It’s out on video.

So it’s time to re-visit the box-office smash hit and semi-intellectual 2nd installment of the Batman trilogy.

Craig Detweiller (of Reel Spirituality Institute for the Brehm Center at Fuller Theological Seminary) offers an insightful analysis of the relationship between the film and the past decade of war on terror.

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Is it necessary for a hero’s goodness that he be in line with the governing authorities?

Although in most movies and novels, the answer to this question is obviously No. But think of a favorite person or an important mentor or an admired gaurdian: Are they cowboys or are are they so successful, in part, because they know how to fit into the established community of authority without compromising their values — indeed, because the values of the established authorities are also admirable and good? Why is it that our most fascinating and important American heroes, unlike Arthur, unlike unlike Hector, unlike Socrates, are almost invariably “against the system,” “Lone rangers,” loose cannons? (more…)

‘Let us go a journey,’
Quoth my soul to my mind,
‘Past the plains of darkness
Is a house to find
Where for my thirsting
I shall have my fill,
And from my torment
I shall be still.’

‘Let us go a journey,’
Quoth my mind to my heart,
‘Past the hills of questing,
By our ghostly art,
We shall see the high worlds,
Holy and clear,
Moving in their order
Without hate or fear.’

‘Let us go a journey,’
Quoth my heart to my soul,
‘I shall thrive never
On the world’s dole.
Past the streams of cleansing
Shall a house be found
Where the peace and healing
For my aching wound.’

By the streams of cleansing,
By the hill of quest,
By the plains of darkness,
They came to their rest.
As the kings of Asia,
They went to a far land;
As the early shepherds,
They found it close at hand.

When they saw Saint Joseph
By their ghostly art,
‘Forget not thy clients,
Brother’, quoth my heart,
When they saw Our Lady
In her place assigned,
‘Forget not thy clients,
Mother’, quoth my mind.

But my soul hurrying
Could not speak for tears,
When she saw her own Child,
Lost so many years.
Down she knelt, up she ran
To the Babe restored:
‘O my Joy,’ she sighed to it,
She wept, ‘O my Lord!’

The Ox said to the Ass, said he, all on a Christmas night:
“Do you hear the pipe of the shepherds a-whistling over the hill?
That is the angels’ music they play for their delight,
‘Glory to God in the highest and peace upon earth, goodwill’
Nowell, nowell, my masters, God lieth low in stall,
And the poor, labouring Ox was here before you all.”

The Ass said to the Ox, said he, all on a Christmas day:
“Do you hear the golden bridles come clinking out of the east?
Those are the three wise Magi that ride from far away
To Bethlehem in Jewry to have their lore increased . . .
Nowell, nowell, my masters, God lieth low in stall,
And the poor, foolish Ass was here before you all.”

Among the oxen (like an ox I’m slow)
I see a glory in the stable grow
Which, with the ox’s dullness might at length
Give me an ox’s strength.

Among the asses (stubborn I as they)
I see my Saviour where I looked for hay;
So may my beastlike folly learn at least
The patience of a beast.

Among the sheep (I like a sheep have strayed)
I watch the manger where my Lord is laid;
Oh that my baa-ing nature would win thence
Some woolly innocence!

What is the central doctrine of Christianity, the incarnation or the cross? Christmas or Easter?

What is the root heresy, the corruption or denial of the central doctrine?

What is the motivation for and consequence of this error?

What is the branching tree of heretical options that grow from this single root?

What is the relationship between the Gnostic opposition of flesh and spirit, and the oppositions between human persons and human nature?

Good question.

Perry Robinson of the Eastern Orthodox blog, Energetic Procession, gives a stunning and confrontational treatment of the above, and more.

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s breast,
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world’s desire.)

The Christ-child stood at Mary’s knee,
His hair was like a crown.
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down.

The anniversary of the day of my birth was last Tuesday. I did not do much. Should I have? But my brother bought me dinner and my dad aims to as well, so I rest content.

I prefer to spend my birthdays reflecting on the previous year of life. But such reflections inevitably lead one to ponder the next year of life. But such reflections cannot be hindered from proceeding forward into “vast futurity” and, having escaped the narrow bounds of the present, to come to the black end of one’s own life. I realized (when I did not artificially shut down this train of thought) that there is a certain poetic sense to it.

The day of one’s death and the day of one’s birth are harmoniously related. I am born into the world from God-knows-where (either nothingness, or some eternal bodiless pre-existence, or from mere gooey matter), live a space of twenty, eighty, or a hundred years (maybe a hundred twenty if anti-aging technology advances by leaps?) and then return to God-knows-where (either heaven or hell, or back to the starry heavens whence I came, or into dust and nothingness). Birth and death are both great mysteries, great transitions to a new world. What that new world is is only explained by God through theologians by Christian Revelation, or else we don’t know and never will know, for most scientists do not concern themselves with such questions.

The death to which my mind so readily moves whenever I am prompted to think about “the past year”  does not seem so out of place, so strange, so “morbid” as I first felt.

For death is inevitable. When people say “that’s morbid” I think they usually mean, “Don’t think about such nasty things.” For death, so they say, is dirty, unpleasant, and tasteless to dwell upon. And this is a valid complaint. Thinking about garbage heaps and public restrooms at the beach and eating day-old escargot is certainly unpleasant and tasteless to dwell upon (even mentioning them is a risk!) Gentlemen or even cads in polite company may forgoe useless attention to such unpleasantries. But is death such a thing as to be flippantly ignored? Clearly not.

Death is like a destination at the end of the train we are all riding. It is the plane landing at the airport in t-minus some-number-of-minutes whether we like it or not. It is the ultimate “End Freeway, 2 Miles” sign and there is simply no off-ramp.

There are two possible response to this inevitable unpleasantry. Ignore all the harder, or else give in and pay it some attention. Ignoring it (from observation) seems to involve drinking a fair amount, or else getting a very time-consuming job, or dating more than I have the time or money to afford. Hence I’ve decided to give in.

For this reason I embrace the yearly waypoint — marking another day another hour, another minute, another second closer to the moment when I will forever close my eyes, waking up only to the mysterious beyond, or else not at all — by having a drink, listening to songs and reading poems (Psalm 39 anyone? I’m not making this stuff up) about death. And not “death in general”, but my death. My very own, personal, inevitably, signed and sealed but not yet delivered, bona fide, custom-designed, divinely appointed death.

Now, you may call me morbid… (more…)

This Sunday marks the third Sunday of the Advent season. Though historically neglected by many evangelicals, Advent has made a resurgence in recent years. To that end, we are going to be offering Advent meditations throughout the season here at Mere-O. They will appear the Friday before each Sunday.

“Watch and pray.”

This is the command that Jesus gives to Peter during his struggles in the Garden of Gethsemene. And in that respect, it may seem to be a commandment better suited to Good Friday than Advent, for it reminds us of our Lord’s suffering.

But Jesus’s exhortation recalls the parable of the ten virgins, which concludes “Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour” of his arrival. The echo suggests that Jesus’s command in the Garden points beyond the Garden, first to His triumph over the grave, then to his return to the earth.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the exhortation in the Garden is in response to failure. Peter, unable to stay awake, is chastised for the weakness of his flesh. The same Lord who had shone in glory in the Transfiguration is now all too human, eager to pass by a cup he would rather not drink. And those same disciples, so fortunate to see him on the mountain, are unable to remain with him in his agony. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

This, then, is the opportunity which Advent presents to us: watch and pray. It is an invitation to join with Christ in his agony over this world’s sinfulness. It is a challenge to overcome the weakness of the flesh, to overcome slumber with the activity of waiting and watching.

Of course, we do not watch and pray from the same perspective as the disciples in the Garden. The decisive moment in history—the Resurrection of our Lord—irrevocably altered our understanding of the world. We watch and pray empowered by the understanding that the weakness of the flesh, the infirmities of this world, have been overcome and transformed by the victorious sufferings of Christ.

It is in this knowledge—in the powerful presence of the same Spirit with whom Jesus was anointed—that we watch. It is in the victory of light over darkness that we wait. And we wait with eager hearts and eyes wide open, in joy at the prospect of the King’s return.

And it is in this knowledge of God’s ultimate triumph—and, consequently, the confidence that he will return—that we pray for the world around us. It is in this hope that we pray for the salvation of the lost. It is in this hope that we pray for those who suffer.

The message of Advent is the message that Christ has come and that Christ will come again and, as such, it is a message of reconciliation for the world. It is a message of triumph over sin—a triumph that demands death. It is a message of hope and victory, and a message that invites us to join in Jesus’ working in the world.

This Advent, watch and pray.

This Sunday marks the second Sunday of the Advent season. Though historically neglected by many evangelicals, Advent has made a resurgence in recent years. To that end, we are going to be offering Advent meditations throughout the season here at Mere-O. They will appear the Friday before each Sunday.

Sometimes, the best way to look forward is to look back. The world is littered with monuments to bygone events, historical figures, and heroic actions meant to remind men of their past. The memorial at Ground Zero, the white crosses at Arlington cemetery, the massive marble statue of Lincoln all remind Americans of their history. However, the reminders of the past shape the way the future is pursued. Remembering terrorism’s toll, the staunching of injustice’s rampage with American blood, and the great vision of one president who lifted Americans out of divisive bondage to unified liberty points the way ahead for many Americans: If this is what has been done—if this is who we are—what shall we then do?

Last week, we were reminded that the Advent season is a time of looking forward to the return of Christ just as much as a time of looking back to the first coming, the Incarnation. Seeing the present in light of the future allows us to conform our lives to the goal towards which we are striving. However, the apostle Paul also reminds us that we can see, and be encouraged about, the final coming together of all things by remembering the works of God in the history of His people:

For whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our learning, that we through patience and comfort of the scriptures might have hope.”

This backward glancing at the scriptures recommended by Paul was a typically Jewish characteristic, memorialized in the erecting of standing stones or the building of stone altars to commemorate an event of Divine condescension on the behalf of the people of God. After the Jews cross over the Jordan River to enter into the land promised them by God they halted their march and erected twelve stones to serve as a reminder that God acted on behalf of His people, He was giving them the land He had promised. So long as the twelve stones stood, the children and their children would see them and be reminded of the faithfulness of God.

Similar examples abound and the message is clear. Looking back upon the works of God reminds us that we serve a God who has has shown Himself to be true to His promises. We American Christians are not alone in the history of God’s people who may feel like the period of waiting for Christ to return has become intolerably long. Before even a century had passed, the first generations of Christians found themselves standing in the center of Roman arenas with lions, being crucified in Nero’s gardens, and being cursed by their neighbors. Had God forgotten them? Or how about the Jews in exile, suffering the just punishment for their disobedience to their King—with the destruction of Jerusalem, how could God be faithful to His promise that the royal line of David should never be cut off? It was at these times and times like them that the backward glance, the retrospective look, provided the patience to endure the trial and the hope that the future promises of God would certainly come to pass.

Future hope in the return of Christ to claim His kingdom and indubitably establish justice is only so much wishful thinking unless their is reason to believe that this hope is true. The message of the scriptures—and of the Advent season in which the tension of standing between the first promise of the long-awaited Messiah and the final promise of His return is particularly pronounced—is that our future hope is sure because past hopes have been fulfilled.

“What if just to mess up the Democrats, Bush resigned this week.

What if, when Dick Cheney became president, he appointed Condoleezza Rice as his VP.

What if Dick Cheney then resigned.

Condie would be the first black president and the first woman president.

It would be so sweet.”

-Anonymous