PeaceBang

Volver

Another reason to just love Pedro Almodovar.

His films always have at least one performance that just quietly slays me. In this picture, Penelope Cruz was really fantastic (how come she’s never nearly as strong or authoritative a presence in any of her American films?), but Blanca Portillo was incandescent.

I said to my sister that I loved this movie because none of the characters needed to end up with a man at the end to make it interesting or memorable. In fact, much more to my taste, the movie begins and ends with women taking care of one another. Pedro Almodovar trusts that to be interesting enough for his viewers, and I notice that the reviewers who hated the film just couldn’t stand how much he seems to love his female characters.

Penelope Cruz has the greatest hair and eye make-up EVER in this movie. It’s obvious that the costume designers padded her butt for some reason, but that doesn’t detract from her sublimity. I remember seeing her in “Belle Epoque” when she was just about twenty and she was an incredibly breathtaking unknown. Good for her for getting her great Sophia Loren/Anna Magnanani part at last.

Thanks, Philip Gulley

Last night I was on my way into the city to meet a pal for his birthday dinner when the T train stopped cold. No problem; that happens. I still figured I’d make it to Cambridge a lot earlier than I would have had I been driving, and I’d even have some time to shop for a sock monkey for my friend before dinner. The train was air-conditioned, so I was comfortable and fine.

After about fifteen minutes, the other passengers and I started to realize something was seriously wrong. Finally the conductor’s voice came on the PA, apologizing for the delay and announcing a FIRE between Park and Downtown Crossing stations.

Oh. Oh.
Suddenly I was not so okay. A FIRE?

See, I have a tendency to get panic attacks when stuck in enclosed places LIKE THE SUBWAY TRAIN BURIED FAR UNDERNEATH THE WORLD IN THE COLD, RAT-INFESTED DARK.

I knew I didn’t have a stray Ativan or Valium in my bag, ’cause I only get those from my doctor when I’m flying somewhere and would rather not break into a heart-pounding, terrified sweat three miles in the air over Topeka, Kansas.

I knew that I could let my mind start racing (”Oh my God, a FIRE? What happened? Was there a BOMB? Are there TERRORISTS in Boston? How about ARSON? Is MARVIN THE TORCH running around setting fire to T stations? Why don’t they let us out at South Station and put us on a shuttle, or let us get a cab or a bus, or WALK to where we need to go? I could walk to Cambridge! At least I wouldn’t be stuck in the dark underground in this freezing cold airless CASKET with all these nice, calm Bostonians who don’t know we’re all going to DIE!), or I could let go of control, turn off my monkey thoughts, and read the nice book I had just checked out of the library.

I opted for the latter. Especially since, as I said, everyone was being so gracious and nice and patient and I didn’t want to cause a scene. In fact, I’d like to mention here that Boston folks have really impressed me lately. I’ve been attending some big, rowdy Red Sox-related events in the city and have found people to be fun, friendly and really delightful, whereas in the past the crowds seemed more like those guys in the ad for the movie “300″ — you know, the ones who all look like WWF champs and like they don’t know how to use a knife and fork?

Anyway, I decided to do some deep breathing and to read the book I had just found at the library called Porch Talk by Philip Gulley, a Quaker pastor from Indiana. The book is hilariously funny, charming and extremely endearing. Gulley writes like I wish I could : he’s wickedly sarcastic but manages to be so in a way that’s homey, sweet and sly and never snarly or caustic . I suppose that’s the difference between a small-town Indiana boy and a girl who was raised by drama queen parents (I mean that with love, Mom and Dad) and New York Jews.

I’m so grateful I just happened to have this book in my purse — I usually don’t bring reading material on the subway with me because reading and riding makes me nauseous — but it kept me from having a nervous breakdown during the hour we were trapped underground, and I now have a huge crush on Philip Gulley. I mean, he’s a great writer, a faithful Universalist Quaker, and extremely CUTE. Bless your heart, Pastor Gulley. C’mon, is this guy swoon-worthy or what?

“Jesus Camp:” A PeaceBang Review

I finally saw “Jesus Camp,” Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady’s 2006 documentary about Pastor Becky Fischer’s Pentecostalist Kids On Fire camp, which used to be held for three days every year in North Dakota.

I heard a lot about this film when it came out. I read a dozen horrified reviews and heard from a lot of religious liberals who found the content of the film deeply disturbing and who compared Becky Fischer to Hitler.
I was prepared to be sickened by what I saw.
I was not. I was definitely angered and irritated, but I saw some really good things happening in these children’s lives. I suppose my “tolerant” liberal fans out there will want to give me a toilet whirlie for saying so.

So what did I see?
I saw charismatic Pentecostalists behaving like charismatic Pentecostalists have been behaving for thousands of years: speaking in tongues, taking the Bible literally, engaging in group-think that I disagree with, having a theology I find in many ways abhorrent, and having intensely emotional experiences in worship.

In Pastor Becky Fischer I saw a dedicated, hard-working youth pastor whose theology I find really awful in some aspects, but whose creativity and sincere faith is undeniable. Scary message? Absolutely. Hitler? What?? Wouldn’t it be great if people could actually understand, and have a context for, what they’re seeing in religious material like this without freaking out and giving way to total demonization of people whose traditions they have no knowledge of?

Actually, I went away from the film more disturbed by the liberal reactions to it, than to the actual film.

This harkens back to one of my earlier posts, but let me repeat myself here: it would be a good thing if more Americans learned about religious traditions so that they wouldn’t be so all-fired horrified whenever they encountered one with which they passionately disagree. Sure, I wouldn’t raise my kids the way these conservative fundamentalists in Missouri do, but I can watch them on film without wanting to refer to them as “lunatics” and “monsters” (two words used in reviews of this film). They didn’t make up this way of being religious — they inherited it from previous generations. The hysteria over this film baffles me. If you saw a film of Catholics lining up to take Communion, would you recoil in horror and say, “Oh my GOD, they’re pretending to drink a man’s blood and eat his body!!” No you wouldn’t, because you know something about Catholicism. Some of your friends are Catholic. You are able to disagree with aspects of their tradition without having a nervous breakdown about how they raise their children.

“BUT THEY’RE INDOCTRINATING THEIR CHILDREN!”
Yes. I think so, too.

“BUT THEY’RE TRYING TO MAKE THIS A CHRISTIAN NATION AND TO INFLUENCE THE GOVERNMENT!”
The last time I looked, Unitarian Universalists like me were trying to influence the government, too. (Hey, didn’t I see you at the Marriage Equality rally? Yea, I met with my senator on the issue, too).
Newsflash: conservative Christians believe that Christianity is the one true religion. They feel called to evangelize about the saving blood of Christ to everyone. It’s been going on for at least centuries and its a central commitment of certain sects of Christianity. Relax, already. Lutherans, Jews, Catholics, Presbyterians and probably even the Quakers have offices in Washington, DC. While it’s not (necessarily) part of those traditions to pray for a Christian nation, it is part of their traditions to try to influence policy. Part of my religious tradition’s commitment is to fight for the continued separation of church and state. As we have always done, we’ll battle these issues in the public square. So will our children. That’s how it works.
We’ll keep advocating for freedom of reproductive choice, and they’ll keep praying for God to appoint the right judges who will outlaw it. If one of their children bombs an abortion clinic, one of our children may prosecute them and put them in prison. And so it goes, in the ongoing fight to define “righteousness” and to live by it.

The thing that frosts me is when liberals holler about a film like this and claim, by way of comparison, ideological superiority while naming “them” as ignorant, crazy drones. Not only is that an uninformed, simplistic attitude, it’s completely unproductive and leads to nothing but more deeply entrenched intractability on both sides.

So Pastor Becky Fischer, if you’re out there, I think we should have lunch sometime. We have a WHOLE lot to disagree on, but you know what? We have an awful lot to talk about, too. We’re both considered dangerous by some of the same people, and girl, I’d like to buy you a drink for that.
And by the way, I admire you for being honest in this interview.

Take This Bread: A PeaceBang Review

Sara Miles is a fan of this blog and wrote me a note this past spring saying that she wanted to send me a copy of her book Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion. Would I like to receive it? Are you kidding? You BET I would!

I received the book this summer and am still reading it. It’s not that I’m too busy to finish it; it’s just that I don’t want it to end. Sara Miles is such a sister of my heart that I like to read a little bit of her story then put it away for awhile so I can hear her voice again when I need it. After all, it’s not like anything really happens in this book. It’s not a sexy adventure story. It’s just the story of one person’s attempt to deal with God’s inconvenient call, to struggle to accommodate an old and a new world view, to not be too obnoxious about her new passion for Jesus, and to love her partner and child while riding the bucking bronco of that elusive thing called “Christian life.”

Miles writes beautifully - she has an impressive background as a journalist with specialties in Latin American revolutions and politics (some of us remember with fondness her reporting for Out magazine before it became a campy glam-boy mag) — and her story really begins when she ventures into St. Gregory of Nyssa’s Episcopal Church in San Francisco and takes Communion for the first time. An unchurched atheist, Miles writes that “something outrageous and terrifying happened. Jesus happened to me.”

Her description of what happens next will cause anyone who has had a similarly shocking experience with Jesus to hoot with recognition and to cheer aloud her disorientation and her subsequent frantic attempts to intellectualize the whole thing. Oh, girl, I feel you! For all my friends and relatives who wonder how I could have become a Christian, I want to xerox pages 58-61 and say, “Here. I totally can’t explain it. It doesn’t make any sense, but here’s a beautiful description of how it doesn’t make any sense.”

Miles is then drawn into giving herself over to the literal fulfillment of Jesus’ exhortation to feed the hungry. She joins St. Gregory’s* and starts a food pantry. One of the things I love and appreciate best about this memoir is that it isn’t the story of how someone found Jesus and then did something nice and social justice-y about it for awhile before becoming a celebrity speaker on the topic. It’s the story of how someone found Jesus, rolled up her sleeves and went to work feeding the hungry, and is still working with that food pantry today. Rock on, Sara Miles! Thank you for writing so honestly about church life. And kudos to your community and its priests for supporting you in this.

St. Gregory’s food pantry feeds hundreds of families every week. It costs $50 to feed one family for a year.
If everyone reading this post over the next day or two contributes $5 to the PeaceBang blog, we could feed 30 families for a year. If you’d like to contribute to St. Gregory’s through PeaceBang, go to the “Support PeaceBang Blog” and follow the links to PayPal. Let’s see what we can do together. I will match all contributions made today and tomorrow. [Update on Sept. 29: we’re up to $400, gang! Woo hoo! Keep it up!! - PB]

I think it needs to be said that this book is the antidote to the rampant narcissism of another spiritual memoir written by a talented and charismatic writer, Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Love, Pray (which I have ungenerously re-titled Gripe, Brag, Screw). Sara’s book is the good strong soap I needed to cleanse me after being dipped in Ms. Gilbert’s sticky vat of self-absorption, white privilege and obvious addiction to personal crisis and drama. Take This Bread is also full of personal crisis and drama, but since Miles’ focus is on service and not on self, it is far more meaningful to me. It says a lot about our culture that Gilbert’s memoir has been greeted with breathless adoration by thousands and thousands of Americans and has reached best-seller status, while Miles’ book has had a more modest reception. One book is about spirituality at its most individualistic and self-serving, the other is about the demands of religious life following a radical conversion experience. One is Hollywood, the other, Jerusalem.

Take this book and read.

*Sara, I visited St. Gregory’s in August of 2000 and then again two or three years later. I wonder if I may have met you during one of those times? Your face looked so familiar to me on your book jacket…
The second time I attended was the Feast of Mary Magdalene and Donald preached on a trip to China. I was invited to carry one of the –what do you call them? — liturgical umbrellas?

“No End In Sight:” A PeaceBang Review

This fine documentary by Charles Ferguson is more than a bit of a downer, but you should all go see it as fast as you can.

This isn’t a Michael Moore-ish production with lots of manipulative editing and sexy music — it’s mostly talking heads and footage from Iraq asking the question of how the U.S.’s mistakes led to the now out-of-control insurgency.

There is much to appreciate in this movie: its calm, chronological manner of presenting information from Bush administration insiders, its judicious usage of extremely upsetting footage, its intelligence and conscience. I think what I most appreciated, however, was that it showed the military in a very sympathetic light and put to rest once and for all that supporting the Bush administration is somehow “supporting the troops.”

Please see this film. Bring your friends. You will want to talk about it afterwards.

I really, really hope you’ll see this film, in case I didn’t make that clear enough.

“The Proposition:” A PeaceBang Film Review

Whooee, this was an amazing film.

It’s essentially an old-school Western set in the Australian outback in 1880’s. Ray Winstone is British captain Morris Stanley who aims to “civilize this land” and Guy Pearce is Charlie Burns, a member of an outlaw gang of brothers who have just massacred a settler family.

In the hair-raising opening scene, Cpt. Stanley and his men catch and imprison Charlie and his simple-minded younger brother Mikey, and Stanley makes a proposition: if Charlie will murder his brother Arthur — the homicidal leader of the Burns gang — his little brother won’t hang on Christmas Day. He has nine days to make good on the deal.

Sounds like your typical morality tale with lots of shoot-em-up, right? Not quite. Factor in that the screenplay and the music were written by none other than Bad Seed Nick Cave, and you’ll understand why I couldn’t get to sleep until almost 3 a.m. last night.

I agree with the reviewer who said that this film deserves to be seen on as big a screen as you can find: I’m really sorry I missed it in the theatre. Yes, it was profoundly upsetting but it was also gloriously beautiful and emotionally affecting, a triumph I attribute to director John Hillcoat and to Nick Cave’s haunting music.

If you can’t stand dirty reality, this is not the film for you. Those flies you see crawling all over the extras in the scene where they flog Mikey in the town square are real, as is the rampant sweat and greasy hair. Temperatures were over 100 degrees during production (necessitating a lot of night filming — we learn in the DVD extras that the cameras often became literally too hot to handle) and that’s a real corset and velvet dress you see on the always-riveting Emily Watson as Cpt. Stanley’s beloved wife, Martha. I’d see the movie again just to marvel at the tragicomedy of her offering hot tea to a visitor and serving a proper English breakfast on a patio surrounded by a valiant desert approximation of a Dorset garden.

Danny Huston has the role of a lifetime as the “family man” Arthur Burns, a kind of sociopathic guru with a slice of fey running through his massive menacing presence. It’s a bit of a scenery-chewing performance but just right as a foil to Guy Pearce’s silent, sinewy turn as Charlie.

For those interested in the sad history of the treatment of aboriginal Australians by white colonizers, this film provides an unflinching look at one of the most brutal periods in this tragic history. Indigenous actors Tom E. Lewis (Two Bob), Leah Purcell (Queenie), David Gulpilil (Jacko) in leading roles, and many aboriginal actors in smaller roles, apparently helped develop this aspect of the storyline and great care was taken to represent their history fairly. I was very happy to learn that the film got big props from the aboriginal community. It’s also great to see indigenous people in fully-fleshed out roles beyond the “noble savage” stereotype. I especially loved Rodney Boschman as the Stanley’s housekeeper. There’s a marvelous moment where he takes off his boots and socks before he leaves for the day with just the right combination of disgust for the white man’s ways and infinite patience.

It’s so rare for me to see a film that stays with me, let alone one that I’m still thinking about the next day, I give “The Proposition” an “A.”

Mayflower

Nathaniel Philbrick’s book Mayflower was really, really excellent. If you’re looking for something terrific to read in honor of our country’s birthday, consider it.

And if you really want to get all smarty-pants on 17th century colonial America, follow it up with Jill Lepore’s terrific, The Name of War.

Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation

Oh! Oh!
I almost forgot to tell you how much I enjoyed Assassination Vacation!!

Very interesting, very snarky, but not so much that you couldn’t tell how much Vowell truly loves American history.

When she referred to Robert Todd Lincoln as “Jinxy McDeath” (for reasons you’ll have to read the book to find out), I literally blew water out of my nose. In my hotel bed in Nashville.

Actually, Vowell’s book did make me reflect on the prevalence of that writing style: very snarky, very off-handedly confessional, very clever. Will these books age well, I wonder?

I’ve turned off the comments for the time being because I’m teaching a 3-hour class every day over the next ten days and I need to focus. Writing a blog helps me download distracting thoughts: reading, trying to make sense of and respond to comments on them does not. Don’t take it personally, I love ya anyway.

I Heart Nathaniel Philbrick

… and he’s going to be at Brookline Booksmith TONIGHT AT 6PM!

::thumpety thump thumpety thump::::

Oh, Boston area pals? I have box seats to the Sox game on May 29th because I am the luckiest l’il minister in the land.

You can:
1. ask to join me (sorry couples, I only have one extra tickie)
2. set me up with some nice, funny guy who won’t mind my compulsive outbursts and obvious salivating over Jason Varitek

The Peabody Sisters: Recommended Summer Reading

Tim and I went to see Megan Marshall talk about her marvelous book, The Peabody Sisters: Three Women Who Ignited American Romanticism at the Winchester Public Library last week.

I am filled with admiration for Ms. Marshall, who took twenty years to write this monumental contribution to 19th century history, and particularly to women’s history. If you’re an Emerson or Thoreau fan, a Horace Mann or Nathaniel Hawthorne groupie, a student of Unitarian history or just American history, if you just want to know more about the roots of American literary culture, or if you have a sister, don’t miss this book.

The main character, Elizabeth Palmer Peabody, is a bit of an exhausting gal to keep up with (learning Hebrew as a child so that she could read the Old Testament in the original and that sort of thing), so I couldn’t read straight through the book. It’s so beautifully researched I couldn’t just do my usual munch-it-up-like-candy routine and put it back on the shelf. It’s still on my kitchen table just because I’m not ready to put those girls away quite yet.

Can’t recommend it highly enough to you.

There’s a fascinating theme woven throughout the book about 19th century medicine, the condition sometimes referred to as “neurasthenia” (think all those “nervous” women taking to their beds for extended periods and you’ll know what I mean). Sophia Peabody suffered from chronic migraines and her ailments, psychological and physical, are well-documented and analyazed by Marshall.

I was well-acquainted already with Margaret Fuller’s nervous condition, and with Lidian Emerson’s long periods sequestered in her bedroom and began to wonder about all of this. Was sickness, as Marshall suggests, one way for 19th century women to exert some control over their schedules and their individual destinies?

To help me understand that question, I am now reading Barbara Ehrenrich and Deidre English’s classic, For Her Own Good: Two Centuries of The Experts’ Advice to Women.

But what I’m really looking forward to is Megan Marshall’s next biography on Ebe Hawthorne, Nathaniel’s eccentric and reclusive sister who once remarked to Sophia Peabody that she didn’t need the excuse of infirmity to claim “the power to withdraw.”

Hurry, Megan! Your devoted fans await!