The Communication Cycle

Secure communications during wartime are critical. You never want your enemy to know your plans. The element of surprise can offer enormous advantages. So it has long been routine to encode military communications in order to deprive the enemy of critical knowledge. It follows that code-breaking is a big part of military intelligence. Just as you want your codes to be secure, you want to be able to read an enemy’s coded messages. During WWII the British were second to none in the art of code breaking. Bletchley Park was the home of Britain's codebreakers. The “boffins” at Bletchley regularly penetrated German codes, thereby shortening the war by years.

What is less obvious is that ALL of our communication is coded. Language is a form of code: an agreed upon way of communicating ideas via symbols from one brain to another. If you doubt this, just try reading Sanskrit. You’ll instantly realize that you don’t know the code. And what is true of verbal communication is just as true of nonverbal forms. In one culture failure to make eye contact is viewed with suspicion. We think the person is lying. In another culture to look another in the eyes is a sign of hostility and aggression. And that OK sign that Americans use? In Brazil that’s the equivalent of the raised middle finger so popular with some Beltway drivers.

Communication is difficult and imperfect, even assuming that all parties are honestly trying to communicate—something that’s not always the case. When you examine what’s involved in this surprisingly complex process, you will wonder how we ever accurately get our ideas across to another.

The woman on the left has an idea that she is trying to communicate to the man on the right. The process begins in the privacy of her brain where her feelings, intentions, attitudes, and thoughts give form and shape to an idea that she then encodes into language.

At this point her private thoughts become public behavior, a combination of verbal and nonverbal communication. It’s important to realize that in face-to-face communication as much as 93% of the communication is nonverbal. This reminds us of why, when dealing with an emotionally charged issue, a phone call—or worse, an email—is such a poor way to communicate. When there is a lot at stake in getting your message across accurately, there is no substitute for face-to-face dialogue.

Back to our diagram, the man must now decode—interpret—what he has just seen and heard. This happens in the privacy of his brain. And it all runs through a filter, the existence of which he is probably not even aware. It is a filter made up of his feelings, inferences, attitudes, and thoughts. And there is no reason to assume—in fact there is every reason NOT to assume—that her feelings, intentions, attitudes, and thoughts are the same or even comparable with the feelings, inferences, attitudes, and thoughts of the man. Our language, both verbal and nonverbal, picks up all kinds of subtle and highly personalized connotations during our lives, much of which we are not even conscious.

C.S. Lewis touched on this in The Screwtape Letters, in which the senior demon, Screwtape is instructing his junior tempter, Wormwood, in the fine art of ensnaring a human soul: “When two humans have lived together for many years it usually happens that each has tones of voice and expressions of face which are almost unendurably irritating to the other. Work on that. Bring fully into the consciousness of your patient that particular lift of his mother's eyebrows which he learned to dislike in the nursery, and let him think how much he dislikes it. Let him assume that she knows how annoying it is and does it to annoy—if you know your job he will not notice the immense improbability of the assumption. And, of course, never let him suspect that he has tones and looks which similarly annoy her . . . . In civilised life domestic hatred usually expresses itself by saying things which would appear quite harmless on paper (the words are not offensive) but in such a voice, or at such a moment, that they are not far short of a blow in the face.”

So how do we reduce the likelihood of a breakdown in communication? There are many techniques that can come into play. Here are a couple basic ones:

1.      Paraphrase – Restate in your own words (not parroting) the content (words) of the other person’s verbal communication. You say something like, “Let me see if I understand what you just said…” Then you paraphrase. You then ask the other person to confirm that you got it right. It may take several cycles before both parties agree that accurate communication has taken place.

2.      Perception Check – A perception check is a guess at the emotional inner state of another person. It is guessing about another’s feelings based on what you have inferred from their body language, tone of voice, and choice of vocabulary. You are not TELLING the other person what they are feeling. That can be highly insulting. You are asking, in very tentative language, if you are correctly interpreting their feelings. A perception check would be something like this: “I am wondering if you might be upset about that. Am I right?” Done in a careful and sensitive way, a perception check is a very caring and loving think to do. It communicates that you are really listening and that it is important to you that you truly understand what the other person is trying to say.

Where paraphrasing focuses on the verbal component of communication, the perception check deals primarily with the 93% that is nonverbal. You need both. This closes the communication cycle, thus assuring the speaker that she is being heard and understood.

We live in a world where communication, particularly online communication, is devolving. Increasingly we seem to be expressing ourselves with little more than grunts, gestures, and the occasional blow to the head. As Christians, let’s take the lead in caring for others by actively listening; hearing what they are trying to say.

I am indebted to the work of Dr. John S. Savage, founder of L.E.A.D. Consultants, for much of this essay.

The Walker

I’ve seen her in all kinds of weather: hot, muggy August afternoons, frigid January evenings, crisp autumn days, gentle spring mornings. In the face of blazing midsummer sunshine, drizzling rain, or spitting snow, she’s out there trudging up and down Boonsboro Road and Rivermont Avenue, logging her miles on Lynchburg’s north side. She covers a lot of ground in her walks. I’ve spotted her from as far west as the Boonsboro Kroger and as far east as Riverside Park—a good three miles apart.

Whatever the conditions or the time of day, her demeanor is never changing, a steady determined pace paired to a face set in stoic concentration. She neither smiles nor grimaces. She doesn’t look about. She just focuses on the task at hand—her walking. I’ve never seen her pause or break stride. Her legs move with the steady rhythm of a metronome. Hers is no casual stroll. She walks with purpose and intent.

I know neither her name nor her story. I’m lousy at guessing ages but she has clearly seen a lot of winters. Her hair is slate gray, her face, wrinkled and weathered. Year round she boasts a healthy tan from her many hours in the open air. Her eyes are bright and clear.

But whatever her story is, there is a tale of pain hidden inside it. Because like a torpedoed ship that’s taking water, she lists to the port. Her head and shoulder have a pronounced leftward tilt. Is she a recovering stroke victim? Was she involved in some terrible accident? Does she suffer from a birth defect that left her body forever twisted? I don’t know.

Many are the times that I have thought of stopping my car in a quest for answers to my questions. I’d like to hear her story. But I’ve always deferred. When I spot her she seems invariably to be going opposite my direction. By the time I pulled over, parked the car, and crossed the street, she would be hundreds of feet behind me and drawing away at a steady rate. Besides, it’s really none of my business and she might just remind me of that fact. And who knows what pain might accompany telling such a tale? Some experiences in life are best left undisturbed, buried in the past.

Still, we all go about telling our stories, whether intentionally or unwittingly. And that includes this nameless walker. By her actions, her body language, the constancy of her walking, she has told me that she is not a woman to be imprisoned by the pains of the past. She is not just a defenseless victim of circumstances. She is disciplined. By her steady stride she has taken control. She is claiming responsibility for her own future health and vitality. She is silently proclaiming to the world that she will not be kept down by circumstances.

I have also noticed that the time of day when she walks varies. That suggests to me that she is living for more than her own health—that her life is filled with other things—things that demand her time and around which she has to plan in order to log her miles each day. And that suggest to me that this is a well-rounded soul. It’s amazing what we can learn from the example of just a solitary woman taking a walk.

THE SENSE BEHIND THE SENSELESS

While I led a Bible study last night at church, nine fellow Christians were being martyred in the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. My brothers and sisters in Christ there were shot down in cold blood by a 21-year-old man who had just spent the previous hour seated among them as they prayed. Almost instantly the word “senseless” was used to describe this mass murder as police and city officials were asked to comment on the killings.

Certainly from the perspective of any reasonable, rational, normal person, “senseless” seems a perfectly appropriate word to apply to an act of violence perpetrated against innocent people who apparently had no previous connection with their killer. Because for most people, for people like you and me, we cannot make sense of something like this. It MAKES NO SENSE to us.

But we mustn't be too quick to label as senseless an act that may well have made perfect sense to Dylann Roof, now in police custody after a massive manhunt. Because the word “senseless” has different shades of meaning. One meaning certainly applies to what happened in Charleston last night. The other? Maybe not.

Most people would agree that these killings were senseless in the sense of being a stupid or foolish act. Whatever sick, dark, well of hate this deeply troubled young man drew from as his motivation for this vile act, he has accomplished nothing that will work to his or anyone else’s advantage. In addition to ending the lives of nine strangers and wrecking the lives of who knows how many others, he has effectively destroyed his own life as well. If that’s not senseless in the sense of being stupid, then I don’t know what stupid is.

But senseless has another meaning. It can refer to actions that lack mental perception or comprehension. We thus might refer to the acts of an idiot or a madman as senseless. And it may prove that as the backstory of this awful deed unfolds we will learn that Dylann Roof is simply deranged and will find his place in history among the annals of the criminally insane.

But there’s another possibility. There is such a thing as evil on this earth; evil that brings with it its own worldview. From within the framework of a sin-sick soul, seen through the worldview—the lens if you would—of evil, this deed may well have made perfect sense. Actions that most people would view as random and irrational may have seemed perfectly logical and coherent to this angry young man. Such evil is the rotten fruit of a series of bad choices. And while there may be all kinds of mitigating circumstances, they remain choices—acts of deliberate and conscious will—for which the killer is morally culpable and responsible. Only time will tell if the murders in Charleston were senseless in this second meaning of the term, the act of a madman, or if they are simply and horribly an act of unspeakable evil.

I hope and pray that Dylann Roof is insane, that he is barking at the moon mad, and that he will be safely locked away for the rest of his life. Because if he is not, then the only alternative is that this young man is the living personification of evil who has taken a giant step toward eternal damnation. For if the first alternative is likened to a rabid dog, dangerous but random in his attacks, then the other is a dangerous and calculating predator—a hungry tiger on the hunt, out to make a kill.

A Politically Incorrect Response to the Charlie Hebdo Attack

I did a quick internet survey by country of the global state of some basic western values. This was not a scientific study, so I don’t claim precision in the results. But anybody can replicate my Google search for “the ten worst countries for freedom of speech,” for example, and find multiple lists from a wide range of sources that all show very similar outcomes. I arbitrarily chose 8 categories: basic human rights, freedom of religion, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, civil rights for women, political corruption, illiteracy, and infant mortality. That’s 8 categories with 10 results for each. 33 nations provided the 80 possible results, with 19 countries appearing on more than one listing. In fact, 6 countries were listed 4 or more times for a total of 30. These included: Somalia (6), Syria (6), Afghanistan (5), Sudan (5), Iran (4), and North Korea (4).

Out of the 33 nations, 19 (58%) have a Muslim majority. In nearly every one of these cases that majority accounts for over 90% of the population. 4 of the countries have Muslim populations of 25-50%. 3 of the countries are totalitarian communist states. And of the six countries that showed up the most often, all but one are Muslim states in which the practice of Islam is almost universal. The sole exception was North Korea. And these five Muslim countries are all well-documented centers of activity by radical jihadist terror groups.

OF THE TEN WORST COUNTRIES FOR…

Ø  Basic human rights, 8 have a Muslim majority.

Ø  Freedom of religion, 8 have a Muslim majority, a 9^th (Eritrea) is 50% Muslim.

Ø  Freedom of speech, 5 have a Muslim majority.

Ø  Freedom of the press, 5 have a Muslim majority, plus Eritrea.

Ø  Civil rights for women, 9 have a Muslim majority.

Ø  Corruption, 8 have a Muslim majority.

Ø  Illiteracy, 7 have a Muslim majority.

Ø  Infant mortality, 8 have a Muslim majority.

I could have used other categories with comparable results. For example, there are only 7 nations on earth where a conviction for homosexual acts can bring a death penalty. All are Muslim states. Likewise the nations where anti-Semitism is widespread are almost all Muslim states.

So I ask myself why many North Americans and Western Europeans on the political Left are so quick to accommodate or defend or apologize for Muslims in the face of repeat attacks on our society by Islamist radicals? The values I researched are hallmark values of liberal western democracies. They are widely regarded as the fundamental rights of all people everywhere. They are all values long cherished in post-Enlightenment societies. I am most amazed when I hear apologists for jihadists among the Hollywood establishment. Don’t these people realize that if Sharia law were in place in California they would all be condemned as whores, adulterers, and blasphemers and quickly put to death? Have they learned nothing at all from the beheading of Western journalists? Where is their sense of self-preservation? The jihadists hate us. And a big reason is the perception of our society that they have gotten from our movies and TV shows! A staggering percentage of Muslims in these most repressive countries really do believe that Hollywood accurately portrays the values and lifestyles of average everyday Americans. We only talk about culture wars among ourselves, relying on such weapons as pontificating politicians and talk radio hosts. The jihadists are waging a real culture war—with real bullets.

Certainly it is true that only a small minority in the Muslim community actively supports the jihadists and an even smaller minority is personally engaged in violence. But it is also true that when it comes to the basic values cherished by Western democracies, no Muslim society measures up to our standards. There has never been a democracy in the majority Muslim world. Not one. Not in Africa, not in the Middle East, not in Asia. Not in poor countries like Yemen. Not in rich countries like the United Arab Emirates. What’s more, those Muslim countries where the values listed above are most in evidence are the ones that have become the most secularized. Here is the stark contrast between Muslim and Christian societies. In places where Christians become serious about following the teachings of Jesus we see these liberal social values increase. Precisely the opposite occurs when Muslims become zealous about following the teachings of Mohammed.

Islam is simply not a religion that supports some of the most fundamental values cherished by western democracies. Nowhere is that more evident than the typical Muslim attitude toward our First Amendment rights. It is not possible to live your life faithfully guided by the teachings of the Quran and at the same time embrace freedom of religion and freedom of speech. For Muslims are compelled by the Quran to defend the honor of their founder, if necessary by the sword. Christians are under no such command. We believe Jesus Christ is more than able to defend his own honor. He called us to carry not a sword but a cross. We are his witnesses, not his Pretorian Guard. Charlie Hebdo didn’t just lampoon Islam. They have published stuff similarly blasphemous in the eyes of Jews and Christians. But it was only Muslims that responded with lethal violence. We have equally satirical publications in the U.S. The Onion can be hysterically funny. But some of what they write is deeply offensive to any Christian… but we don’t firebomb their offices. The difference is vividly symbolized in two flags.

The Christian flag...

And the flag of a terrorist group, the Caucasian Mujahideen, one of many Muslim flags prominently featuring a sword...

 I don’t agree with those who claim that America was founded as a Christian nation. Ours is no theocracy. But it most definitely was established on a Judeo-Christian foundation of what constitutes basic human rights. Getting that fact straight is an essential first step if we wish to avoid more atrocities like those in France this week. The American people, and our public officials in particular, have an opportunity to learn some painful but important lessons from this week’s horrible attacks. I hope everybody is taking notes.

Dicing with Death

At 4:20 PM on Saturday, November 8 I was wrapping up a day of raking and dragging leaves from my front yard into the woods behind the house. As the sun was slowly dipping toward the western horizon late on a peaceful autumn afternoon, the many long hours of labor were ending. I was tired but satisfied because my work, though menial, had purpose and meaning.

At that very moment, exactly five miles to the ENE, the few short years of a young man’s life were ending. But the sun did not set slowly and gently on Jonathan Gregorie. His end was not peaceful. Death took him in the bright morning of his life: suddenly, harshly, violently. Jonathan and some friends had ventured out onto the Norfolk Southern Railroad trestle that crosses the James River near Riverside Park. It was the second time in less than a week that this 21-year-old Liberty University senior had risked his life on that busy railroad bridge. He ignored the danger signs. He flaunted the no trespassing signs. Like so many others before him, he consciously chose to gamble with Death. He embraced the risks associated with walking across this high, open, treacherous, windswept span for the view, for the photo ops, for the thrill, for the adrenalin rush, for… well, we can only speculate. Jonathan carried his motivations with him to the grave. Because whether he realized it or not, when you are foolish enough to venture out to the middle of that trestle your life is in pawn. You are utterly vulnerable. Trains approaching the trestle come around a bend that obscures them from view until they are almost upon you. By the time the engineer saw Jonathan it was too late to stop. By the time Jonathan saw the train, it was too late to run.

I never met Jonathan Gregorie. Based on the postings and comments of his friends, he was a fine young man; a man with a zest for life; a man with a bright and promising future ahead of him. I can only hope that his few years on this earth were rich and full and endued with great meaning and purpose. Because his death was utterly meaningless. My day spent raking leaves had more meaning and worth than Jonathan’s bloody death beneath the wheels of that freight train. All of his dreams and aspirations; all of his hopes and goals; all of his potential; all that he ever was or ever would be—snuffed out like a candle. A few moments of high excitement followed by a few seconds of sheer terror. Then Jonathan Gregorie became the third young person in as many years to meet Death on the Norfolk Southern Railroad trestle—another tragic, meaningless, utterly pointless death.

A Facebook flame war has arisen surrounded Jonathan’s death. Some posts have lamented the pointlessness of a death directly attributable to behavior that was objectively reckless in nature. Others, mostly friends of the victim, have angrily defended Jonathan, likening criticism about the circumstances of his death with a condemnation of his life and values. At the very least, they argue, lectures about recklessness should be put on hold until the dead are buried and a period of mourning has been observed.

I respectfully disagree. We honor Jonathan Gregorie by our criticisms of his foolish behavior. For if we can dissuade just one person from repeating this young man’s foolish and tragic choice, then in some small measure we can give meaning to an otherwise meaningless tragedy. If by the example of his death, other lives are saved, then he will not have died in vain.

A Cathedral in Film

It's been ten years since the release of The Passion of the Christ, which in my opinion remains the most powerful depiction of the crucifixion ever filmed. This was my review at the time of the movie's release.

MOVIE REVIEW: The Passion of the Christ

Director – Mel Gibson

Production Company – Icon Productions and Marquis Film

Producers – Mel Gibson and Bruce Davey

Screenwriters – Mel Gibson and Benedict Fitzgerald (Wise Blood, In Cold Blood, Heart of Darkness)

Cinematographer – Caleb Deschanel (The Black Stallion, The Right Stuff, The Natural, The Patriot)

Credited Cast:

• James Caviezel (Count of Monte Cristo, The Thin Red Line) – Jesus Christ

• Maia Morgenstern – Mary

• Monica Bellucci (Bram Stoker’s Dracula, The Matrix Reloaded) – Mary Magdalene
• Francesco Cabras – Gesmas
• Rosalinda Celentano – Satan
• Claudia Gerini – Pilate’s Wife
• Ivano Marescotti – Pontius Pilate
• Sergio Rubini – Dismas

Release Date – February 25, 2004

Distributed by Newmarket Films

RATED “R” for extreme violence 

After first viewing a rough cut of The Passion of the Christ in January at Willow Creek Church in suburban Chicago, an event that included a personal appearance by Mel Gibson, I saw the film in its final form on February 26.  This is an update of my earlier review.  My chance to preview the movie ahead of the professional critics was the result of Icon Production’s unconventional promotional strategy of taking news about the film directly to church leadership to solicit their support of the project.  This was apparently in response to the generally hostile attitude of the film industry toward Mr. Gibson’s project from its very inception.  Unable to find investors to share the cost of production (religious films are generally viewed as bad financial risks in the industry), Gibson put up the entire 25-30 million dollar budget himself.  Accusations that the film was anti-Semitic further complicated the enterprise, forcing Icon Productions to ultimately sign on with a small independent distribution company, Newmarket Films.  There was a real fear that, having finally made the film, nobody would see it.  That fear has proven to be misplaced.  The Ash Wednesday opening was the fifth largest in Hollywood history with receipts of over $26 million.  The Thursday evening showing that I attended, like most across the country, was sold out.  It now appears certain that Mr. Gibson will recoup his investment by the end of opening weekend.

The movie begins with a black screen that has the words of Isaiah 53:5 superimposed: “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities…”  It then jumps to Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane.  The beginning seems abrupt, like you have just arrived at the start of Act Three—almost like starting the last installment of The Lord of the Rings without having read the book or seen the first two movies.  Viewers with no background understanding of the gospels may be a little confused at first.  Consequently the viewer enters into the chaos of the garden arrest that the disciples experienced.  Like them, you are trying to figure out what’s going on.  As the film continues, occasional flashbacks to earlier episodes in the life of Christ help to add a larger context to events described in the last twelve hours of Jesus’ life.  They also add much needed moments of emotional release from the incredible tension that envelops the viewer over the two-hour duration of the movie.

            The garden scenes were filmed in a foggy mist and with the use of a blue gel, lending a feel of isolation, mystery and imminent danger.  It is in the garden that we are introduced to one of the recurring figures in the film: a creepy and strangely sexless personification of Satan effectively played by Italian actress, Rosalinda Celentano.  There in the garden Satan whispers to Christ, as he agonizes about the trail before him, “No man can bear this.”  This proffered seed of doubt is accompanied by a snake slithering up to the figure of Jesus, who is on his knees in prayer.  Jesus’ response is to stand and crush the head of the serpent with his heel, a clear reference to the prophecy of Genesis 3:15.

Cinematographer Caleb Deschanel sought to create a strong contrast of light and dark in the film reminiscent of the Italian Baroque painter, Caravaggio.  In an earlier interview Gibson said of the painter’s work, “…I think his work is beautiful.  It's violent, it's dark, it's spiritual and it also has an odd whimsy or strangeness to it.  And it's so real-looking.  I told Caleb I wanted my movie to look like that and he said, ‘Yeah, OK.’  Just like that.”  And like an old Renaissance painting, many of the scenes had something of a golden sheen to them that I found quite compelling.

This was certainly not the only direct allusion to classical art in the film.  The most explicit was the scene at the foot of the cross as the body of Jesus was being removed for burial.  Here Mary, played by Maia Morgenstern, a little-known Jewish Romanian actress, cradled the lifeless body of her son in exactly the same posture used by Michelangelo in his famous Pietà, one hand cradling his body and the other open toward the viewer.  But as Elizabeth Lev, Professor of Christian Art and Architecture at Duquesne University in Rome, points out, the depiction in The Passion is slightly altered: “The variation comes in that while Michelangelo's Mary gazes solemnly down at her Son, Gibson's Mary looks straight out at us. The movie draws to a close provoking a full and conscious acknowledgment of whom this suffering has been for.”

            The preponderance of the film’s two hours is a straightforward account of the events marking the last twelve hours of the life of Christ as recorded in the four gospels.  As a seminary-trained student of the New Testament, I give Mr. Gibson high marks for accuracy.  The few and slight artistic liberties that he takes are easily justifiable as he seeks to take the written word and translate it to film.  Gibson is a faithful adherent to a small sect of Catholicism that continues the use of the old Latin mass and rejects the liberalizations in church practice and dogma that came with Vatican II.  This is one of the sources of the claim that The Passion is anti-Semitic, since Vatican II specifically condemns anti-Semitism.  I could see nothing to support that claim.  It is true that the members of the Jewish Sanhedrin are portrayed in a most unsympathetic light.  But neither do they fare well in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.  The legionaries of the Roman army of occupation are the most sadistic and brutal figures in the movie.  The Pharisees and Sadducees come across as opportunistic and cynical politicians in league with the Romans.  To interpret The Passion of the Christ as anti-Semitic would require one to start with the outlandish premise that the gospel accounts and Christianity itself are themselves inherently anti-Semitic.  And there are a few fringe groups that hold to just such a radical position.  As far as this reviewer is concerned, The Italian Anti-defamation League has as much to complain about as its Jewish counterpart.  Any complaints of anti-Semitism should be lodged with the Evangelists, not with Mel Gibson.

            For any Protestant Christians that might be concerned about an overtly Catholic bias to the film, they too may rest easy.  Had a Protestant produced and directed the film, the only likely difference would have been a little less screen time for the character of Mary.  But once again, the portrayal of Mary is entirely consistent with the New Testament.  Gibson weaves her character throughout the film as something of a counterbalance to the recurring appearances of Satan.  Where one challenges the sufficiency of his humanity to rise to the challenge of dying for the human race, Mary embraces his humanity with the broken-hearted love of a mother.  One of the most poignant and moving scenes in the film involves a flashback by Mary of Jesus as a little boy, stumbling and falling—a memory triggered by the sight of the fully-grown Jesus stumbling and falling under the weight of the cross.

            Much attention has been given to Gibson’s decision to use only the languages of the First Century in making the film.  Most of the dialogue is in Aramaic, the language spoken by most Palestinian Jews of that day, and in the common or vulgar form of Latin that a soldier from the Italian peninsula would have used in daily speech.  Hebrew is used in scripture quotations.  Gibson’s original intention was to release the film without subtitles.  While this sounded like an absurd idea when I first encountered it, having seen the film I now realize that it could actually work.  (The film did ultimately have English subtitles added.)  As one who despises watching movies with subtitles, I am happy to report that these were not at all distracting.  In part this was simply because there is not that much dialogue in the movie.  The story is mostly told with images.  In fact, the use of the languages of that day adds a real sense of authenticity to the experience.  You feel like you have been transported back in time and are an actual eyewitness to history in the making.

            The casting could not have been better.  Pontius Pilate is marvelously portrayed by Italian actor Ivano Marescotti as a cynical and conflicted soldier-bureaucrat with a sense of duty that is at war with hard political realities.  He comes across as a somewhat sympathetic character that faced the opportunity to do something heroic in the name of justice but failed to rise to the occasion.  He ought to be considered for a best supporting actor Oscar.   Likewise, as already mentioned, Morgenstern is a tremendously effective Mary. 

            But the undisputed star of the film is James Caviezel.  His portrayal of Jesus is nothing short of sheer genius.  Like George C. Scott as Patton or Hal Holbrook’s Mark Twain, you must constantly remind yourself that the person on the screen is, after all, just an actor and not the actual figure from history.  In a role that cost him considerable physical pain (He suffered a dislocated shoulder during the filming of the scourging, was inadvertently actually lashed twice during that same sequence, nearly succumbed to hypothermia while being filmed on the cross during cold November weather in Italy and was literally struck by lightning – without any apparent lasting injury – during the filming of the crucifixion!) he vividly portrayed the lingering death of one who died for the sins of the world.  For most of the filming he spent seven hours a day in makeup prior to shooting.  In fact he actually slept in makeup at times.  His is not only the most authentic portrayal of Christ in cinematic history, but it may well be the most effective portrayal by any actor or actress of a historical character on film.

            The most disturbing aspect of this movie is its graphic violence.  I cannot overstate just how violent it is.  The violence is shocking.  It is brutal.  It is horrific.  The agonizing and painfully accurate portrayal of Jesus’ scourging at the hands of two Roman legionaries (it was not unusual for a condemned prisoner to die during scourging) was undoubtedly what earned the film an “R” rating, and rightly so.  It was so awful to watch that you are almost relieved when they get around to crucifying him.[i]  At least then the end of his suffering was in sight.  This is not a movie for children under the age of 12 or 13 under any circumstances.  Gibson was asked about the violence during the interview after last month’s preview.  He was quite matter-of-fact about it.  Yes, it is violent.  Yes, the violence is at times “over the top”.  This was deliberate.  He referenced the Old Testament insistence that blood be shed as the atonement for sin.  Too often, he suggested, we sanitize the gospel accounts until we forget what that really means.  It was his intent to remind us.  He succeeded.  One Christian leader, after viewing the film was quoted as saying, “I forgot.  I’m sorry.”

            At one point in the interview Gibson made reference to the art in great cathedrals of Europe.  Those cathedrals were built as teaching models for an illiterate oral culture.  In a day when even many priests were unable to read the word of God, the cathedrals, through their statuary, their stained glass, their symbolism and their Stations of the Cross attempted to teach the message of the gospel to the unlettered.  Today, in the midst of an increasingly visual society and culture, Mel Gibson has created a 21^st Century cathedral in film.

            If I were to sum up in one word the experience of watching The Passion, that word would be “shattering”.  The film runs just over two hours.  The January preview screening was in a room filled to capacity with 4,500 people where not once did I hear so much as a man clear his throat during the entire showing.  Absolute silence and rapt attention for 120 minutes—in a room full of preachers!  And when the movie finally ended the stunned silence continued on for at least another minute.  The audience with whom I saw the movie on the 26^th responded in exactly the same way.  Most of those present sat quietly throughout the credits, reluctant to leave.  The Passion of the Christ was the most intense emotional experience that I have ever known while watching a movie.  From beginning to end it maintained the intensity of the first thirty minutes of Saving Private Ryan—squared.  That night, when at a late hour I finally got to bed, sleep did not easily come.  The images of the film continued to haunt my memory.  And days later, as I write these words, the images are with me still.  But these are not nightmare images, even with all the blood and brutality.  They rather serve as a reminder that thanks to the love of that One so wonderfully brought to the screen by Jim Caviezel, I am bought with a price.  And I think of those wounds He bore, not in horror, but with gratitude. 

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[i] The source material for the film’s depiction of scourging was the cover story from the March 21, 1986 issue of JAMA: The Journal of the American Medical Association. “On the Physical Death of Jesus Christ” by Dr. William D. Edwards, MD; Rev. Wesley J. Gabel, M.Div.; and Mr. Floyd E. Hosmer, MS, AMI. The article provides a coldly clinical examination of both the historical and medical realities of death from scourging followed by crucifixion.

Thin Places—Insights from Celtic Christianity about the Sale of Golden Gate Seminary’s Mill Valley Campus

Alice stumbled upon an exceptionally deep rabbit hole. Lucy Pevensie got a surprise when she hid in Professor Kirk’s magic wardrobe. Dorothy clicked the heels of those dazzling ruby slippers as she chanted, “There’s no place like home.” Marty McFly revved up Professor Brown’s souped-up DeLorean time machine with its “flux capacitor”. Today astrophysicists dream of moving quickly to distant corners of the universe through some theoretical wormhole in the fabric of space-time. The idea of discovering a secret portal to another world is an idea that has long fascinated people. Back in the 40s Lerner and Loewe even created a musical along those lines: Brigadoon. 

That mythical Scottish village makes for a great segue to an idea that we encounter in Celtic Christianity: the notion that on the earth there are “thin places”—spots where heaven and earth are unusually close, suggesting the possibility of free movement from one to the other or at least the idea that in such sacred places one might get closer to the divine. 

First, a disclaimer. There is no direct and only disputable indirect biblical support for such a notion. The metaphor of thin place does not appear in Scripture. This doesn’t necessarily mean that the concept is unhelpful or theologically suspect, but as a people who base their understanding of God on biblical revelation, it should give us pause to carefully consider the implications of such a belief. 

Experience teaches us the emotional power of place. In 1954 Perry Como first recorded There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays, a sentimental reflection on how memory and emotions are tied to the place we grew up—especially at Christmas. Likewise, some places have historical connections that stir the emotions. The Gettysburg and Custer Battlefields were such places for me. So was the Vietnam Wall. Sometimes the emotions stirred by place are negative. I once stood outside a Macumba temple deep in the Amazon. Macumba is a religion that mixes African and South American spiritism and includes practices associated with black magic. I felt like the very building exuded evil. Those who have visited the remains of Nazi concentration camps report similar feelings. 

And I think we have all visited spots where the sense God’s presence was unusually strong. Naturally enough a church building can have that effect. So can a Christian camp or retreat center, particularly if it is a place that you have visited repeatedly over the years and have come to associate with powerful teaching, and spiritual refreshment and renewal. 

Wild places of spectacular natural beauty can also have that effect. Such places are usually what the Celtic Christians had in mind when they spoke of thin places. Mountains have always tended to affect me in this way, a response common to many. 

And if we can find support for thin places anywhere in the Bible, a couple mountains immediately come to mind. The first is Mt. Sinai. If there is a biblical thin place surely this is it. It was a place where Moses went to meet God not once but repeatedly. Mt Zion—the site of the temple—was another. Clearly these mountains had special significance as places where Israel encountered God. 

But in other important respects they differ significantly from the typical Celtic thin place. For one thing these mountains were not, at least in biblical times, places of pilgrimage. After the exodus there is only one account of an Israelite journeying back to Sinai; that of Elijah’s trip to “Horeb, the mount of God” in 1 Kings 19:8. And the most sacred quarter of the temple mount was forbidden to all but the high priest and he was able to enter it only one day in the year—the Day of Atonement. 

Nor is there evidence that the earliest Christians showed any special deference to those physical spaces closely associated with the life and ministry of Christ. The stable in Bethlehem, his boyhood home in Nazareth, the Upper Room in Jerusalem—none of these spots were made into shrines or their locations even noted. Only centuries later did Christians attempt to find these sites and make them places of pilgrimage. There exists no equivalent to Mt. Vernon or Monticello in Nazareth. 

So what are we to do with the metaphor of thin place? What lessons can we Baptists learn from Celtic Christianity? 

First, there is no question in my mind that places of natural beauty, particular places that are physically removed from the rush of modern life, can often help us to spiritually reconnect. They help us pause and quiet our hearts and minds. The windswept grassy slopes of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area is one such place for me. Even Jesus would draw aside, either with his closest followers or by himself, seeking some lonely place for a time of prayer. These are not places with special spiritual properties. We’re not talking magic here. Whatever power they have is power we give them. 

Second, we must remember that God desires constant intimacy with his people. We ought not require physical retreat to connect with the Divine. Rather we ought to work to make all of life on earth a thin place—a place where mortal flesh can reach out and touch God. If we draw near to God He draws near to us. 

Third, and finally, we would do well to reflect upon the importance of recognizing and protecting sacred spaces. Roman Catholics and other Christians who come from the more liturgical traditions have often been scandalized by the lack of reverence that they see in Baptist churches. We seem more willing to ascribe to purely secular monuments the kind of reverence that other believers have historically reserved for places of worship. We would object, and rightly so, to some plan to run hogs on the Custer Battlefield or to build condominiums along Cemetery Ridge at Gettysburg. We wouldn’t tolerate a hotdog stand operating under the dome of the Jefferson Memorial. Such things would border on sacrilege. There are some corners of this planet that we deem worthy of protecting. We set them aside—just as we set aside Muir Woods and Yosemite—as shrines if you would, to the beauty and wonder of nature. 

I contend that the Celtic Christians were right, that there are places that ought to be regarded as sacred ground, places set aside for loftier purposes. Places that we ought not to profane because we have met God in those places—our own personal burning bush. While Baptists would not genuflect before a crucifix or an altar, we would do well to bow our heads and lower our voices when entering a sanctuary. And it ought to go without saying that we would do everything in our power to preserve and protect such places. And that is why I am so opposed to the decision to sell Golden Gate’s Mill Valley campus to a real estate developer. 

For half a century generations of young ministers met God at Golden Gate. In the late 70s and early 80s I was one of them. Kenneth Eakins, Robert Cate, William Hendricks, Clayton Harrop…the list goes on and on. These were men who opened God’s Word to me and demanded that I deal with it, not like some child in a VBS class but as a man who would spend his life entrusted with the sacred task of teaching that Holy Word to hundreds of others. They made me chew on the tough passages. They made me face my own questions and doubts. They made me grow. They made me spiritually “man-up”. So many afternoons I would make that long walk from class back to our apartment on Rice Lane, my head reeling from the profound insights that had been revealed to me. So many late nights I would be typing away on some paper or pouring over some text, trying to pull those new insights together in a coherent form that I might prove to my teachers that I had been worthy of the time they invest in me. 

And because of the unique setting of that magnificent campus I could delight in the happy convergence of the beauty of God’s Word with the beauty of God’s world—the same concept captured in the image of the Celtic cross, where the Cross of Christ is superimposed on the orb that represents His Creation. When after hours of study when my soul needed a moment’s refreshing, I need only look up from my desk and watch, mesmerized by the slow dance each afternoon of long fingers of fog sliding over the top of the coastal hills, trying but never quite succeeding in their quest to reach the valley floor below. Or I might step outside at night to stretch my legs, sometimes walking across the campus to that hilltop where one can stand and on a clear night see the lights of the city across the bay. Sometimes I would pray that the Light we learned about in class would shine back in return upon that beautiful but sin-sick city. 

The history of California tells us that at the time when John Muir was trying to preserve the giant sequoia groves north of Yosemite, there was a plan to cut the trees down and split them up into grape stakes. As I think about seeing the sacred ground of my beloved seminary campus turned into homes for multimillionaire hedge fund managers, or movie stars, or oil moguls, I think I understand how old John must have felt. 

Glen Land

GGBTS Class of ‘81