Saturday I had a conversation a neighbor. This neighbor, P., is a man perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties, tall and thin, with a full shock of curly, white hair and a well-trimmed beard framing an attractively rugged face. Like many in the Powderhorn neighborhood in South Minneapolis, he lives a simple, down-to-earth lifestyle. He likes talking to and sharing with his neighbors. He drives a car that's falling apart but gets him where he needs to go. He loves gardening, even in the rain. He is a self-described political progressive, and does not think of himself as particularly religious. Nevertheless, our conversation turned somehow to the topic of Jesus, and not in the usual way of such conversations.
P. proceeded cautiously, asking a few questions to feel out my own views on the topic. I think it came up in the context of my mentioning that I had just finished a semester of teaching at United Theological Seminary. He started out by mentioning a few books he had read recently about Jesus by John Dominic Crossan and Matthew Fox. He wanted to know if I was familiar with their scholarship, and what I thought of them, and what I thought of Jesus.
I told him more or less what I said on the last day of my American Religious Histories class this past Thursday, when one of my students asked me to discuss my personal thoughts about religion and history. I said that history as an academic discipline can only ever scratch the surface of reality. What we can know of God, we can learn best only directly and personally, and until we have that view, we can understand only dimly the relationship between the world of spirit and the mundane world apprehended in the academy. It took me a bit of ambling about in that vein to finally work up the courage to flatly state, "I believe Jesus is the Son of God, and the Savior of the world."
P. listened attentively and respectfully. I asked him about his interest in the topic, and he casually let drop that he himself had had some recent personal encounters with Jesus that had motivated him to want learn more about him. That raised an eyebrow or two on my part. I asked him if he would elaborate. What exactly did he mean by "encounters" with Jesus?
He seemed hesitant to go further. He was worried he might offend me.
"If you knew my full story," I explained, "You'd know there's nothing you can possibly tell me that would shock or offend."
He proceeded to tell how he was a practicing Wiccan. While at "Witch Camp," he had sensed the presence of Jesus. Jesus, P. explained, had been quite insistent, insinuating himself into a setting that had explicitly intended to exclude him. P. described Jesus as "gentle but persistent." Among other things, he imparted a message of love, and had urged P., among other things, to start reading the scriptures to learn more of him.
Up to this point, though P. had read books by modern Jesus scholars, he had not yet gotten around to reading the Bible itself. He confessed that he didn't actually even own a Bible. He asked for advice about which version of the Bible might be most readable for someone who had little to no experience with the good book. I told him the version didn't particularly matter, that he should just start reading it, and that if he didn't own his own copy, I was happy to give him one as I had a few extra.
He then wanted to know what he should start reading first. He'd already decided he might not be able to handle most of the Old Testament. I seconded his instinct to start with the New Testament, specifically the Gospels and the Book of Acts. I told him that once he'd read at least that much, it might be worthwhile to read at least parts of the Old Testament. I encouraged him to start with Genesis, and then, if he was up to it, Isaiah.
Because his desire to read scripture stemmed from a personal experience with Jesus, we started talking about the scriptural witness of the resurrection. I told him something of my own experience, and I told him about an Episcopal priest I once worked with who had witnessed the risen Christ. I told him about Joseph Smith. And I told him that the oldest texts in the New Testament are the Pauline epistles, which include the oldest direct, first-hand accounts of Paul's experience with the risen Christ, and Paul's descriptions of other first-hand accounts. By the time we were done, he seemed eager to read any account of Jesus he could, so in addition to giving him one of my spare Bibles, I gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon (showing him where he could find 3 Nephi) and jotted down some bibliographic information for texts where he could get a hold of other non-canonical gospels like Thomas, Phillip and Secret Mark, as well as re-constructed texts like "Q" and the "Signs" gospels.
When we finally shook hands before he went his way, he commented how odd it was that at just the moment when he had been thinking about these things, somehow "the Universe" had arranged for him to run into me. I always enjoy how that works.
But more fascinating to me is how I have experienced in my own life or witnessed in the lives of others God working very directly and personally with us. God speaks to us in a language and in a way that can reach each of us exactly where we are, and can guide us in a way that is specifically tailored to our individual life experiences and needs. I can't imagine missionaries of any denomination taking it upon themselves to go seek converts at "Witch Camp." But obviously Jesus himself didn't have a problem with it.
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Monday, May 23, 2011
Friday, February 19, 2010
Jesus Christ Superstar
When I was younger, just the name of this musical sounded blasphemous. In the upbringing I had, rock music was associated with sex and drugs and sin. And the thought of singing songs about Jesus in any other idiom than the organ-accompanied hymns I grew up singing in Church seemed disrespectful at best. I remember in grade school having a music teacher who wanted us to sing a few songs from the Broadway Musical Godspell. I was so offended, I refused to sing. So I always found the whole idea of the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar odious. All the same, years ago I finally gave the movie version a chance by watching it, and actually found it inspiring. In the years since then, I have found myself strangely attracted to this film, watching it again and again. Listening to the album -- which oddly came out before the musical was ever staged -- has also become a regular staple of my personal devotional life.
The end of the film is abrupt -- the actors are literally shown packing up the sets, getting on a bus and leaving. There's no resurrection scene. I wasn't sure I liked that at first, but I've come to love it as the most deeply mystical aspect of watching this film. Christ is resurrected not on celluloid, but in the heart of the faithful viewer. This epitomizes what I love about Jesus Christ Superstar. The musical -- presented essentially from the viewpoint of Judas Iscariot -- deliberately counterpoises all the different, conflicting views of Christ. We see Christ through the eyes of Judas, of Mary Magdalene, of the other disciples, of the lepers, of the crowds in Jerusalem, of Simon and the Zealots, of the Saducees, of Pilot, of Herod, even of the Roman soldiers who crucify him. Through all this, the film essentially rephrases the question again and again: "Whom do you think I am?"
I weep during almost every song of the production, as each individual or group of individuals in the musical is portrayed wrestling with what they think about Jesus. Mary sings, "He's just a man!" The crowds: "Hey J.C., J.C., you're all right by me!" Simon and the Zealots: "I believe in you and God so tell me that I'm saved!" The Jewish council: "He's dangerous!" Pilot: "Who is this broken man cluttering up my hallway?" A Roman soldier answers: "Someone Christ King of the Jews." At each juncture, the viewer is prompted to wrestle along with them. But always one is left with the distinct impression that nobody really understands Jesus. That is what Jesus protests throughout the film each time someone tries to corner him. Mary comes closest, because she insists simply on loving him and caring for him. Everyone else completely misses the mark.
This creates the essential pathos of the film: Jesus' loneliness. The burdens he bears are his and his alone. And what burdens! Through it all, his humanity and his divinity shine through in equal portions. The Jesus of Jesus Christ Superstar feels alone, anguished, angry, afraid, even, at times, overwhelmed. It's these portrayals of his utter humanity that never fail to move me. It is Christ's humanity that makes the anguish of Gethsemane and the torture of the cross that much more painful to watch, and that much more poignant. Yet Jesus always confounds his followers by staying a transcendent course, by embracing his destiny to the bitter end. So the viewer, like the other characters in the musical, is always left with a sense of wonder, the distinct impression that this man Jesus Christ is really something so much more than what is signaled by our superficial perceptions of him.
The character I identify most with in the film, oddly or not, is Judas Iscariot. Judas is portrayed as a man with a deep hunger for social justice, which fuels a sense of outrage about the social order in which he finds himself. He sees Christ as a teacher of justice, with a mission to lift up the poor -- that's what attracted him to Christ in the first place. The idea of Christ's divinity offends him as distracting and potentially dangerous, so the opening scene has Judas essentially pleading with Jesus to publicly disavow the title of "God." Throughout the drama, Jesus refuses to do so, thus setting the stage for the central conflict between the two that leads to Judas' betrayal.
The first two lines are the ones that always get me: "Listen Jesus I don't like what I see. All I ask is that you listen to me." How many times have I uttered that line in my life? The source of all Judas' fear, anger, inability to trust, and -- ultimately -- his betrayal of Christ, hinged on his inability to accept Jesus' divinity. That would be the story of my life.
The difference, I suppose, between Judas and me is that I figured it out before it was too late. I've finally learned how to trust Christ, to put aside my doubts and just accept that I'm the one who ought to be listening to him, not the other way around. But I have always felt like the dividing line between me and Judas was razor thin. But for the grace of God, I was the one hanging myself. So I always weep for Judas in that scene. That could have been me, when the choir sings, "Poor old Judas."
But the line of Judas I still relate most to, even in my present path of faith, is the one Mary Magdalene also sings: "I don't know how to love him." No matter what I do, it doesn't seem adequate. Not that I doubt his love for me. Just that nothing seems equal to his love for me. I am and always will be a beggar.
The end of the film is abrupt -- the actors are literally shown packing up the sets, getting on a bus and leaving. There's no resurrection scene. I wasn't sure I liked that at first, but I've come to love it as the most deeply mystical aspect of watching this film. Christ is resurrected not on celluloid, but in the heart of the faithful viewer. This epitomizes what I love about Jesus Christ Superstar. The musical -- presented essentially from the viewpoint of Judas Iscariot -- deliberately counterpoises all the different, conflicting views of Christ. We see Christ through the eyes of Judas, of Mary Magdalene, of the other disciples, of the lepers, of the crowds in Jerusalem, of Simon and the Zealots, of the Saducees, of Pilot, of Herod, even of the Roman soldiers who crucify him. Through all this, the film essentially rephrases the question again and again: "Whom do you think I am?"
I weep during almost every song of the production, as each individual or group of individuals in the musical is portrayed wrestling with what they think about Jesus. Mary sings, "He's just a man!" The crowds: "Hey J.C., J.C., you're all right by me!" Simon and the Zealots: "I believe in you and God so tell me that I'm saved!" The Jewish council: "He's dangerous!" Pilot: "Who is this broken man cluttering up my hallway?" A Roman soldier answers: "Someone Christ King of the Jews." At each juncture, the viewer is prompted to wrestle along with them. But always one is left with the distinct impression that nobody really understands Jesus. That is what Jesus protests throughout the film each time someone tries to corner him. Mary comes closest, because she insists simply on loving him and caring for him. Everyone else completely misses the mark.
This creates the essential pathos of the film: Jesus' loneliness. The burdens he bears are his and his alone. And what burdens! Through it all, his humanity and his divinity shine through in equal portions. The Jesus of Jesus Christ Superstar feels alone, anguished, angry, afraid, even, at times, overwhelmed. It's these portrayals of his utter humanity that never fail to move me. It is Christ's humanity that makes the anguish of Gethsemane and the torture of the cross that much more painful to watch, and that much more poignant. Yet Jesus always confounds his followers by staying a transcendent course, by embracing his destiny to the bitter end. So the viewer, like the other characters in the musical, is always left with a sense of wonder, the distinct impression that this man Jesus Christ is really something so much more than what is signaled by our superficial perceptions of him.
The character I identify most with in the film, oddly or not, is Judas Iscariot. Judas is portrayed as a man with a deep hunger for social justice, which fuels a sense of outrage about the social order in which he finds himself. He sees Christ as a teacher of justice, with a mission to lift up the poor -- that's what attracted him to Christ in the first place. The idea of Christ's divinity offends him as distracting and potentially dangerous, so the opening scene has Judas essentially pleading with Jesus to publicly disavow the title of "God." Throughout the drama, Jesus refuses to do so, thus setting the stage for the central conflict between the two that leads to Judas' betrayal.
Listen Jesus I don't like what I see.
All I ask is that you listen to me.
And remember, I've been your right hand man all along.
You have set them all on fire.
They think they've found the new Messiah.
And they'll hurt you when they find they're wrong.
I remember when this whole thing began.
No talk of God then, we called you a man.
And believe me, my admiration for you hasn't died.
But every word you say today
Gets twisted 'round some other way.
And they'll hurt you if they think you've lied.
The first two lines are the ones that always get me: "Listen Jesus I don't like what I see. All I ask is that you listen to me." How many times have I uttered that line in my life? The source of all Judas' fear, anger, inability to trust, and -- ultimately -- his betrayal of Christ, hinged on his inability to accept Jesus' divinity. That would be the story of my life.
The difference, I suppose, between Judas and me is that I figured it out before it was too late. I've finally learned how to trust Christ, to put aside my doubts and just accept that I'm the one who ought to be listening to him, not the other way around. But I have always felt like the dividing line between me and Judas was razor thin. But for the grace of God, I was the one hanging myself. So I always weep for Judas in that scene. That could have been me, when the choir sings, "Poor old Judas."
But the line of Judas I still relate most to, even in my present path of faith, is the one Mary Magdalene also sings: "I don't know how to love him." No matter what I do, it doesn't seem adequate. Not that I doubt his love for me. Just that nothing seems equal to his love for me. I am and always will be a beggar.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Christus Consolator
Göran, Glen and I paid a recent visit to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. While we were there, just browsing the general collections, a painting I had never noticed before caught my eye. It was a stunning image of Christ, sitting on his throne. Before him lies a dying man. Kneeling next to the dying man, just behind him, is an African slave, pleading for help. There are peasants, serfs, and soldiers, women, a mother mourning over the death of her infant, a man who has committed suicide. All have come to Christ for aid and comfort, and Christ's hands are stretched out in a gesture of mercy, in one hand shackles that have just been broken from the arms of the dying man.
I was utterly arrested by this beautiful painting, and found myself studying it and reflecting over it, long after Glen and Göran had wandered on to other parts of the gallery. It was a deeply moving experience, finding Christ this way in the heart of the museum. Not the first nor the last spiritual experience I've had at the MIA, but certainly one of the more memorable ones.
On the way out of the museum I stopped at the gift shop to inquire whether there was a book containing an image of the painting, or a poster-sized reproduction of the painting I could purchase. Nobody seemed to know about it.
Later I googled the title of the painting, the "Christus Consolator," and then I learned why nobody in the gift shop seemed to know about it. The painting has only recently been installed at the MIA, as of March 31, 2009. The painting, considered one of the more important works of art produced by nineteenth-century Dutch painter Ary Scheffer, was discovered recently by accident in the basement of Gethsemane Lutheran Church, in Dassel, Minnesota, covered with dust in a janitor's closet. When the Pastor Steven Olson discovered it, he was stunned, and turned it over to the MIA for cleaning presentation to the public. Rev. Olson has my deepest thanks and appreciation for this beautiful and timely gift. I'm grateful that he and his congregation felt moved to share this beautiful work of art with the world, rather than keeping it for themselves, as I'm sure many would have been tempted to do.
Isn't it strange though, how Christ so often comes to us in this way? Unexpected.
I was utterly arrested by this beautiful painting, and found myself studying it and reflecting over it, long after Glen and Göran had wandered on to other parts of the gallery. It was a deeply moving experience, finding Christ this way in the heart of the museum. Not the first nor the last spiritual experience I've had at the MIA, but certainly one of the more memorable ones.
On the way out of the museum I stopped at the gift shop to inquire whether there was a book containing an image of the painting, or a poster-sized reproduction of the painting I could purchase. Nobody seemed to know about it.
Later I googled the title of the painting, the "Christus Consolator," and then I learned why nobody in the gift shop seemed to know about it. The painting has only recently been installed at the MIA, as of March 31, 2009. The painting, considered one of the more important works of art produced by nineteenth-century Dutch painter Ary Scheffer, was discovered recently by accident in the basement of Gethsemane Lutheran Church, in Dassel, Minnesota, covered with dust in a janitor's closet. When the Pastor Steven Olson discovered it, he was stunned, and turned it over to the MIA for cleaning presentation to the public. Rev. Olson has my deepest thanks and appreciation for this beautiful and timely gift. I'm grateful that he and his congregation felt moved to share this beautiful work of art with the world, rather than keeping it for themselves, as I'm sure many would have been tempted to do.
Isn't it strange though, how Christ so often comes to us in this way? Unexpected.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
The Cost of Freedom
I don't claim to understand the mechanics behind the Atonement. Better, more sanctified men and women than I have confessed not to know how it works. But like them, I know that it works. I know it is real.
From an LDS perspective, I also know that it was known from the beginning that an Atonement would be necessary. It was known from the beginning that in order for us to grow and move forward and evolve like our Heavenly Parents, something like the Atonement would be needed. It was part and parcel of the process by which we would acquire physical bodies and be separated for a time from God, to allow us to grow and mature and win our "second estate."
What I also know is what I do not believe about the nature of and reasons for the Atonement. I do not believe the Atonement was necessary to fulfill some arbitrary rule or requirement set by God. I do not believe the Atonement was necessary to appease a wrathful Father. In my mind that would somehow set Christ the Merciful at odds with God the Wrathful, when we know that they were in perfect harmony. What I do believe is that it was somehow necessary because of the way reality is structured. Because progress is not possible without sacrifice.
And that brings me to what happened in the Atonement. I prefer not to get lacrimose or morbid or sanctimonious about the suffering of Christ. It is too sacred for that. But, again with insight afforded by modern-day revelation, we understand that the nature of Christ's suffering transcended ordinary suffering. Many have been crucified. But Christ's suffering was not confined to the cross. It began in the Garden of Gethsemane and finally ended on the cross. Only he took on the sins, illnesses and infirmities of the entire human race and indeed all creation.
I don't understand it, but I understand what it says about the freedom I enjoy, the goodness of life, the benefits of mortal life and the promise of eternal life. It says there is a cost.
What's more, the true value, the true nature of that Atonement is that it renews me, renews us, and renews all of creation in a way that allows us to walk in Christ's path. To join him in the restoration of all things, if we are willing to accept the cost.
Again, modern-day revelation provides some assistance to our understanding here, particularly the principle elaborated in Section 121 of the D&C. The way of God is a way of humility. A way that takes us not above creation, but beneath it. A way that is the opposite of pride. A way that is so much at odds with the notion of setting myself up in judgment over someone else, that judging others is one of the only things that can possibly exclude me from that way.
From an LDS perspective, I also know that it was known from the beginning that an Atonement would be necessary. It was known from the beginning that in order for us to grow and move forward and evolve like our Heavenly Parents, something like the Atonement would be needed. It was part and parcel of the process by which we would acquire physical bodies and be separated for a time from God, to allow us to grow and mature and win our "second estate."
What I also know is what I do not believe about the nature of and reasons for the Atonement. I do not believe the Atonement was necessary to fulfill some arbitrary rule or requirement set by God. I do not believe the Atonement was necessary to appease a wrathful Father. In my mind that would somehow set Christ the Merciful at odds with God the Wrathful, when we know that they were in perfect harmony. What I do believe is that it was somehow necessary because of the way reality is structured. Because progress is not possible without sacrifice.
And that brings me to what happened in the Atonement. I prefer not to get lacrimose or morbid or sanctimonious about the suffering of Christ. It is too sacred for that. But, again with insight afforded by modern-day revelation, we understand that the nature of Christ's suffering transcended ordinary suffering. Many have been crucified. But Christ's suffering was not confined to the cross. It began in the Garden of Gethsemane and finally ended on the cross. Only he took on the sins, illnesses and infirmities of the entire human race and indeed all creation.
I don't understand it, but I understand what it says about the freedom I enjoy, the goodness of life, the benefits of mortal life and the promise of eternal life. It says there is a cost.
What's more, the true value, the true nature of that Atonement is that it renews me, renews us, and renews all of creation in a way that allows us to walk in Christ's path. To join him in the restoration of all things, if we are willing to accept the cost.
Again, modern-day revelation provides some assistance to our understanding here, particularly the principle elaborated in Section 121 of the D&C. The way of God is a way of humility. A way that takes us not above creation, but beneath it. A way that is the opposite of pride. A way that is so much at odds with the notion of setting myself up in judgment over someone else, that judging others is one of the only things that can possibly exclude me from that way.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
No Beauty that We Should Desire Him
He hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.
--Isaiah 53:2
I'm aware that Isaiah 53, which Christians regard as one of the clearest prophecies regarding the life and ministry Jesus Christ, is widely interpreted by Jews as a reflection on the life and mission of the Jewish nation. By the popular Jewish interpretation, this text in verse two is an acknowledgment of how Jews have historically been despised and rejected by the peoples they have interacted with.
From a Christian point of view, this is a remarkable statement when applied to Christ. Some of the Christian commentaries discuss the fact that we have no actual physical portraits of Jesus dating from the time he lived on the earth. The few textual descriptions of what Jesus looked like are considered spurious. While confessing that they have no idea what Jesus looked like, some commentators have suggested, on the strength of this messianic prophecy, that Jesus was not physically attractive.
But commentators have also made the far more intriguing suggestion that the text is not a comment on his physical appearance at all, but rather an observation that there was nothing about Jesus' outward physical appearance that revealed his inward spiritual nature. To look at Jesus was not to instantly recognize him as the Messiah. Such truths about him could only be revealed by other than "flesh and blood."
But isn't that true about everything in this world? Isn't there an outward, physical appearance to everything, that reveals nothing of the underlying spiritual truth behind all of creation? Aren't we all flesh, blood, body, with no hint on the outside of the profound spiritual nature housed within that body? Can't we all become obsessed with that outward nature, and forget the more elusive truth of our existence?
So who would recognize the spiritual nature? Who would have recognized the beauty in Christ that we should desire him?
Those who focus not on what the eyes see, the hands touch, or the ears hear, but on what we learn when the heart listens.
--Isaiah 53:2
I'm aware that Isaiah 53, which Christians regard as one of the clearest prophecies regarding the life and ministry Jesus Christ, is widely interpreted by Jews as a reflection on the life and mission of the Jewish nation. By the popular Jewish interpretation, this text in verse two is an acknowledgment of how Jews have historically been despised and rejected by the peoples they have interacted with.
From a Christian point of view, this is a remarkable statement when applied to Christ. Some of the Christian commentaries discuss the fact that we have no actual physical portraits of Jesus dating from the time he lived on the earth. The few textual descriptions of what Jesus looked like are considered spurious. While confessing that they have no idea what Jesus looked like, some commentators have suggested, on the strength of this messianic prophecy, that Jesus was not physically attractive.
But commentators have also made the far more intriguing suggestion that the text is not a comment on his physical appearance at all, but rather an observation that there was nothing about Jesus' outward physical appearance that revealed his inward spiritual nature. To look at Jesus was not to instantly recognize him as the Messiah. Such truths about him could only be revealed by other than "flesh and blood."
But isn't that true about everything in this world? Isn't there an outward, physical appearance to everything, that reveals nothing of the underlying spiritual truth behind all of creation? Aren't we all flesh, blood, body, with no hint on the outside of the profound spiritual nature housed within that body? Can't we all become obsessed with that outward nature, and forget the more elusive truth of our existence?
So who would recognize the spiritual nature? Who would have recognized the beauty in Christ that we should desire him?
Those who focus not on what the eyes see, the hands touch, or the ears hear, but on what we learn when the heart listens.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
I Believe in Christ
I'm mentally bracing myself for hell and damnation... at work. I've been away for ten days, and due to some changes at the Patent Office that are requiring us to make lots of filings before November 1, I expect to be putting in 10-12 hour days until October 31. This wasn't my fault. We've been planning this trip since something like June, long before the Patent Office decided to afflict us with Evil New Rules. But I will be paying the price.
I will keep myself warm with memories of this recent trip. A trip to Goblin Valley with Göran and my parents. Utahraptors at the Prehistoric Museum in Price. Lunches and dinners with Mohos!! (I won't out you, but thank you, it meant more to me than you can know.) Hanging out with my little sister, Katrina. Family home evening with my brother. Family prayers with my parents. And of course the wedding, and gatherings at BYU and in Salt Lake, which I've already blogged about.
This morning, my dad was feeling under the weather, so my mom and I went to Church just the two of us. The theme at Sacrament Meeting was testimony, which was strangely comforting to me, as this past week I have had more opportunities to verbally bear my testimony than in all the last two years combined! We sang this hymn, which I have come to love, by Bruce R. McConkie. I love the hymn all the more since I once had issues with Elder McConkie, and singing this hymn taught me to love and appreciate him in ways I never did when he was alive. His words have taught me about the simplicity of faith, the unity of faith, and also about hope:I believe in Christ; he stands supreme!
From him I'll gain my fondest dream;
And while I strive through grief and pain,
His voice is heard: "Ye shall obtain."
Monday, June 25, 2007
Sacred Silence
I've been working on a play about the life of Jesus (an exercise, by the way, that I would commend to every believer in Christ). As part of my process of wrestling with how best to dramatically portray certain aspects of Christ's life and ministry, I have been watching as many movies about Jesus as I can get my hands on.
Last night, at the recommendation of a good friend of mine, Göran and I watched Pier Paolo Pasolini's Gospel According to St. Matthew. The opening scene of this visually stark, spiritually poignant portrait of the life of Jesus begins with a close-up of the face of Mary. As the camera moves outward, we see that Mary is pregnant. The camera then cuts to the face of Joseph. He is taking stock of the situation. We read betrayal, anger, and disappointment on his face. The camera then cuts back to Mary's face. We read her anguish. Then, most devastating of all: no angry confrontations, no bitter recriminations. Joseph just quietly turns and walks away from Mary. There is not a single word of dialogue in this scene. The entire story is told with camera angles, facial expressions, and then Joseph's resigned departure.
In the next scene, we see Joseph on the road. Suddenly, the angel appears, and we hear the first spoken words in the film: "Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost. And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins." Joseph turns back.
In the third scene, Joseph returns to the home of Mary. Mary sees him coming through the doorway. In the expressions on Mary's face we see helplessness and anguish give way to relief. In Joseph's eyes we see that anger and disappointment have melted into heart-felt apologies. Once again, there is not a single word of dialogue.
And I realized as I was watching this, that the true power of these scenes is the dramatic way in which they illustrate that the most important things in life cannot be said. There are certain truths of which only God can be the witness.
Last night, at the recommendation of a good friend of mine, Göran and I watched Pier Paolo Pasolini's Gospel According to St. Matthew. The opening scene of this visually stark, spiritually poignant portrait of the life of Jesus begins with a close-up of the face of Mary. As the camera moves outward, we see that Mary is pregnant. The camera then cuts to the face of Joseph. He is taking stock of the situation. We read betrayal, anger, and disappointment on his face. The camera then cuts back to Mary's face. We read her anguish. Then, most devastating of all: no angry confrontations, no bitter recriminations. Joseph just quietly turns and walks away from Mary. There is not a single word of dialogue in this scene. The entire story is told with camera angles, facial expressions, and then Joseph's resigned departure.
In the next scene, we see Joseph on the road. Suddenly, the angel appears, and we hear the first spoken words in the film: "Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost. And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins." Joseph turns back.
In the third scene, Joseph returns to the home of Mary. Mary sees him coming through the doorway. In the expressions on Mary's face we see helplessness and anguish give way to relief. In Joseph's eyes we see that anger and disappointment have melted into heart-felt apologies. Once again, there is not a single word of dialogue.
And I realized as I was watching this, that the true power of these scenes is the dramatic way in which they illustrate that the most important things in life cannot be said. There are certain truths of which only God can be the witness.
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