Look! Up in the Sky

DC’s reboot of Superman continues in Action Comics #5.   Writer Grant Morrison retells the old, old story so dear to the hearts of us Superman fans–the destruction of Krypton and the launching of baby Kal-El to earth.  The basic elements are there–the prototype ship, Lara’s declaration that her place is at her husband’s side, a young farm couple finding the infant.  But that’s where the similarities stop and the twists begin. 

Writer Grant Morrison revisits the Phantom Zone, the dreadful “antiverse” in which Krypton’s worst criminals were imprisoned.  Jor-El and Lara briefly consider saving themselves by entering the Zone–only to be threatened by General Zod who, in a heart-stopping scene, reaches through the supposedly impenetrable barrier with one clawed, robotic hand.   Remember Superman’s little white dog, Krypto?  He’s onhand too, but this dog is large and a bit frightening himself.  Finally, the spaceship into which the babe is placed, the lifeboat, the interstellar cradle for Krypton’s last son, receives a personality all its own.  In fact, it tells the story from its point of view or, more correctly, from the point of view of the ”Brainiac A.I.” computer which powers the craft. 

Perhaps the most interesting, and amusing, scene takes place shortly after the Kents find the babe wrapped in swaddling cape (a red S-shield cloak worn by Jor-El’s father), lying in its Kryptonian manger–”on a cold winter’s night that was so deep” yet!   Alerted to the presence of the alien craft, the military closes in.   How will Jonathan keep the soldiers from finding the orphan?   His solution (hinted at in issue #2) is, shall we say, unique.  

All this is illustrated in compelling, heroic style by Andy Kubert. 

So far, so good.  The remaining pages of the story, however, are marred by by a muddy and complicated narrative introducing new events and characters but not explaining anything.  Hopefully, that will be rectified in issue #6. 

I liked the first five pages of the lead story.  I liked every page of the back-up tale.  Sholly Fisch (who’s doing a great job with the more kid-friendly Batman:  The Brave and The Bold)  has written a little gem in which he explores the Kents’  childlessness.  I was particularly taken with the young couple’s visit to a minister–presumably their own pastor–for counsel.  It was gratifying to hear the man quote from 1 Samuel about the childless Hannah.  Later, after searching to no avail for a way to cure their childless-condition, Jonathan good-naturedly quotes Hannah’s husband, Elkanah: “Am I not worth more to you than ten sons?”  The minister has told them, however, that something wonderful is coming their way and, of course, we all know that it’s true.   

 It seems we can’t get away from the spiritual dimension of this red-cloaked savior from the heavens.  The myth of Superman is the dream of destiny, of mighty purpose, of power and glory.  It’s the dream we all have, funnybook fans or not.  The gospel therein is crude, but, after seventy years, still going strong.   That’s because Superman’s story is a shadowy reflection of the One True Tale, the story of redemption. 

As, indeed, are all the great stories.

The following are excerpts from the eulogy I gave at the funeral for Eileen Hughes.  The first few paragraphs were punctuated by hearty laughter from the audience.  Obviously, they were remembering the same woman I was. 

She was quite verbal, with a quick tongue and a quicker wit.  I don’t think she set out to be that way; she just was.  She used to write little notes on the attendance pad at church.  Where her name was supposed to be, she’d write, “Same old trouble and strife” and things like that.

You never knew sometimes what she would do or say.  Just ask the ladies of NS who’ll tell you about the time she came to the pool in a bathing suit…made of Saran Wrap.  She wore rooster shoes and sent funny greeting cards. 

She was childlike in her spontaneity.  And, like a child, she could also be stubborn.  She held strong opinions—which nobody could talk her out of.  I know. I tried. 

For example, we once met her and Al in Frisch’s one day after worship.  I greeted her and soon found myself in a debate over the Lord’s Supper.  I got down on one knee and talked to her about it.  (Actually, I argued with her about it.)  I finally had to withdraw from the fray.  People were tripping over my leg in the aisle! 

…………..

The last time I saw her was three days before Christmas.  We were out caroling.  We went to Al and Eileen’s house.  She sat on the piano bench near the door so she could see everyone.  Al stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder.  They both sang along with us.  I remember the sheer delight in her face.  I’m glad that’s my last memory of her.  She seems ageless in that memory, frail in body but with the wonder and delight of a child in her face. 

In the resurrection what kind of a body will we have?  Nobody’s sure what, exactly, it will be, but we can be sure what it won’t be.  Not frail, not humiliating, not frustrating.  I remember Eileen out with a leaf blower, so tottery on her feet, but determined nevertheless.  The power to move came from her own iron will.  

But, one day, in the resurrection, her power will flow from God himself and never stop.  Her beauty will be restored, as she reflects the image of the Christ she served.  Her childlike faith will be rewarded with new tasks, new adventures, new pleasures in a new creation bought and paid for with Christ’s own blood.  Her tears, which sometimes flowed when we prayed together, will at last be wiped away. 

And so will ours, if we have the faith of a child of God.

My article, “A Pure Church,” is posted at http://www.breakpoint.org/features-columns/articles/entry/12/18453

On the day after Christmas, I’m thinking about the Impressed. 

The shepherds have completed their mission.  They’ve been to Bethlehem and found the place where the child lay.  On the way back to the flock, Luke says, they told people about what they’d seen and heard (Luke 2:17).  The New International Version says all who heard it were amazed.  Another version says they were impressed.  I wonder if anybody asked them where the baby and his parents were.  I wonder if anybody took the shepherds at their word and went to see for themselves.  If they did, Luke doesn’t say. 

I tend to think that some of these people were amazed and impressed like I’m amazed and impressed by the stories I see in newspapers:   

$50,000 of Margarine Still Missing but Stolen Truck Found. 

Man Accused of Driving Over Tombstones with Truck.

‘Bored’ Man Guilty of Burying Fiancée Alive. 

Teacher Investigated After Allegedly Writing “Stupid” on Student’s Face. 

Is there really much difference between those headlines and the story the sheepherders were telling:    

Son of God Born in Barn, Shepherds Say:  Heralds Return of Stable Families.    

Really, if somebody told you such a thing, what would you do?  You’d laugh.  You’d shake your head.  You’d go on with your day.  The truth is we hear stories like this all the time, stuff that defies belief.  We might be impressed, but we’re not going to do anything about it.  It’s not going to change our lives. 

Some come to church and they’re impressed.  The people were friendly, the music was lively, the sermon was good.  They were touched, moved.  But they’re not going to come to Christ any more than they’re going to go to Bethlehem.  They’re not going to become Christ-seekers or Christ-followers.  They’re going to move on, unchanged. 

I’ve been in their homes.  I’ve poured my heart out to them.  They’re impressed that I came; they appreciate my concern.  That’s as far as it goes.  And I don’t know what to else to do but pray for them. 

Please join me in praying for the Impressed.

The following are the last few paragraphs of Peggy Noonan’s latest column.  After lauding Meryl Streep’s performance as Margaret Thatcher in The Iron Lady, Peggy writes:

“We are at a point in our culture when we actually have to pull for grown-up movies, when we must try to encourage them and laud them when they come by. David Lean wouldn’t be allowed to make movies today, John Ford would be forced to turn John Wayne into a 30-something failure-to-launch hipster whose big moment is missing the toilet in the vomit scene in Hangover Ten. Our movie culture has descended into immaturity, deep and inhuman violence, a pervasive and flattened sexuality. It is an embarrassment.

In Iraq this year I asked an Iraqi military officer doing joint training at an American base what was the big thing he’d come to believe about Americans in the years they’d been there. He thought. “You are a better people than your movies say.” He had judged us by our exports. He had seen the low slag heap of our culture and assumed it was a true expression of who we are.

And so he’d assumed we were disgusting.

Credit, then, to those who make movies for grown-ups.”

’nuff said.

To quote Roger Ebert, “The trench warfare of World War I was a species of hell unlike the agonies of any other war, before or after. The enemies were dug in within earshot of each other, and troops were periodically ordered over the top so that most of them could be mowed down by machinegun fire. They were being ordered to stand up, run forward and be shot to death. And they did it. An additional novelty was the introduction of poison gas.”

Into this hell, on Christmas Eve of 1914, a strange and heavenly peace entered.  History records a spontaneous ceasefire between the allied French and British and the Germans.   It began with the simple singing of carols between the trenches.  Eventually, heads were raised up into what had only recently been the line of fire.  Troops that had been trying to kill each other began to climb out of their trenches and greet one another.  Some exchanged food and souvenirs.  There were even joint burial ceremonies.  For a while, the attitude of ”live-and-let-live” reigned.  

The movie based on this remarkable event, Joyeux Noel (“Merry Christmas”), takes some liberties with history, to the point of inserting a beautiful soprano who’s followed her German lover into the trenches.   The fact that, elsewhere on the front, fierce fighting continued on through the holiday is never mentioned.   But the fierce reprimand given the commanders who’d allowed such fraternizing is an important part of both the film and history.  

I found one scene particularly heart-wrenching.  A bishop scolds his erring priest for daring to celebrate the mass in No Man’s Land.   The bishop then preaches a sermon to motivate his audience of new recruits to kill the evil Germans in the name of Christ.  His text is Matthew 10:34:  “Do not think that I came to bring peace on the earth; I did not come to bring peace but a sword.”      

The scene reminds me of Mark Twain’s powerful short story, The War Prayer, in which an aged stranger enters a jingoistic church meeting to utter a savage prayer of his own:  “…blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet!” 

I am not, by nature or conviction, a pacifist.   I love my country and believe in her military defense.  Further, I am a realist.  War happens.  That being said, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take our own sweet time going there.  As Winston Churchill, no stranger to bloody battle, said, “Better jaw, jaw, jaw, than war, war, war.”   But what frightens and repulses me even more than armed conflict is using scripture to justify, if not glorify, our fleshly desires. 

Every time a Christian preacher blurs the distinction between God and country, he preaches idolatry and not Christ.  I’ve seen preachers get their congregations up in the midst of the sermon to repeat the pledge of alliegance to the flag.  Their justification?  They’ll tell you it’s because kids don’t do it in public schools anymore.  They’ll say its on account of a threat to the phrase “one nation under God.”  They’ll point to America’s slide away from God. 

I appreciate their concerns.  It troubles me that America has lost her Christian consensus.  In fact, I am convinced that many of the evils in our land today are the direct result of the loss of that faith.  On the other hand, the idea that America, or any nation, is the Kingdom of God is simply anti-scriptural.  If I understand the Bible correctly, God doesn’t need America, or any nation, in order to prevail in his ultimate purpose.  ”Upon this rock I will build my church and the gates of hades will not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:18).   The kingdom of God comes not by flag-waving or force of arms, but by faith in the the Son of God. 

For a moment, there, on a barb-wire strung field strewn with bodies; for a moment, there, in 1914, on Christmas Eve, that great truth blazed up in the night.  And then the world went back to business.   How sad. 

 But one day, beloved, one bright and blessed day, the world will have no choice but to lay down its arms and surrender forever.  Every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.   

Joyeux noel.

Joe was a young preacher in eastern Kentucky. One night, he was driving home from a revival meeting in the rain. Through the swipe of the wipers and glare of the headlights, he saw a figure hunched against the wind, walking alongside the guardrail. He thought it was a woman, but he couldn’t tell. Being the sort he was, Joe didn’t have to think about it. He slowed down, rolled down the passenger side window and hollered, “Hey! Want a ride?” She jerked as though shot. It was a woman all right. Evidently, the last thing she expected was for someone to stop.

For the rest of the story go to http://www.preaching.com/sermons/11660613/

“People often think of Christian morality as a kind of bargain in which God says, ‘If you keep a lot of rules I’ll reward you, and if you don’t I’ll do the other thing.’  I do not think that is the best way of looking at it.  I would much rather say that every time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different from what it was before.  And taking your life as a whole, with all your innumerable choices, all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing either into a heavenly creature or into a hellish creature:  either into a creature that is in harmony with God, and with other creatures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war and hatred with God, and with its fellow creatures, and with itself.  To be the one kind of creature is heaven:  that is, it is joy and peace and knowledge and power.  To be the other means madness, horror, idiocy, rage, impotence, and eternal loneliness.  Each of us at each moment is progressing to the one state or the other.”  C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity