicative of the emergence of a majority opinion that considers the use of apocryphal gospels in historical Jesus research to be problematic’ (p 765).

Which isn’t to say that the early church wasn’t almost as theologically diverse as some would like to think; but it does confirm that Christians have been right to use the canonical gospels in order to discover what Jesus actually taught rather than what He was believed to have taught. It’s also good to be reminded that even this real diversity was less threatening to orthodox contemporaries than the revisionists try to convince us. Even that hammer of heretics, Irenaeus, ‘spent considerable energy urging the church, especially in Rome, to preserve its toleration for diversity’ (p 817).

Finally, news of a new book on the relationship between Science and Christianity by a Professor of Physics at Oxford University asserting in the most vigorous terms, which the reviewer found quite persuasive, that ‘the pursuit of science is a natural and important aspect of what it means to be a follower of Jesus of Nazareth’ (p 898). The writer, Andrew Steane, not only believes in the resurrection, but considers that the other miracles can be believed ‘on the basis of reliable testimony’, and argues that miracles do not contradict the findings of even the most up to date science (ibid). The title is Faithful to Science, and I can’t wait to read it.

Happy Thanksgiving!

21st-century Europe has only itself to blame for the mess it is now in. For surely nowhere in the world has devoted more resources to the study of history than modern Europe. When I went up to Oxford more than 30 years ago, it was taken for granted that in the first term of my first year I would study Gibbon. It did no good. We learned nothing that mattered. Indeed, we learned a lot of nonsense to the effect that nationalism was a bad thing, nation-states worse, and empires the worst things of all. “Romans before the fall,” wrote Ward-Perkins in his “Fall of Rome,” “were as certain as we are today that their world would continue for ever substantially unchanged. They were wrong. We would be wise not to repeat their complacency.”

Read it all here

Swaddling ClothesWhen I was a small child, I was much impressed by the fact that the baby Jesus was wrapped in ‘swaddling clothes’. My mother’s explanation that this just meant that Jesus was wrapped up tightly in a cloth or blanket, and that this was something done with all babies because it made them feel good, clearly wasn’t correct (although at the time I was too polite to contradict my mother). After all, the angel told the shepherds ‘this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes’; how could they be a sign, if all babies wore them? Swaddling clothes must be the dress appropriate for the Saviour of the World, just as sheep’s clothing was the correct attire for false prophets, soft raiment for those who live in kings’ houses, and long robes for the Scribes and the Pharisees. The woman with an issue of blood who sought to be healed un-noticed by touching the hem of Jesus’s garment knew what she was doing.

In our house when our children were growing up, Christmas was a time for pyjamas. They wore them till dinner time on Christmas Day, and the entire day on Boxing Day, and it was one of the things they most loved about Christmas. That seems more appropriate now than it ever did, and I may do the same this year. Just before the outbreak of the second World War, a Cambridge professor suggested that if Hitler and Mussolini would wear carpet slippers rather than riding boots, the world would be a lot better off. His tongue was in his cheek, no doubt, but his instinct was as sound as that of the woman with the issue of the blood, and Jesus said that her faith made her whole. Pyjamas are probably the closest thing we have to garments of peace, clothes we only wear when we feel safe and secure, and therefore an appropriate acknowledgement of the angels’ proclamation of peace on earth at the birth of the Saviour.

When Isaiah proclaimed the acceptable year of the LORD, he concluded by saying I will greatly rejoice in the LORD, my soul shall be joyful in my God; for he hath clothed me with the garments of salvation, he hath covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decketh himself with ornaments, and as a bride adorneth herself with her jewels. Let my pyjamas symbolise all that this Christmas!

Christmas blessings to all

People of the WayThe diocese in which I live (Pittsburgh) was recently visited by Dwight Zscheile, author of People of the Way: Renewing Episcopal Identity. In the book, Zscheile describes our ‘establishment’ past and its legacy, and urges us to put it out of our minds and seek a new way of being the church. Our bishop had recommended the book earlier this year, and there have been many groups studying it since. The parish of St Andrew’s, Highland Park, led by our regular contributor Bruce Robison, invited Dwight to come and speak about it, and various other members of the diocese to give their responses to the book. I was asked to give an evangelical response.

My general response is that our study of the book has been very productive, not only in thinking about how we witness to Christ in the world, but about the role Evangelicals could play in that, and I commend the book to Episcopalians of all sorts. Click on the picture above if you’d like to buy a copy. My particular response, or at least the notes from which I spoke, follows:

Evangelicals are a tiny minority as far as US Anglicanism is concerned, and not well known even in this diocese, despite the casual way the term has been used in recent years, so I hope some of what I say will be interesting, even if you can’t agree with a word of it. There are lots of things in Dr Z’s book, not to mention his talk last night, that I would cheerfully second; he says many things that Evangelicals have been saying for generations. But that would make a boring talk, so instead I’ll concentrate on the areas about which Evangelicals would want to say a bit more, or be a bit more specific.

The first concerns our establishment past. He is spot-on in his assessment of that past—if it is past—and its continuing influence; I could even make a case that he does not go far enough in his rejection of some aspects of that legacy, but there are also some good things about establishment, at least in its original form, that we have already tossed out, and which I think it would be good to recover and nourish rather than reject. Let me just mention the one that has been most important to Evangelicals over the years.

The original form of establishment was the establishment by law of the Church of England, in England and in many of the American colonies, and the most important thing about this establishment was that it guaranteed a place in the church for a wide variety of approaches to Christianity, at least after Parliament began to rein in the authority of kings over the church. After Parliament took control of the C of E in the 17th century, a control which it exercises to this day, the church was accountable to a body representative of the whole nation, and not to the arbitrary government of a single person. The church had no choice but to cater to the whole range of English Christianity. Wise kings had always been sensitive to that; that’s why Henry VIII, about as authoritative a king as you can get, had Parliament establish his authority over the church. And during the period of active royal supremacy all the monarchs except Mary and Charles I respected the broad church principle to some extent, but none of them as much as Parliament. Establishment meant you could be as Catholic or as Protestant as you liked, as long as you were willing to be in a church where there were both. By the 17th century you could even be as sceptical as you liked about traditional Christian teaching, as long as you didn’t publicly contradict it. The king could only have his own understanding of Christianity; Parliament had them all. Because the church was legally established, it had to make room in it for all those under the protection of the law, no matter what they believed or didn’t. Even after the existence of separate denominations became legal in 1689, those who broke away from the C of E to form those denominations were only a tiny minority of the traditions they represented. The great majority of Puritans, for instance, did not leave the Church of England when they had the opportunity. They stayed in the Church of England because the church had to put up with them, and who knows what you might be in for if you leave and join a church accountable only to the minister or the current congregation? Anglican Evangelicals are the descendants of those non-separating Puritans. It was the rôle of Parliament in the church that made the diversity of the C of E possible, and that preserves it in England to this day. Historically, Anglicanism is not a form of Christianity, it is simply a commitment to a place in a single church for the diverse forms of Christianity.

The Episcopal Church has already lost much of this self-understanding; we are committed to social diversity, but over the course of the last two centuries we have lost most of our theological diversity. Evangelicals have suffered most from this; at the beginning of the 19th century the evangelical wing of the Episcopal Church was very strong, with a dozen or more evangelical bishops most of the time; by early in the 20th century, there were very few left, and the revival of the evangelical wing that has taken place since the 1970s has consistently been described as an alien invasion rather than the renewal of a native species. The Episcopal Church finds it much harder to be theologically diverse than the C of E does, simply because there are no legal restraints on it. Episcopalians have to actually choose that diversity; in the C of E, they only have to put up with it, which is a lot easier. It would be great if we could regard theological diversity as part of our heritage that we not only wanted to keep, but to strengthen. The recent loss of so many Evangelicals, and so many of the more traditionalist Anglo-Catholics, is going to make this even harder for Episcopalians in the future, and that will be a loss to the church. We seem to be quite careless of this; at least, if we’re in serious thought about how we can preserve what little diversity we have left, I haven’t read about it. And I take this opportunity to deplore that.

But, enough about that. Let me move on now to one of Dr Z’s positions that Evangelicals would applaud, but which could use some help from Evangelicals in thinking through, namely that the way forward for the church is to ‘seek the world’s hospitality’, to join in with what the world is doing, in ways we never have before. His chapter on this was one of those places I mentioned earlier where he says what Evangelicals have been saying for generations, and there’s a ton of stuff in that chapter which I would love to see taken up by the church. I particularly enjoyed his description of ‘arcane rituals done by designated “holy” people set apart from others and confined in antiquated buildings’; that kind of stuff will always get a cheer from my pew, no matter how loud the groans from everywhere else. It sums up so much of what Anglican Evangelicals have been working for, especially since the middle of the 20th century, and in some parts of the Anglican Communion are actually achieving. Evangelicals have always repudiated the idea that clergy are any different from any other Christian, before or after their ordination, we have always thought that when we celebrate Holy Communion ritual is to be shunned in favour of a simple obedience to Christ’s command to share bread and wine in remembrance of Him, and ever since the Gothic revival of the 19th century we’ve been telling people that antiquated buildings send the wrong message about the church; although it’s only in the last couple of decades that we have begun to question the idea of having a more modern sort of building set apart for preaching and worship. We heard a lot about this from Mike Moynagh last year when he was talking about Fresh Expressions, a movement which emerged from the evangelical wing of the C of E, although it has quickly spilled over into all areas of the diversity of the church, and is growing fast here—mostly in non-Anglican denominations, I’m sorry to say. But we need to be very careful about how we go about this. First, happy as I am to talk about arcane rituals when Evangelicals get together, I think it is not an appropriate way to put it when addressing the entire church. For many people those arcane rituals, that Gothic gloom, and even that so-called holy person, have become profoundly associated with some of the basic truths of Christianity. And while I think we desperately need to become comfortable as an institution with other ways of modelling those truths, I don’t think it’s helpful to use language which those individuals who like those traditional ways could interpret as saying that they are somehow an impediment to the renewal of the church. It’s the belief that we should all be doing things the same way, that those rituals and all that goes with them should be imposed on the whole church, that is the impediment to its renewal. Those who find their greatest treasure in a vested priest, a robed choir, processions, genuflections and all the rest of it should be free to enjoy them in peace. Which means that the few Evangelicals left in the church are actually a great resource—they’re happy to leave all those things behind and go out into all the different communities that Dr Z and Mike Moynagh describe and be the church there in non-traditional ways. It actually comes naturally to them, and all the church has to do is to encourage them to be themselves.

Another, and more important caution that I have to express, is that we must not make the mistake that so many are making at the moment, and which I thought I saw traces of in some of the things Dr Z says, that a full-blooded evangelism, culminating in an invitation to accept Christ as Saviour and Lord, is not necessary or not appropriate in these external community settings. He quotes a definition of evangelism that I think is unhelpful: ‘that set of intentional activities which is governed by the goal of initiating people in the Kingdom of God for the first time.’ There are all sorts of issues raised in this statement; even the word ‘in’ rather than ‘into’ is capable of enough misunderstanding that I could spend the rest of my time on it, but let me instead suggest that we stick to what for the last century and more has been the standard Anglican definition of evangelism: ‘so to present Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit, that men shall come to put their trust in God through Him, to accept Him as their Saviour, and serve Him as their King in the fellowship of His Church.’ This I think is more useful, because it doesn’t just focus on what we intend, but what we achieve: if our activities don’t actually result in people accepting Christ as Saviour, they’re not evangelism, and we’d better do something else. The idea that Christ is already present in these external communities simply because they are composed of good people doing commendable things has no foundation in Scripture. What Jesus said was where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them. When we join these communities, we have to ask whether they gather in Jesus’s name, and when the answer is, most often, No, we have to start wearing our Christianity on our sleeve. Jesus tells the disciples, when they were discussing what could be called one of these non-church communities, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ, will by no means lose his reward. We’re to bear the name of Christ clearly enough for someone to say Hey, you’re a Christian, yet you seem so normal, maybe I don’t know enough about that, let’s have a cup of tea and talk.

The idea of somehow choosing between Luke 10.1–12 and Matthew 28.19f is also problematic. The very idea of it is against the teaching of the Episcopal Church; Article XX, p 871 of the Prayer Book, says ‘it is not lawful for the Church to ordain any thing that is contrary to God’s Word written, neither may it so expound one place of Scripture, that it be repugnant to another.’ Luke 10, Matthew 28, Jeremiah 29, and all the other relevant passages have to be understood in conjunction with each other if we are to have a biblical understanding of spreading the good news. I simply don’t find the conflict between them that Dr Z does, I must admit. In Luke as in Matthew, Jesus sends us into the world not to find Him but to prepare the way for Him among those who have not yet found Him: He sent them on ahead of him, two by two, into every town and place where he himself was about to come. There’s no point in going if we’re not going to bring the good news of Jesus to those communities. We certainly won’t find Jesus there unless He has actually been invited in. He was specific about that when He appeared to John on Patmos: Behold I stand at the door and knock; if any one hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me. We go ahead of Him, but we only go effectively if the need to get those communities to open their hearts to Him is on our agenda the whole time we’re with them. That means referring to Him by name and teaching people Who He really is rather than whom they have always assumed He is. Paul taught Christ to the communities he founded; remember how when he heard that one of them had given themselves up to licentiousness, he reminded them You did not so learn Christ—assuming that you have heard about him and were taught in him, as the truth is in Jesus. Yes, by all means let’s get out of our gothic castles and into the living communities around us, but let’s proclaim Christ crucified in them. I know we’re all afraid of being obnoxious, but an increasing number of Anglican Evangelicals in those parts of the Communion where they have remained strong seem able to do this without being obnoxious, and it would be good to encourage their growth among us.

The way to restore all people to unity in Christ is by telling others what Christ told us to tell them and urging them to make a response, not to us, but to Christ Who sent us. The Prayer Book baptism service shows us in the clearest, most unmistakable terms, what that means. I’m not talking about the baptismal covenant, which is for those who have already made their commitment to Christ, rather than a guide to what that commitment is. I’m talking about the baptismal vows on pp 301f of the Prayer Book. Before anyone can be baptised in the Episcopal Church, they have to commit themselves to Christ in terms that could not be more explicit. They must renounce the world, the flesh and the devil, and make a faith commitment to Jesus Christ as Saviour and Lord. This is the faith on which Christ builds His church, and anything not built on this is going to collapse no matter what else we do. Turn to Jesus Christ, accept Him as Saviour, trust wholly in His grace and love, follow and obey Him as Lord. It couldn’t be more explicit, right there in the Prayer Book. We have no excuse for being vague about all this.

Although I must say that the structure of the baptismal service doesn’t help. Unless you’re lucky enough to be baptised as an adult, you never get to say these words. When you’re baptised as an infant, your parents say them on your behalf, and when you come to be confirmed, instead of saying them for yourself, you merely reaffirm your renunciation of evil, and renew your commitment to Christ, by saying ‘yes’ when asked if you are willing to do that. Only those baptised as adults are ever asked to say these words for themselves. I’m lucky, in that sense: I was baptised when I was thirty years old, and I got to make my commitment to Christ for myself, and I’ve never forgotten that day, or the effect that saying those words had on me. Words have power: that’s why people who have been living together for years find that things change when they get married, because they have said those words out loud in public, ‘till death us do part’. The words ‘accept Christ as saviour’ and ‘follow and obey Christ as Lord’ should be on our lips in church regularly if we’re to use them outside the church occasionally. We say the creed every week, we reaffirm the baptismal covenant, the part of the service that talks about the life of the community, three or four times a year, but we talk about accepting Christ as saviour once, if we’re lucky—is it any wonder that we’d rather talk to people about joining the church than having faith in Christ?

Without an explicit commitment to Christ as saviour and Lord, a commitment we’re serious enough about that we’re actually willing to talk about it, in those terms, to the people we work with, study with, live with, and even to our fellow-Episcopalians on an occasion like this, there will be no renewing of the Episcopal Church, just further decline and deeper decay. If we want to be used by God for His purposes, if we want to bring rewards to others just by being recognised as Christ’s and given a cup of cold water, we need to get so serious about the baptismal vows that we won’t even care about renewing the Episcopal Church, we’ll only care about following Christ.

So the bottom line from me is this: in our commendable enthusiasm for bringing new people into the Episcopal Church let’s not drive out those who are already there, especially our Evangelicals, because it might just be that what has historically been our least wanted element, is the very one God has kept for such a time as this.

CalvaryA NEW movie making the rounds on the independent film circuit is Calvary, the story of an Irish priest in a church consumed with anger over the sexual abuse of children by clergy. The film has some great aspects, but if it had come with a spiritual health warning, I’d never have seen it, and I think I’d have been happier. So this is that warning, for any readers who might share my fragility.

First, though, some reasons why you might want to see it (I could give more, but I’m trying to avoid giving too much away). It’s well written (by someone who has a real grasp of the gospel), well acted, well directed, set in a beautiful landscape brilliantly photographed, and a suspense-filled whodunit as well as an almost unbearably perceptive social commentary. It’s one of the most thought provoking films I’ve seen in a long time; it made me think long and hard about the church, the society we live in, and what it means for Christians to share in Christ’s sufferings.

The health warning is necessary because its depiction of the sinful nature of humanity is so blunt, and hits the viewer so hard, that by the end of the film I felt as though I had been on the wrong end of the baseball bat that appears in one scene. Don’t misunderstand me, it’s not ‘graphic’ or ‘explicit’, in fact it’s incontrovertible proof that heaving bodies are not needed for the portrayal of sex, or rivers of blood and guts for the portrayal of violence. Hollywood could learn a lot from the way Calvary shocks the viewer. The shock comes at least in part from the fact that the sadism and the perversion is presented as so deeply embedded, and in the sort of people we see every day—including the one in the bathroom mirror. As I say, by the closing credits I felt as though I had not only been physically assaulted but demeaned and humiliated, and I was ready to hit back. I felt as though it had been done by someone who delighted in rubbing my nose in his own anger, hatred and self-abuse; if the producer had introduced himself to me after the screening, I might well have returned evil for evil in a way that would have got me arrested, or at least thrown out of the cinema.

It was this anger at what I’d been exposed to that I had to think hardest about. I couldn’t be taking it personally in the literal sense, I’m not (yet) at the stage where I could suspect the producer actually had Philip Wainwright in mind as he put it all together. But insofar as sin is directed against our fellow human beings as well as against God, it is an assault on the dignity of every human being—we’re all worth more than the face values shown here, no matter what our failings—and it may be understandable, and even not inappropriate, to resent it on behalf of mankind. But, as the film suggests, and Jesus explicitly says, we are called to forgive, even when beaten up only metaphorically, and by a movie producer who doesn’t know we exist. And the angrier we are about the violence done to us, the more important it is to forgive it. The anger of man does not work the righteousness of God. But perhaps it does help us understand the wrath of God against sin: if this is how a close look at sin affects me, when the sin in my own heart is at least a shadow of what faced me on the screen, the Bible’s portrayal of the anger sin arouses in God, Who is holy beyond our comprehension, must be the literal truth. How could He be anything but angry at what His creation has come to?

I wasn’t strong enough to bear the violence that I felt had been done to me as part of my sharing in the sufferings of Christ. I’m still struggling to forgive whoever it was that conceived this film. But it may be that God is using the film to teach me something. I may have been happier if I’d never seen it, but I might be a bit wiser for having done so. In any case, I trust that God is at work, and will bring good out of it. I can’t bring myself to recommend it, but perhaps God will put it to use in your case too.

PS, if you’re going to see the movie, I’d suggest doing so before reading any comments that get made on this post; any detailed discussion of it is bound to include some spoilers.

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