Page 3423 – Christianity Today (2024)

On Saturday, March 12, Baptist theologian Stanley Grenz passed away after suffering a brain hemorrhage at the untimely age of 55.

Dr. Grenz was a prolific writer, having authored or co-authored 25 books. He taught at a variety of institutions including Regent College, Baylor University, and Carey Theological College. Grenz was a leading expert on the theology of Wolfhart Pannenberg, but he was also a favorite theologian of the emerging church network. A brief biographical sketch can be found on his personal website.

Stan Grenz served as a consulting editor for Christianity Today, and in 2004 CT published this meditation about learning to trust God in the midst of our anxieties. We urge you to read it today in his memory.

Copyright © 2005 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

Related Elsewhere:

Brian McLaren and others have written tributes. Grenz’s website lists several, and has a guestbook for other rememberances.

Newton’s “Amazing Grace” never enthralled his country as it has ours. The British apathy is captured in John Julian’s classic Dictionary of Hymnology (1892), where he says the famous hymn is “far from being a good example of Newton’s work.” This indifference might have been because the tune that now seems so essential to the attractiveness and memorability of “Amazing Grace” wasn’t yet widely used, or because the British usually preferred a more restrained and unemotional type of religion. Whatever the reason, the words of “Amazing Grace” articulately express American Christianity’s emphasis on the conversion experience and simultaneously describe America’s cultural and historical journey.

Revival’s “camp classics”

At the time of Newton’s death, the dramatic religious revival later known as the Second Great Awakening was in progress. Initially centered on the border of Tennessee and Kentucky, it was characterized by a huge emotional outpouring of dancing, wailing, jumping, laughing, and collapsing. The new style of “camp meeting” revival demanded a new style of worship. The songs had to be memorable because out in the field, in the half light, there could be no hymnals.

As this religious revolution intensified, a parallel musical revolution was under way. Ordinary working people liked to sing, yet almost none of them could read music, and most churches didn’t have musical instruments. This meant that congregations were entirely dependent on song leaders to strike up tunes and carry them.

To make music more accessible, a different notation had been developed that was relatively easy to learn. This was the “shape-note system,” so called because the key to recognition was the shape of the note rather than its position. Peripatetic singing instructors would visit a town for two or three weeks, setting up evening classes in available spaces. The natural outcome was a surge of interest in communal singing and then a growing body of ordinary Americans who had mastered the rudiments of music.

No, Newton didn’t write the tune

Shape-note singers used tune books rather than hymnals. Hymnals were pocket-sized books with texts only. Tune books were large, oblong books with hard covers, often more than 400 pages long. They included both music and text and were introduced by an extended essay on the rudiments of music. It was in one such tune book, Columbian Harmony (1829), that “New Britain,” the music we now use with “Amazing Grace,” was first published.

The marriage with Newton’s words took place three years later, in William Walker’s celebrated tune book The Southern Harmony, an event that makes Walker second only to Newton himself in the story of “Amazing Grace.” Today it is hard to hear the tune without imagining the words, and hard to read the words without hearing the tune, yet until Walker saw their compatibility both elements of the song were leading independent lives.

Until this time “Amazing Grace” had been sung to a variety of tunes. When Walker put it with “New Britain” he displayed real genius, because not only did the words fit snugly into the required musical space but the music enhanced the meaning. The music behind “amazing” had a sense of awe to it. The music behind “grace” sounded graceful. There was a rise at the point of confession, as though the author was stepping out into the open and making a bold declaration, but a corresponding fall when admitting his blindness.

The Southern Harmony proved enormously successful. It sold an estimated 600,000 copies in a country where the population in 1850 was only just more than 23 million. The book’s success played a vital role in establishing “Amazing Grace” in America. The words corresponded to the American experience in a unique way, not only by delineating the archetypal evangelical conversion but by articulating the groans of a people who frequently had to struggle with poverty and sickness. No other nation was made up of so many pioneers and immediate descendants of pioneers. “Dangers, toils, and snares” had particular resonance for those who’d suffered for their adventure, as did the promise that grace would “lead me home.”

The country ditty, citified

During the Civil War, hymnals such as Hymns for the Camp (1862) and The Soldier’s Hymn Book (1864), both of which included “Amazing Grace,” were distributed to troops. The prospect of death created a mood of seriousness, and there was a dramatic increase in Bible studies and informal church services among the new recruits.

The song retained its popularity in the rural South, the natural home of The Southern Harmony, and then spread into the major cities of the North. If it hadn’t been taken up by northern city dwellers, the tastemakers of postbellum America, it could well have been regarded as merely a quaint example of what country folk used to sing before the war.

The song’s spread to the North was helped by a new style of urban evangelism that featured vocal music. The best-known practitioners were preacher Dwight L. Moody and his song leader Ira Sankey. Since Sankey included “Amazing Grace” in his publications, the song was introduced to a wider audience and couched in a fresh context.

The slave-trader’s song reaches the slaves’ hearts

Away from the gaze of professional musicians, “Amazing Grace” also took root among slaves. Its growth as a white song had been clearly recorded in the books and hymnals, but not so its parallel development as a black song. Enforced illiteracy prevented slaves and their immediate descendants from keeping a detailed record of cultural changes. The slaves took warmly to eighteenth-century English hymns, and it’s easy to see why “Amazing Grace” would emerge as the most loved. It appeared to tell their story. The very fact of their survival proved God had looked after them so far. They might be downtrodden, but there were still victories to be gained, temptations to resist, diseases to be freed from. Like Paul and Silas imprisoned in Philippi, they were able to sing in their chains.

Slaves first learned “Amazing Grace” at the churches of their white masters and mistresses, where they were taken to ensure that they learned how to be worthy, obedient servants; yet contained within its words was the secret of inner release. From the lyrics, the slaves gained assurance that it was possible to be physically enslaved and yet spiritually free. It was possible to be materially impoverished and yet have an overflowing account of righteousness in heaven.

The “Amazing Grace” rendition sung in black churches varied greatly. Men known as “shouting preachers” told folksy tales and then spontaneously broke into a song supported by a small congregation. “Amazing Grace” was one of the few songs to live through this transition from spirituals and “shouting preachers” to the blues- and jazz-inspired gospel music that entered its golden age during the 1940s and 1950s. All the great gospel singers recorded “Amazing Grace,” which reminded them of family roots and the fundamentals of their faith.

Newton the hippie?

During folk music’s hippie heyday, “Amazing Grace” began to assume powerful meaning even within a secular context. On the opening night of Woodstock in August 1969, Arlo Guthrie performed only three songs, one of which was “Amazing Grace.” The song became a highlight of his live show as he broke between stanzas to recount a fanciful version of Newton’s life story. To Guthrie, Newton represented the best the 1960s counterculture could offer.

“I used to think, what’s this ‘saved a wretch like me’? Was it the same old Puritanical ‘we hate everything including ourselves’ stuff?” Guthrie said. “In Newton’s case, he really was a wretched character and he really did feel he had been saved. In his case it wasn’t keeping the world safe from weirdos and he ends up being a countercultural figure. He went against the grain of the times.”

The watershed event for the popularization of “Amazing Grace” was the a cappella single released by Judy Collins in December 1970, which climbed into the best-seller charts in both Britain and America early in 1971. The timing was right for a hit. The war in Vietnam was dragging on as Americans struggled to come to grips with the My Lai massacre. Charles Manson and his hippie acolytes were appearing before a judge on murder charges. It seemed that both the American Dream and the hippie dream had ended up in the same place. There was a widespread yearning for less complicated times, for the days before napalm and LSD, for values that had stood the test of time. “Amazing Grace” provided an appropriate salve.

A uniting icon

For a hymn written by an eighteenth-century British Calvinist, “Amazing Grace” is remarkably transcendent. Its use in the wake of the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington illustrated its power to unite Americans and those worldwide who felt sympathy for America. Somehow “Amazing Grace” could embrace core American values without ever sounding triumphalist or jingoistic. It could be sung by young and old, Republican and Democrat, Southern Baptist and Roman Catholic, African American and Native American, military officer and anti-capitalist campaigner.

How sweet the sound, indeed.

This article is adapted from Steve Turner, Amazing Grace: The Story of America’s Most Beloved Song. Copyright © 2003. Published by arrangement with HarperCollins Publishers.

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History & Biography magazine.Click here for reprint information on Christian History & Biography.

There’s a scene in The Upside of Anger when Terry Wolfmeyer (Joan Allen) walks into her daughter’s bedroom to find Andy, the second of her four daughters, under the covers with Andy’s boss. The boss, “Shep,” is easily twice Andy’s age—and just happens to be this movie’s writer and director, Mike Binder. There isn’t any dialogue, per se, but the series of facial contortions and exasperated shrieks that follows and culminates in Terry storming out of the room leaves Andy (Erika Christensen) with no doubt as to her mother’s opinion on the situation. Andy slumps back on her pillow while Shep, in sleepy bewilderment, says something to effect of “Wow, that was intense.”

Indeed. Intense is a good way to describe Joan Allen’s performance in The Upside of Anger. Other words that come to mind are acerbic, witty, and perfect.

Kevin Costner is no slouch either, as Denny Davies, a boozy former baseball player turned radio talk show host who lives in the neighborhood and slides into the picture when he sees an opening left by the abrupt departure of Terry’s husband. In a career move reminiscent of Jack Nicholson in Terms of Endearment, Costner has reintroduced himself to the movie-going public as a flawed, but endearing and earnest soul.

Unfortunately, these two outstanding performances aren’t given much of a viable dramatic context. It sounds compelling and all the pieces seem to be there—a husband disappears, ostensibly with his Swedish secretary, leaving his beautiful family to work through the resulting emotions, namely anger, and pick up the proverbial pieces. The four daughters are played by a group of been-around-but-still-up-and-coming actresses—Alicia Witt, best known for her work on Cybil, plays the oldest, Hadley; Christensen, who broke hearts as a drug addled teen in Traffic, plays Andy; former Felicity namesake Keri Russell plays Emily; and Thirteen ingénue Evan Rachel Wood plays the youngest daughter, Popeye. It’s notable that Allen, at 48, is as attractive as any of these actresses, some of whom are half her age—or younger.

This movie tries to trade on the interpersonal dynamics of a house full of women, but perhaps a female screenwriter might have done so more successfully than Binder. As it is, there are a number of memorable lines and scenes with insightful dialogue, but they aren’t strung together with enough nuance to provide the promise of a rich emotional life below the surface. It’s true that would-be ballerina Emily deals with a serious bout of a stress-induced illness and Popeye is given some narrator duties that try to cast her in the wise child light, but none of the girls seems to really respond to the most traumatic events of plot. “Your dad has left you to go to Sweden with his secretary.” Wide eyes and downcast frowns. “Your drunken neighbor has taken up residence on your couch and is making a play for your mom.” Knowing smiles (with a token protest thrown in) and requests for an autograph. “There’s been no word from your dad for three years and your mom refuses to make the first move.” Pouts all around.

I can’t remember one scene in which any of the girls cried about the departure of her father. They seem more like good friends to Terry, outsiders who are sometimes sympathetic, sometimes condescending, but always present as she works through her anger issues, rather than daughters who have been rejected by their own father. They seem neither convincingly sad nor mad.

Nevertheless, Denny enjoys the company of these women and in the three-year span over which the film’s story takes place, he becomes a fixture at the dinner table (“I think you know my position on free food”) and in Terry’s bedroom. Their relationship, two difficult people who manage to make room for each other in their lives, is the most heartfelt aspect of the movie. With lesser performances, Terry would be too harsh and Denny too soft, but here they each seem to find just enough balance to keep their credibility. Without Allen and Costner, I suspect my 3-star rating would slip back closer to a 2.

A twist ending presented a lot of questions for me just as the movie was trying to tie things up with a nice little voice-over. Popeye says that the upside of anger is “the person you become”—that, ostensibly, anger can help you become a better person. It’s a premise worthy of discussion, but not one that I feel is really explored in this movie—especially in light of the twist ending. But the movie did resonate with the mostly middle-aged crowd I saw it with. They blessed it with a smattering of applause as the credits rolled. That might be because, for better and for worse, many in their 40s and 50s might see themselves in Terry and Denny—people struggling to reconcile their youthful dreams with the reality of what their lives have become. For some, it’s an easier reconciliation than for others. But just about everyone will be able to recognize the emotions expressed by Terry and Denny in this film.

Talk About It

Discussion starters

1. Given Terry’s situation at the beginning of the movie, is anger a justifiable response? Why or why not?
2. Evaluate how the people in Terry’s life responded to her anger. Were those responses appropriate? Would you have done or said anything differently to her were you in the movie?
3. How does the twist ending affect the overall message about anger communicated in the movie?

The Family Corner

For parents to consider

There are no real sex scenes in this R-rated film, but lots of unmarried people in bed together—or trying to get in bed together. Alcohol and pot consumption are ubiquitous, as is foul language. Bottom line: don’t take the kids.

Photos © Copyright New Line Features

What Other Critics Are Saying

from Film Forum, 03/24/05

Writer/director/actor Mike Binder turns in one of 2005’s most critically acclaimed films so far with The Upside of Anger, and the reviews hail Joan Allen’s performance as one of her very best. Allen, most recently seen in The Bourne Supremacy, has been nominated several times for an Oscar, but has yet to win. It’s possible she’ll earn yet another nomination for her work as Terry, a disillusioned, middle-aged woman who falls in love with Denny, a retired baseball star (Kevin Costner) next door. The film also stars Erika Christensen (Traffic), Keri Russell (TV’s Felicity), and Evan Rachel Wood (Thirteen, The Missing).

Binder’s film is extremely popular with the mainstream press, and religious press critics are finding plenty to praise as well.

“Without Allen and Costner, I suspect my 3-star rating would slip back closer to a 2,” says Lisa Ann co*ckrel (Christianity Today Movies). “A twist ending presented a lot of questions for me. . . . But the movie did resonate with the mostly middle-aged crowd I saw it with. That might be because, for better and for worse, many in their 40s and 50s might see themselves in Terry and Denny—people struggling to reconcile their youthful dreams with the reality of what their lives have become.”

Megan Basham, a Christian film critic who writes for National Review, says Upside “is a story too rare in cinema today: It’s a love story for and about grown-ups—people who carry life’s scars into their next relationships and cope with disappointment in messy ways.” She too has some problems with the way the film wraps up, but concludes that it’s “truly something special.”

Harry Forbes (Catholic News Service) says it’s “a beautifully acted, droll, and, ultimately, profoundly moving comedy-drama. [It] imparts a strong moral about the destructive nature of misplaced animosity … and ultimately is a touchingly strong affirmation of love and family. And it’s intelligent adult fare, as too few films are these days, even if there is a preponderance of salty language.” He says Joan Allen “surpasses anything she has ever done with a mercurial performance that is a pleasure to watch.”

Michael Elliott (Movie Parables) joins in with raves for Allen, saying her “intensity simply burns up the screen.” He praises Costner and the rest of the cast, but has a few notes for the director. “Binder has written some very clever dialogue and crafted some interesting characters but his screenplay is far from flawless.”

Cliff Vaughn (Ethics Daily) considers how the film stacks up to a similar drama. “Anger doesn’t match the overall cohesiveness of American Beauty. . . . But the performances by Costner and Allen are rock-solid, and the relationship they build is one many mature adults will be able to appreciate.”

from Film Forum, 03/31/05

Andrew Coffin (World) says it’s “a sad, often biting look at a family in the grip of anger. The film wants us to believe that however horribly its characters act, in the end things will turn out OK through some magical act of catharsis.”

Copyright © 2005 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings deserve a film like Schindler’s List or Hotel Rwanda—something that brings that historical drama to life in a way that helps us shoulder the burden of history and walk away wiser. In My Country tries to be that film, but falls short.

The hearings, which started in 1996 and lasted two years, gave more than 20,000 witnesses a chance to testify—2,000 publicly—against their predominantly white oppressors in a courtroom. Even more astonishing: The hearings were not about retribution. They were carried on to give the world a demonstration of principled forgiveness and “ubuntu” (a South African word for reconciliation). The accused could attempt to explain their behavior, and they could appeal for amnesty if they could prove that they were “just following orders” and were politically motivated in their violence.

Clearly, director John Boorman had the resources at his disposal to make a powerful, affecting drama. He had the gorgeous backdrop of the lush South African landscape. He had three supremely talented actors—Samuel Jackson, Juliette Binoche, and Brendan Gleeson—in the leading roles. And he had a vast reservoir of eyewitness testimonies about racial violence that he could have used to educate a dismayingly ignorant Western audience. Those must have been amazing scenes that played out in those makeshift courtrooms, as the wronged South Africans confronted their oppressors in court with spirit-crushing stories of murder, rape, and mutilation. We hear several devastating stories based on actual transcripts. A woman begs to have the severed hand of her son back, so she has something to bury. Another weeps for her husband, who was stabbed thirty-seven times just so the government could “eliminate” a “thorn in the flesh.” One man testifies about how electrocution rendered his body useless. “I want my manhood back,” he declares.

But Boorman seems uninspired by these confrontations. Ann Peaco*ck’s adaptation of Antjie Krog’s autobiographical Country of My Skull makes the audience less interested in the liberation of the South Africans and more interested in whether the two weary journalists at the center of the story will suffer nervous breakdowns or run off into the desert for a torrid love affair.

Despite its good intentions, the film fails largely because Jackson and Binoche, one of the oddest onscreen pairings in recent years, aren’t given convincing characters to play. And the dialogue throughout the film creaks under the weight of oversimplified arguments, information-loaded summaries, and angst-heavy sentiments—like, “When you despise yourself, it’s that much easier to despise others.” Thus the film feels more like a tour full of speeches than a story.

Langston Whitfield (Jackson) is a cynical Washington Post journalist who thinks he has come to see white supremacists get let off the hook for their wickedness. He scoffs at the idea of “ubuntu,” and asks if the hearings show that black people have a greater capacity for forgiveness, or that white people have a greater capacity for murder.

Thus, he’s put off by the beautiful Afrikaans poet, Anna Malan (Binoche), who is deeply moved by the proceedings as she reports for National Public Radio. Anna’s traumatized by what she’s hearing, and by the burden of “white guilt” that she carries for her family, who are disgruntled by the shift in political power. When cattle thieves strike their farm at night, Anna’s hard-hearted father growls at her, “This is the new South Africa you admire so much?” When someone asks about calling the police, Anna’s brother says, “They’re not our police anymore. It’s not our country anymore. It’s open season on whites.”

It’s strange that, for all of its agonizing over the wounds of black people in South Africa, all of the film’s black South African characters remain in the background. We only have Dumi (Menzi Ngubane), who serves primarily to bring Langston and Anna together. Langston asks Dumi why he isn’t shedding tears over the hearings. He replies, “We did our crying years ago.” That’s all fine and good, but it still feels odd that he’s little more than comic relief for most of the film, grinning and winking as Langston and Anna work through their differences (far too easily) on their way to a tumble in the sheets.

A tumble, indeed. The unlikely, unconvincing love affair steers us away from the subject of the story and dilutes the film’s emotional content. It’s implausible that they’d both slip so easily into an affair when they’re so proud of the spouses and kids waiting back on their respective ranches. Peaco*ck’s script wants us to think about the human capacity for lies and betrayal. And she tries to get us worried about Anna’s sanity, so we’ll have some sympathy when she falls into Langston’s all-too-eager embrace. But this couple has chemistry only as colleagues, not as lovers, and certainly not as detective buddies. Near the end, the story lurches into the territory of sappy television melodrama, with lines like “My skin will never forget you,” and last-minute CSI-style revelations that are less than surprising.

The actors perform admirably with what they’re given. Binoche is arguably the most gifted screen actress in the world, and she’s more than capable of playing a poet. But as she staggers around wringing her hands, Binoche is asked to perform far too many of her famous, close-up, emotional collapses. Her supervisor is more interesting—a woman strangely unfazed by the proceedings, giddily congratulating Anna if her tape recorder picks up any dramatic screams in the courtroom.

It’s actually rather fun to watch Jackson in this movie, because we rarely seem him so relaxed, so himself. There’s only a flicker of the fire-eyed, commanding Tough Guy he plays so often. He’s even coaxed to get up and dance for the fun of it. But the increasing weariness on his face—and this goes for Binoche’s angst as well—could very likely stem from frustration with the meandering script.

The great Brendan Gleeson (The General, 28 Days Later, Cold Mountain) stoops to playing the token Evil White Supremacist, a South African police chief who supervised unspeakable tortures. He’s made to utter unimaginative, predictably nasty lines, comparing the process of torture to the pleasures of sex. His chair is placed, of course, in front of a fireplace, so flames can dance around his head and shoulders, like they did for Al Pacino’s over-the-top Satan in The Devil’s Advocate. Clearly, Gleeson was told to “pace like a caged animal” in his lair, which is decorated with the stuffed and mounted heads of an entire zoo in order to accentuate his predatory nature.

In spite of the bloody territory, Boorman admirably minimizes onscreen violence, just as Terry George did in Hotel Rwanda. But the flaws here are even more evident when compared to George’s film. While it was similarly lacking in imagination, Rwanda succeeded by rooting us deeply in the experience and perspective of one man. We saw what he saw and suffered when he suffered. It was a story of someone who took action, not someone who stood on the sidelines and took notes. There were no unnecessary tangents.

And Rwanda arrived at a conclusion that effectively acknowledged the possibility of grace in the midst of overwhelming evil. In My Country betrays its theme of reconciliation by building to a cliché in which a bad guy takes a dramatic fall.

On the wall behind the attentive judges, we see a mural depicting Christ’s passion—a poignant reminder of the inspiration for such grace. Yet Boorman and Peaco*ck show very little interest in exploring spiritual matters. We need films like this to help us see how small the world is, how much responsibility we bear for the suffering of others, and how much good individuals can do if they allow their hearts to break for their neighbors. In My Country begins with an achingly beautiful African chorus repeating the painful refrain “What have we done?” But we’re left thinking about all the things the filmmakers could have done with a subject this rich, actors this strong, and such crucial spiritual issues before them. With a thousand available strands of compelling story available to them, they’ve chosen to follow a loose and meandering thread.

Talk About It

Discussion starters

1. Compare the perspectives of Langston and Anna on the hearings at the beginning of the film. What do they disagree about? Are their perspectives at the end different? What changes them?
2. What do you think of the South African emphasis on “ubuntu”? Were these “fair trials”?
3. What do you think of Langston and Anna’s affair? What draws them together? Did you find this part of the story plausible?
4. What parts of the South African apartheid/reconciliation story do you wish this film had explored further? Why?
5. In what ways did you see the Christian concept of grace and forgiveness manifested in this movie? In what ways were those ideals ignored?

The Family Corner

For parents to consider

In My Country is rated R for harsh language, including graphic descriptions of violent crimes and sex crimes, and for a scene of violence.

Photos © Copyright Sony Pictures Classics

What Other Critics Are Saying

compiled by Jeffrey Overstreetfrom Film Forum, 03/24/05

South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings deserve a film like Schindler’s List or Hotel Rwanda—something that brings that historical drama to life in a way that helps us shoulder the burden of history and walk away wiser. In My Country, which stars Samuel L. Jackson and Juliette Binoche, tries to be that film, but falls short.

Clearly, director John Boorman had the resources at his disposal to make a powerful, affecting drama. But Ann Peaco*ck’s adaptation of Antjie Krog’s autobiographical Country of My Skull makes the audience less interested in the liberation of the South Africans and more interested in whether the two weary journalists at the center of the story will suffer nervous breakdowns or run off into the desert for a torrid love affair.

My full review is at Christianity Today Movies.

J. Robert Parks (The Phantom Tollbooth) says, “I guess I can encourage you to see the movie’s first half (if you do, flee the theater when the stars get in bed for the second time—you’ll know what I mean). And high school teachers might want to screen selected scenes to educate students who weren’t even alive when apartheid fell. But for most of us, this attempt to show some history falls prey to our current problem of showing too many celebrities.”

Mainstream critics are similarly disappointed.

Looking at the checklist to making a good animated film, the above-average and fun Robots has all the necessary parts: terrific animation, a plucky hero, big set pieces, big-named voices, excitement, laughter, morals, a heartstring-pulling ending, and an inspiring journey from zero to hero. But still, something feels lacking—as if the wiring holding it all together has a short circuit (robot pun intended).

While entertaining, Robots almost feels like a mechanical exercise (okay, I’ll quit the puns) in how to make an entertaining family film instead of relying on innovative storytelling to create magic like CG powerhouses The Incredibles and Shrek 2 accomplished. The result is an enjoyable movie you laugh with, cheer on, and even tear up during—but once you leave the theater, not much of it sticks with you.

There’s a lot to like about Robots. Set in a fantastically imaginative world populated only by robots, everything has a personality: bass drums, mailboxes, and even fire hydrants. The robots are pretty cool and unique. Some roll, some walk and some hop on springs. Some are chrome-covered and fancy. Others are made out of toasters or old car parts. But no matter what they are made of, the robots of this world are really just metal people with emotions and human experiences—including growing up, having dreams, and resigning to failure.

The movie centers on the idealistic Rodney Copperbottom (Ewan McGregor), who is loved by his parents but grows up with nothing more than hand-me-down parts. Despite the embarrassment of not being top-of-the-line, Rodney has big dreams. He’s especially inspired by inventor/TV celebrity Big Weld (Mel Brooks), whose slogan is: “If you are made of new parts or used parts, you can shine no matter what.” With big aspirations and his dad’s encouragement, Rodney sets out on a Wizard of Oz trek to meet Big Weld and become a famous inventor.

When Rodney gets to Robot City, he discovers that Big Weld is missing and the ambitious Ratchet (Greg Kinnear) has taken over Big Weld Industries and introduced a new slogan: “Why be you when you can be new?” You see, Ratchet realized there’s no money in telling people that they are okay they way they are. Instead, he hopes to make them feel “crummy” about themselves to he can sell more upgrades. Part of his plan is to stop selling repair parts so bots have to either buy an expensive upgrade … or become scrap metal.

With no other hope, Rodney leads the feisty and unstable Fender (Robin Williams) and his crew of quirky “outmodes” to find Big Weld, beat Ratchet, and find parts for Rodney’s dad before he’s taken to the chop shop.

It’s a good storyline supported by almost photo-realistic animation, but a few hitches keep it all from working to potential. The biggest problem is that both the great self-worth theme and promising storyline get convoluted as they go by needless subplots and incomplete explanations. This causes the fast-moving film (only 90 minutes) to lose momentum and feel very long in places. And, most disappointingly, the ever-relevant moral of being yourself in a culture that says you’re not good enough descends into a Spartacus-like violent rebellion. That’s right, kids, you’re good enough the way you are … so kick the tar out of those holding you down!

Secondly, many components to the film feel like they are there because they have to be. For instance, the film boasts a ton of big names. But attached to many of these big names are pretty dull voices. Only Williams, Kinnear, Brooks and Amanda Bynes stand out. On the other hand, Halle Berry as the love interest is a complete waste of a big salary. And her character is also worthless; she’s apparently only in the film because movies “have” to have a love interest.

Another wrench in the machinery (last pun, really) is that the movie ineffectively tries to appeal to both adults and kids. The screenwriters mistakenly assume kid humor equals fart jokes and adult humor equals sexual euphemisms instead of just relying on an increasing complexity of jokes. And as fun as he is, Robin Williams is allowed to get away with too many out-of-place lines like “Inside you is a big fashion model waiting to throw up” and “You can bunk with me. We’ll ignore the gossip.”

Still, the film is a fun ride with plenty of laughs, excitement and touching moments about living out your dreams no matter your make, model or build. Both kids and adults will enjoy the film even though it doesn’t consistently fire on all cylinders (sorry, couldn’t help it).

Talk About It

Discussion starters

1. What is the biggest lesson Rodney learns in the movie? How about Big Weld? Or Rodney’s Dad?
2. Why do you think Big Weld has been gone for so long? Why do you think he comes back to help Rodney?
3. Which do we hear more often: “If you are made of new parts or used parts, you can shine no matter what,” or “Why be you when you can be new?” How are those messages conveyed today? How does the Bible respond to both?
4. Could the “outmodes” have done anything to prove they were okay being themselves other than fight back violently? What?

The Family Corner

For parents to consider

Rated PG for some brief language and suggestive humor, Robots doesn’t have any swearing but a lot of sexual euphemisms playing with words like “oiled,” “screwed,” and “making a baby.” There’s a lot of flatulence and jokes (some even sexual) about one female character’s large rear-end. The film also includes some scary situations including a hell-like chop shop and war violence that includes sharp weapons.

Photos © Copyright Blue Sky Studios

What Other Critics Are Saying

compiled by Jeffrey Overstreetfrom Film Forum, 03/17/05

Robots, the new animated feature from the makers of Ice Age, was a well-oiled box office machine, earning $36 million in its first weekend—but falling short of the March record set by Ice Age in 2002 ($46.3 million).

The movie features spectacular digital animation, and characters voiced by Ewan McGregor, Mel Brooks, Halle Bery, Greg Kinnear, and Robin Williams. McGregor plays Rodney Copperbottom, a robotic inventor in a world of robots who travels to meet his hero, Bigweld (Brooks). Along the way, he falls for a pretty executive (Berry), gets in trouble with a tyrannical corporate bigwig (Kinnear), and a motley crew of robots called “the Rusties.”

Todd Hertz (Christianity Today Movies) says these bots could have used a tune-up: “While entertaining, Robots almost feels like a mechanical exercise …in how to make an entertaining family film instead of relying on innovative storytelling to create magic like CG powerhouses The Incredibles and Shrek 2 accomplished. The result is an enjoyable movie you laugh with, cheer on, and even tear up during—but once you leave the theater, not much of it sticks with you.”

“It’s a high grade of clever, and I enjoyed it a lot,” raves Steven D. Greydanus (Decent Films). “Robots combines the visionary alternate world-building of Monsters, Inc., the flair for gadgetry and gimmickry of an old Fleishers cartoon, and most sneakily of all, the toybox nostalgia of the Toy Story movies, with cleverly worked-in toy and game references—Operation, Slinky, Wheelo—that will have adults grinning with recognition. The story … is a familiar one, but offers some great character design … and terrific action sequences.”

But Annabelle Robertson (Crosswalk) says the film is inappropriate for younger viewers. “The standard for family films has dropped so low that it is now very rare indeed to see a good, animated film which does not contain bawdy humor. [Robots] is creative and fun, and it has a nice message. [But] as a parent—and a diehard Southern Girl who believes in decorum—I won’t be taking my child to see Robots. I truly do not know when flatulence became an appropriate object of discussion—much less a bottom-line requirement for children’s films.” (“Bottom-line.” Nice pun.)

Kevin Miller (Joy of Movies) wasn’t discouraged by the bawdiness. He says Robots is on par with the best of Pixar. “Robots is a spectacular film. Not since Monsters, Inc. have I been as delighted and amazed at an animated feature. So why is Robots so great? I greeted each new scene with joyful expectation, because it was bound to be jammed full of so many little nuggets and inside jokes that it would take several viewings to appreciate them all. You got the sense that the filmmakers had thought of everything, and it is precisely this attention to detail that made the worlds of Nemo and Monsters feel so real. I was spellbound that someone could even conceive of such a comprehensive, multi-layered world like this one, much less make it move, talk, and sing.”

Frederica Matthewes-Green (National Review) says the “good looks” aren’t enough. “Towards the end of Robots, a character resembling the Tin Man of Oz clutches his chest and says, ‘Now I know I have a heart, because I can feel it breaking.’ Better check again. This animated feature has just about every pounding, clanking, or squeaking mechanism imaginable, but nothing in the shape of a heart. What it’s mostly got going for it is an extraordinary look…. Yet despite the visual achievement, the film is essentially cold. It feels like the writers and director picked out a few Pixar movies …and took them apart frame by frame, trying to figure out the formula. First they knew they needed an inspiring message so, spin the dial, how about ‘Believe in yourself’?”

Harry Forbes (Catholic News Service) calls it “technically dazzling but disappointingly formulaic …undermined by a merely serviceable script which substitutes some needlessly vulgar humor and a pat follow-your-dream sentiment for true wit and originality.”

Michael Elliott (Movie Parables) says, “The jokes and sight gags come fast and furious …too fast to register them all with a single viewing. And yet there isn’t much else that compels one to sit through the film for a second time. There are a number of clever moments but too often the film relies on the kind of bathroom humor that requires no wit or intelligence.”

Tom Neven (Plugged In) says, “Robots builds in a few sly sexual innuendoes and occasional potty humor. (And the climactic battle is dizzying and intense.) But it’s set in a visually stunning, richly imaginative world where the virtues of loyalty, courage and perseverance get strong play. It contains bucketfuls of positive messages about accepting people despite their differences, helping the downtrodden, standing up to bullies and doing the right thing despite inconvenience and even danger.”

Mainstream critics are responding with more praise than complaints.

from Film Forum, 03/24/05

Andrew Coffin (World) says Robots compares to Pixar movies “pretty well—but cut out the credits and it’s still clear this is no Pixar release. For one thing, look at the rating. The Incredibles was the first Pixar movie to receive a PG rating—and that was for ‘action violence.’ No mention of ‘suggestive humor.’ Robots doesn’t take things especially far, certainly not to the level of Shrek, but the occasional crudity or innuendo just feels cheap, easy, and unnecessary.”

Copyright © 2005 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

In another example of life imitating art, Schultze Gets the Blues apparently took a cue from its own slow pacing. It’s been nearly two years since the film’s original 2003 release in Germany, where it was a smash hit. Since then, Schultze has earned considerable acclaim, earning the Special Director’s Award at the Venice Film Festival, as well as Best Picture and Best Screenplay at the Stockholm Film Festival. Not bad considering this is the first international release for 40-year-old writer/director Michael Schorr.

The movie is largely set in a small, unspecified town in the East German state of Saxon-Anhalt. Schultze (Horst Krause) has spent most of his life working in a salt mine with his lifelong friends Jürgen (Harald Warmbrunn) and Manfred (Karl-Fred Müller). It’s apparently an existence based on routine, to the point where you can tell these three men in their 50s are best buddies, even though they barely share any words in the film’s first 15 minutes.

Then the unthinkable happens when all three are forced into early retirement, with little more to show for it than a souvenir lamp—made of salt, no less. It’s too late in life to find new fulfilling work in this modern era. What now?

With their jobs behind them, life seems to lose meaning for these three. They hang out at the local pub, do some fishing, and play the occasional game of chess. But at least Jürgen and Manfred have families to keep them occupied. Schultze, the quietest of the trio, is unmarried and seems to live in the modern equivalent of a shack. The only thing he has to look forward to outside of time with his friends is participation in the community music club, where he lives in the shadow of his late father and continues to play the same polkas on his accordion year after year. Is this all there is to life?

Inspiration strikes on a sleepless night when Schultze turns the radio dial and discovers zydeco. A German infatuated with Louisiana folk? It initially seems strange to Schultze too, since he initially fears he’s fallen ill with a violent mood swing. But it’s not nearly as unthinkable when you see him learn to play it on the accordion by focusing on one tune and speeding it up from comfortable polka to snappy Cajun blues. He takes to it like a kid with a new toy, evidenced by another scene where he finds himself continuously returning to zydeco while trying to practice his polka for an upcoming music festival—similar to kids pounding out rock on the piano in between practicing their scales.

As a result, Schultze’s passion is rekindled, to the point where he begins to explore the culture by preparing Jambalaya for his friends. He also draws encouragement to pursue his interests from two local free spirits—Frau Lorant (Rosenarie Deibel), who works in the nursing home where his mother resides, and Lisa (Wilhelmine Herschig), the new waitress at the neighborhood pub. It all helps him work up the courage to introduce his love for the newfound music at the local music festival, with hopes of traveling to America to play for the club’s sister chapter in Texas … and perhaps explore Bayou Country as well.

The film demonstrates the transforming power of music in more than a few lives, though it’s ultimately less about the art and more about inspiration and finding purpose. Schultze’s quiet joy for the buoyant zydeco is contrasted with some tedious German polkas and folk music. Yet it’s not the music itself that’s lacking—it’s the lack of passion in the performances. The central character in this story is not the only one in need of newfound spark.

As such, Schultze Gets the Blues has much in common with other successful small films over the last few years. The most obvious comparison is Jack Nicholson’s similarly bittersweet post-retirement parable About Schmidt. In some ways, it’s got the same message of reviving self-esteem as The Full Monty, though this film obviously finds inspiration in far less vulgar artistic expression. And there are some parallels to 1999’s leisurely paced The Straight Story, about the old man who takes a long journey on his lawnmower to visit his ailing brother.

Those examples help demonstrate the feel of Schultze Gets the Blues, but it still remains its own movie primarily because of its gentle charm. It’s often chuckle-worthy, rarely hilarious—and occasionally sad, but never weepy or overly dramatic. There’s a sense of reality to all of the film’s developments, despite some of the Buster Keaton like foibles of Schultze and his friends. On that note, there’s almost a John Belushi quality to Krause’s oft-silent reactions. You feel like he’s about to do something crazy, but he never goes off the scale, playing everything to subtle comedic effect and sympathy.

Schorr also does a fine job of communicating emotion, often relying more on imagery and facial expressions than on dialogue, which again often makes the film feel more genuine as a result. Note how often the silences between the three friends and other characters speak volumes to the audience. While some of the quiet visuals are seemingly odd or random, they usually take on more meaning when you consider the context and wait to see what happens next. Pay special attention to the town’s windmills in the movie, noting their state of activity at given points—they’re vital to the central theme. As important as many of these lingering shots are, it makes you wonder what Schorr intended in a scene where Schultze ponders a sign on a house/church that says, “God is in control. He calms the waters.”

These days, it’s also interesting (and refreshing) to see a European film offer a loving look at America without a trace of cynicism. The story often requires Schultze to rely on the kindness of strangers, and he encounters many a Good Samaritan during his personal quest for meaning. There’s a scene late in the film with some retirees playing dominoes in an American bar—demonstrating we’re not so different from the Germans. The grass always seems greener wherever you aren’t, and we all wrestle with unfulfilled dreams, especially in our Golden Years. Or perhaps the scene is there to show how we can take joy in the little things of life.

That’s all testament to how Schorr allows viewers to draw their own conclusions from the film’s visuals. The disadvantage to such storytelling is that it leaves some gaps and questions to the narrative. Like, why doesn’t Schultze try to get in touch with the radio station to learn more about zydeco and first connect with other Germans that share his passion? Wouldn’t it make more sense to travel to Berlin before Baton Rouge? Things like this need to be accepted on faith, understanding that this is more a fable than it is a tight script.

If anything, people are most likely to complain about the film’s slow and deliberate pacing. Lingering shots and long silences abound. But again, there’s a point to most every scene. This is one of the best movies in demonstrating the potential tedium of retired life—wasted hours, seemingly aimless future, little to look forward to. Not everyone can appreciate characters that seem to do nothing for minutes on end. But audiences can find reward by investing patience into the developments, capitalizing on the silences to consider what is trying to be expressed and reflect on them in relation to their own lives.

Therein lies the strength of Schultze Gets the Blues, a film with two opposite interpretations to its title—figuratively sad, literally joyful. It’s about a man on a personal quest for meaning. He doesn’t know where he’s going, and we’re along for the ride, as uncertain about what lies ahead for him in this life as he is. It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s a sweet and poignant film that would do Rick Warren proud as an abstract companion piece to his book, The Purpose Driven Life. Because as the movie tagline states, “It’s never too late to re-tune your soul.”

Talk About It

Discussion starters

1. Do you think we too often make our jobs the focus of our lives? Is that appropriate? Is there more to life than our careers? Does your work matter in the long term?
2. What legacy will we leave behind once we’re retired? Do we simply carry on through the lives of our children, or does the film offer an example to the contrary? Can failed dreams be revived? What will we do with the time granted us when everything else seems to crash down around us?
3. Compare and contrast the people Schultze encounters in Germany and America. How are Good Samaritans portrayed? Where do other people fall short, and what does the film say about offering compassion and encouragement to the people around us?
4. At one point, Schultze is seen pondering a sign that says, “God is in control. He calms the waters.” (Who can say if he understood it with his limited English?) Do you think the director, once a philosophy major, intended meaning with this in the film’s context?
5. Does this movie have a happy or sad ending? Both? What effect does Schultze’s passion for zydeco and his travels have on his hometown? Can we take similar comfort in the lives that we quietly affect?
6. How does this movie demonstrate our need for God without ever really saying so? What does it have to say about finding purpose to this life?

The Family Corner

For parents to consider

Schultze Gets the Blues is rated PG for a few uses of mild profanity. There’s also alcohol consumption, though it’s more in the context of European culture (akin to drinking coffee with friends) rather than attempting to get drunk. Plus, the movie offers a classic example of why overweight men should never ever wear Speedo briefs in public. The film is ultimately suitable for most audiences and families, though kids probably won’t be interested in seeing a German language movie about post-retirement blues.

Photos © Copyright Paramount Classics

What Other Critics Are Saying

compiled by Jeffrey Overstreet

from Film Forum, 03/24/05

When a retired miner and polka musician from East Germany discovers the blues, he grabs his accordion and heads for Louisiana. Schultze Gets the Bluesis about more than music, however. It’s about getting older and living with purpose.

So says Russ Breimeier (Christianity Today Movies). “This is one of the best movies in demonstrating the potential tedium of retired life—wasted hours, seemingly aimless future, little to look forward to. Not everyone can appreciate characters that seem to do nothing for minutes on end. But audiences can find reward by investing patience into the developments, capitalizing on the silences to consider what is trying to be expressed and reflect on them in relation to their own lives.” He concludes that the film is “figuratively sad, literally joyful. It’s about a man on a personal quest for meaning.”

Mainstream critics are praising it as “highly original.” One critic calls it “One of those movies where nothing whatsoever seems to happen until you look closely, at which point everything happens.”

A particularly reliable source once said, “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” When he said this, he was referring to children like Damian.

Damian is the young hero of Millions, and you’ve never encountered a hero quite like him. Unlike the Bart Simpsons and Malcolms in the middle of most family entertainment, Damian is not a self-interested troublemaker. He’s not defiant toward authority. Instead, he’s brave, imaginative, charming, unpredictable, and utterly virtuous. He’s also painfully naïve, and that’s why, in his quest to deliver an unexpected fortune to the needy, he’s in a world of danger.

The Unexpected Fortune has been the premise of quite a few comedies—most of them awful. But Millions comes from the hyperactive imagination of genre-leaping director Danny Boyle, and it’s wise, meaningful, laugh-out-loud funny, and relentlessly inventive. In fact, it’s 2005’s first fiction film to deserve the word “fantastic.” It’s not just a brilliant family film—it’s a brilliant film. Given the proper promotion, its contagiously high spirits could turn it into an Amelie-sized international hit. But Millions probably doesn’t have what it takes (i.e., sex and violence) to be an opening-weekend blockbuster in America, so it’s more likely to build momentum over time, as viewers come back from the theaters to tell their friends about it, wearing ridiculous grins on their faces.

More than any other film, Millions recalls Mike Newell’s sorely underrated adventure film Into the West. In that film, two irresistible Irish boys discovered an enchanted horse that carried them through a period of mourning after the loss of their mother. In Millions, two boys who’ve also lost their mother, 8-year-old Damian (Alex Etel) and his 10-year-old brother Anthony (Lewis McGibbon), share an altogether different secret—one that’s much easier to hide than a horse, but much harder to manage, and it ends up dividing them.

Boyle keeps us immersed for most of the movie in a world of visual splendor, reacquainting us with the energy and possibility of pre-teen adventures, only occasionally reminding us of darker realities like the nearby nuclear power plant. We see Damian and Anthony bicycling ecstatically through a vibrant field of yellow flowers, exhilarated as they explore the territory of a new housing development that will give them and their father (James Nesbitt) a whole new start—just the guys. Lying on the lot for their new house, they stare skyward and imagine their future, which appears above them beam by beam, tile by tile, materializing out of thin air in a dazzling flourish.

But when a suitcase stuffed with cash comes tumbling into Damian’s lap—literally—things change for better and for worse. Damian decides that the money was sent by God, and thus should be used to help the poor, while Anthony, already embittered by the encroaching realities of adulthood, frets about the 40 percent tax rate applied to sudden fortunes, and decides to use the money selfishly and covertly.

Despite their differences, the brothers must act quickly. Soon, British pounds will be replaced by the new Euros, so they’ve got to spend it, give it away, or find a way to inconspicuously exchange the bills into new currency. Finding a wise solution proves difficult. Worse, it seems easier to use the money selfishly than generously. Meanwhile, a menacing figure lurks about on the edge of the neighborhood, looking for the lost loot.

Damian is the lens through which we experience this story, and we fall in love with him. That’s largely because young Alex Etel is completely convincing; he perfectly manifests Damian’s conflicts and conscience. Damian’s virtue and vision stem from his unquestioning belief that God exists and is working everything together for good. He’s so open to grace and miracle that he’s prone to celebrating the arrival of envelopes that declare “You may already have won 10,000 pounds!”

Damian’s faith finds its shape in his preoccupation with the saints, with whom he converses intently when he’s alone. Saints don’t pop up very often at the movies, and that’s odd, considering how central they’ve been in the history of visual art. Boyle seems thrilled to have them at his beck and call in this film, and their appearances are delightful, small halos spinning like glow-in-the-dark Frisbees. Saints Anne and Nicholas stop by. Saint Peter offers a new interpretation of the loaves and fishes story which, while unorthodox, is a worthwhile lesson. But it’s the martyrs of Uganda who make the biggest impression on Damian, giving him a vision for future investments.

With his growing passion for Africa, and a bedroom illuminated by a globe that represents his comprehensive conscience, Damian’s bound for a future as a missionary or a humanitarian leader … or at least a U2 fan.

In fact, it’s surprising that Boyle wraps up the film without claiming one of U2’s euphoric anthems of compassion for the finale. But Millions is mightily inspiring anyway. In its lowest moments, Frank Cottrell Boyce’s script—which he developed with Boyle and turned into a novel—toes the line of do-gooder sentimentality (Pay It Forward) and cute-kid-in-peril capers (Home Alone). Most of the time, though, it rises above family film clichés. Boyce respects his audience enough to portray the real world with all of its complexities and pressures. He creates kids who act like kids and grownups who act like grownups. The neighborhood policeman is not a hero, a crook, or an idiot, but he is a bit insensitive. The humanitarian worker who inspires Damian never becomes too angelic (even though the actress who plays her looks a lot like Emma Thompson). Damian’s father is, thank goodness, as three-dimensional as his boys, and he’s never reduced to being a fool, a lout, or a villain. Hard to believe.

Best of all, Millions refuses to tell us that saving the world is a simple process of good deeds. It instead focuses on the differences between the brothers’ worldviews, and how one’s perspective can determine the fullness of one’s life. Where Anthony’s “grownup” disregard for spiritual realities lead directly to his materialism and anxiety, Damian’s assumptions enable him to experience sincere joy as he serves others.

This isn’t the first time Boyle’s been drawn to the question of how to deal with an abandoned case full of money. See Shallow Grave, a much darker tale. Most of his work has revolved around the way that human hearts must strive against inclinations toward beastly behavior. Even 2002’s low-budget zombie flick 28 Days Later was a meaningful exploration of human depravity. This is Boyle’s first “family film,” and the genre seems to fit him better than anything he’s yet tried. While his reckless energy has made his career a hit-and-miss affair (Trainspotting and 28 Days Later, but also A Life Less Ordinary and The Beach), his trademark enthusiasm with special effects and rapid-cut editing serves him smashingly well here.

Fortunately, Boyce and Boyle have the good sense to know that this story needs a more profound conclusion than mere special effects can offer. In the context of a Christmas pageant, they give the audience a glimpse of the only well that can satisfy spiritual thirst. And when the story culminates in a predictable exchange, Boyle choreographs it so beautifully that viewers will start passing around the Kleenex. (Is it just this critic’s wishful thinking, or does Damian have a transcendent moment while resting on a makeshift cross near the end?) Then, in a stroke of genius, the storytellers carry the film even farther to an unexpected, inspired, transporting epilogue, in which they seem to catch Damian’s optimistic fever. On that high, Millions sends the audience out feeling like … well … a million bucks.

Talk About It

Discussion starters

1. Compare and contrast the worldviews of Damian and Anthony. How are they different? Why is it that ten year-olds are often very different than eight-year-olds in their behavior and attitude?
2. Is it easy to be charitable? What is it about us that holds us back from giving as generously as Damian? What is it about the world around us that makes it such a complicated endeavor to help the poor?
3. Do you think the film draws us into a Christian worldview?
4. What do you think of the way the saints are represented here? Did you interpret them as actual saints, or merely as figments of Damian’s imagination? Why?
5. What kind of man is Damian and Anthony’s father? Is he responsible? Is he wise? Do you believe that he loves his boys?
6. What kind of person do you think Damian will grow up to become?
7. What are some of the excuses that people use to avoid giving to the poor?
8. Think about the ways in which you use your money for the benefit of others. What might you change in the coming year in order to give more of your resources to help others? Is that a difficult thing to do?
9. What does Scripture have to say about giving to the poor? What characters in the Bible gave to the poor, and how did they go about it?

The Family Corner

For parents to consider

Millions is appropriate viewing, and recommended, for most families. Children (and some adults) may struggle to understand the thick brogue. Millions portrays some behavior that might make parents uncomfortable if their kids are watching. Two of the film’s grownups have a hasty fling, which disorients the children who see them in bed together. There’s also a scene in which the boys ogle ads for lingerie on the Internet, zooming in on flaunted bosoms.

Photos © Copyright Fox Searchlight

What Other Critics Are Saying

compiled by Jeffrey Overstreetfrom Film Forum, 03/17/05

Looking for a movie that encourages us to be better people? That coaxes us to consider the needs of others, without being overly ponderous or dispiriting? That makes us feel like a kid again, while equipping us to be better grownups? And a movie that kids will love, on top of all that?

If such a film appeals to you, then treat yourself to Millions, 2005’s most delightful surprise so far.

Alex Etel, in a charming performance, plays 8-year-old Damian, the younger of two brothers who stumble onto an unexpected fortune. Damian, obsessed with the lives of the saints, sees this as his opportunity to do something saintly—he wants to give the money to the poor. But his selfish brother Anthony wants to use the money to become the cool kid on campus. Meanwhile, a shadowy character is lurking about, trying to get the loot back. With Christmas just around the corner, Damian will learn the hard way that doing the right thing can be more complicated than it seems.

The Unexpected Fortune has been the premise of quite a few comedies—most of them awful. But Millions comes from the hyperactive imagination of genre-leaping director Danny Boyle (Trainspotting, 28 Days Later), and it’s wise, meaningful, laugh-out-loud funny, and relentlessly inventive. It’s not just a satisfying family film—it’s an exhilarating film. You’ll leave the theater with a ridiculous grin.

My full review of this delightful film is at Christianity Today Movies, where you will also find my interview with the director.

Steven D. Greydanus (Decent Films) raves, “Millions is a rare and special family film: a moral parable rather than a morality tale; a film that combines high ideals and hard realities; a story of hope and faith in something more than Santa Claus. Which is not to say that Santa Claus, or rather St. Nicholas, doesn’t show up. But when he pops on a bishop’s mitre rather than the familiar red Santa hat, it’s clear we’re not in Hollywood movieland here.”

Christopher Lyon (Plugged In) says, “Boyle and cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle refuse to leave any scene ordinary, capturing the imagination of children with vivid colors, unexpected angles and extraordinary graphics. The filmmakers also hit a homerun in casting … Etel as 7-year-old Damian. You can’t help but love the kid. Boyle has succeeded in crafting a fanciful yet challenging movie.” But he adds, “It also exudes strangely mixed messages about faith and money. Like so many films with religious themes, the faith of Millions is placed in human goodness, not God’s goodness.”

Many (if not quite a million) mainstream critics are applauding Boyle’s achievement.

from Film Forum, 03/24/05

J. Robert Parks (Phantom Tollbooth) says, “The film isn’t your typical kids flick. It actually takes time to pause and reflect, to examine the motives of its characters. The movie is a fantastic springboard to a marvelous post-film discussion, no matter what the age of your group. Millions … asks the simple question of what we would do with half a million dollars but also explores the nature of charity and poverty. Furthermore it asks how we balance our own happiness with that of those around us and those thousands of miles away. It’s … that rare film that takes religious faith seriously and wonders how it would act in our modern world.”

Peter T. Chattaway (Canadian Christianity) says director Danny Boyle and writer Frank Cottrell Boyce “never condescend to their young protagonists or their audience; they don’t seem to be trying to make a ‘family’ film. Instead, they try to see the world through the eyes of their characters, and they invite us to do the same. The film also makes some nice allusions to the place of money in Christian tradition. Most significantly, the film could very well leave audiences wondering what to do with the money they have right now … and it does this without being preachy. Bravo.”

from Film Forum, 03/31/05

Darrel Manson (Hollywood Jesus) raves, “Millions has a great shot at being the top family film of the year. Considering it’s only March, that says something. Not only is it a great family film, it is a great film about faith and about caring for the world around us. This is the kind of film that parents should take children to see and then spend time afterwards discussing what they watched. Perhaps you can talk about how to spend money. Perhaps you can discuss what it means that heaven is involved in this world. Add to that discussion the lives of people who have been virtuous and exemplary—the saints who have informed our lives.”

from Film Forum, 04/07/05

Artie Megibben (Joy of Movies) says, “In the hands of a lesser director, this family-friendly movie could have been reduced to your typical, formulaic Disney drivel. Instead, however, director Boyle delivers an Oscar-worthy film that is both stylish and endearing. All of which means that your average filmgoer receives a gift that is indeed heaven-sent: A well-crafted movie that deals with topics they probably haven’t grappled with since Vacation Bible School. Death, heaven, greed, charity and of course—that Hollywood unmentionable, God.”

Andrew Coffin (World) says, “Millions is a moving story, full of wonder and hope. It makes some affecting and useful comments on money and virtue, but at the same time utterly removes God from the equation. The religious symbolism in Millions functions purely as mythology, symbolic more of the goodness within Damian’s heart than any good in the heavens above.”

from Film Forum, 04/14/05

Millions: Annabelle Robertson (Crosswalk) writes, “It demonstrates how the love of money corrupts even those with the best intentions, causing them to forsake conscience for greed. Not content to simply give us a negative message, however, as many films do, Millions also offers a way out. Redemption, it tells us, comes not when we hoard money, but when we give it away, to those who are truly in need.”

But Robertson is bothered by Saint Peter’s unorthodox explanation of the miracle of the loaves and the fishes. Furthermore, she’s troubled that one of the Saints appears to the boy and smokes a joint. “Attention all nuns: it’s now acceptable for you to smoke pot in front of schoolchildren.” (Actually, the scene is meant to be humorous, as the Saint reveals that smoking isn’t a bad thing in heaven.)

Elsewhere, Frederica Matthewes-Green (a Christian film critic writing for The National Review) writes, “I was surprised, then delighted, then honestly moved by this film. I’m a Christian, and I believe the saints are present around us in a way very much like what Damian experiences (in my case, invisibly, natch), but I sure never thought I’d see someone make the case on a movie screen. I’m grateful. And, yes, I think the movie does have a message. It’s that we should give to the poor, and that our gifts do good, sometimes a great deal of good even with small amounts of money. It sounds sappy stated that way, but the film builds the case effectively, by storytelling rather than lecturing, and arrives at a climax that brought tears to my eyes.”

Related Elsewhere:

A ready-to-download Movie Discussion Guide related to this movie is available at ChristianityTodayMoviesStore.com. Use this guide after the movie to help you and your small group better connect your faith to pop culture.

Copyright © 2005 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

If Hostage were a good movie—and, despite an intriguing moral premise and some obvious skill on the part of its makers, it isn’t—it would be tempting to call it the quintessential Bruce Willis movie. Like The Sixth Sense, it begins with Willis playing a professional whose faith in his own skills is shattered when a person he was trying to help commits suicide. Like Die Hard, it features a hostage who eludes his captors and makes contact with cops on the outside while crawling around in air ducts. Like Mercury Rising and The Kid, one of the most important relationships in the film is between Willis and a young boy. And like, uh, The Whole Ten Yards, it co-stars Kevin Pollak as someone with ties to the mob.

Okay, so not every related film that comes to mind is a winner, but Hostage does have its strengths. For those of us who think Willis is at his best when he plays more vulnerable characters—and for those of us who have been disappointed these last few years as Willis smugly smirked his way through a string of lame comedies, with occasional detours into serious-minded, stone-faced fits of bravado such as Tears of the Sun—it is refreshing to see him play a human being once again, even in something as pulpy as this.

This time, Willis plays a police officer named Jeff Talley, and our first glimpse of him, when he is a hostage negotiator with the LAPD, does, admittedly, come across like it was scrawled on a napkin in screenwriter shorthand. Talley, perched on the roof of a building along with several other cops, is on the phone to an armed man who has taken his own wife and son hostage, and as if to prove to his fellow officers how calm he can be under pressure, Talley lies back and leisurely combs his beard while bargaining for the hostages’ lives. Alas, Talley miscalculates, and the entire family ends up dead (and, gratuitously, the man who perpetrates this murder-suicide is revealed to be religious). End prologue.

One year later, Talley has shaved his head and taken a job as the sheriff of a sleepy little suburb, where he assumes—wrongly, of course—that he will not have to face such trials again. For now, the greatest tension in his life seems to be between himself, his wife (Serena Scott Thomas), who may or may not be moving out, and his daughter (Willis’s real-life daughter Rumer), who resents the fact that they left the big city. But then three teenaged criminals break into a mansion, take the family prisoner, and shoot the police officer who comes to investigate the suspicious truck parked outside.

While Talley is personally involved in the early stages of this confrontation, he is more than happy to let more experienced officers from outside his jurisdiction take over. But then something unexpected happens. It turns out Mr. Smith (Kevin Pollak), the widowed owner of the mansion, has a secretly coded DVD that certain criminals want, and these criminals don’t see why a pesky little thing like a hostage crisis ought to get in the way of their retrieval of that information. So, quite out of the blue—this is one of those films where the bad guy knows exactly where to find the hero, and waits with a gun for who knows how long in the back of the hero’s car—they take Talley’s wife and daughter hostage and give him an ultimatum: either he gets the DVD for them, or they kill his family.

Hence the film’s intriguing moral dilemma: Will Talley, who resumes command against the advice of his colleagues, put retrieving the DVD ahead of saving the hostages? Will he possibly sacrifice another family in order to save his own?

This scenario has a lot of potential, but the film fails to exploit it, for several reasons. First, the only member of the Smith family whose life is directly jeopardized by Talley’s actions is the father, who seems like a loving dad and all but whose innocence in this whole situation is, to say the least, debatable. Second, Mr. Smith’s young son Tommy (Jimmy Bennett, who previously played the kid in the Flash costume in Daddy Day Care) is such an intelligent little tyke—he crawls around in the house’s secret passageways, while talking to Talley on a cell phone—that he seems more like someone who is helping Talley to get out of this sticky situation, rather than someone who might be trapped within it.

But most crucially, the film is sidetracked by its grim fascination with evil, especially as it is personified in Mars (Ben Foster), the most violent of the three young punks. Anyone who has seen Panic Room will figure out pretty early that Mars is to this film what Dwight Yoakam’s character was to that one; he is the most cold-blooded and psychotic of the three home invaders, and his partners in crime are fools if they think he feels any special loyalty to them. A fair bit of the film is spent on the sexual overtures that Mars makes to Mr. Smith’s teenaged daughter Jennifer (Michelle Horn), who just happened to be arguing with her dad over her somewhat skimpy attire when the boys broke in. And as if that weren’t creepy enough, the film kicks into hyperviolent overdrive when Mars writes messages for Jennifer in his own blood, while preparing to flood the house with Molotov co*cktails.

By the time Mars stalks down a flame-drenched hallway, ready to throw a few more bombs around, you may wonder if you are still watching the same film that you were an hour ago. Hostage, adapted by Doug Richardson (Welcome to Mooseport) from a novel by TV veteran Robert Crais, is the first English-language film to be directed by Florent Emilio Siri, and like a number of recent American films directed by Frenchmen—Catwoman comes to mind—it revels in a sort of operatic vulgarity. This, in and of itself, is bad enough; but once the story exhausts its over-the-top cheesiness, there are still a few loose ends to tie up, and so the film drags on. For a thriller that started on such a tense, taut note, that’s a shame.

Talk About It

Discussion starters

1. What would you do in Talley’s place, as a police officer who had to choose between saving your own family and saving another? Is your first duty to your family, or to the public you promised to protect and serve? Would it make a difference if you knew that the other family included at least one criminal? Why or why not?
2. What do you make of Mars’s fascination with death? Do films like this merely depict such fascination, or do they also encourage it? Point to specific shots and the way they frame certain acts of violence, or the way they use techniques such as slow-motion, etc.
3. Why do you think both Talley and one of the criminals make the remarks they do about “rich people”? Is this a sign that Talley has something in common with the three young men who break into the house? What other signs might there be, if any? Does this help us to identify with the criminals, or with Talley? Do you think economic status matters in a case like this?

The Family Corner

For parents to consider

Hostage is rated R for strong graphic violence, language and some drug use. The violence includes shooting, people being hit with Molotov co*cktails, and one particularly gruesome stabbing. Mars also gives Jennifer some seriously unwanted sexual attention (blowing smoke into her cleavage, etc.). In addition, a man who kills his family and then himself is overheard praying shortly before he commits his crime.

Photos © Copyright Miramax

What Other Critics Are Saying

compiled by Jeffrey Overstreetfrom Film Forum, 03/17/05

When Bruce Willis appeared on the big screen recently with a pistol in his hand, you may have thought you were seeing a preview for Die Hard 4. Willis has been talking about the possibility of a fourth Die Hard film, but it’s not happening quite yet. In the meantime, Willis fans will have to settle for Hostage. This action-packed thriller, directed by Florent Siri, features Willis in the role of Jeff Talley, a former LAPD hostage negotiator who comes back from a slump by attempting to rescue a family from some convenience store robbers who have taken them captive.

“Hostage does have its strengths,” says Peter T. Chattaway (Christianity Today Movies). “For those of us who think Willis is at his best when he plays more vulnerable characters … it is refreshing to see him play a human being once again, even in something as pulpy as this. [But it] revels in a sort of operatic vulgarity. This, in and of itself, is bad enough; but once the story exhausts its over-the-top cheesiness, there are still a few loose ends to tie up, and so the film drags on. For a thriller that started on such a tense, taut note, that’s a shame.”

Harry Forbes (Catholic News Service) says, “Siri keeps up the unrelenting tension, which helps obscure some plot improbabilities (of which there are several). Willis gives a convincingly anguished performance, and Ben Foster … is scarily effective as the worst of the teens, with a scarily sad*stic edge.”

“Willis shines in these kinds of films and Hostage is no exception,” says Michael Elliott (Movie Parables). “Siri cut his directorial teeth on video games and it shows in this film. Lots of attention has been paid to setting up the situations that the characters are in but the resolution of those situations are too easily achieved and not altogether believable.”

Marcus Yoars (Plugged In) says, “After sitting through two hours of this bloodbath, it strikes me as pointless to debate whether Hostage is a clever thriller or a shoot-’em-up action flick. What it is … is nauseating.”

The film didn’t settle too well with mainstream critics either, even the action fans.

Copyright © 2005 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

The highlight film was not invented by ESPN, but the network has enshrined it as an evening ritual all across America. Fans tune in to Sports Center day after day to hear the announcer sum up a 3-hour match in two sentences as they watch a clip of a home run, a touchdown pass, or a last-second three-point shot.

This is site-bite television at its purest, an attempt to grab and heighten interest in sports so viewers will watch ESPN more and more. Unfortunately, this type of viewing can become a nasty habit that, in the end, sabotages any meaningful engagement with sports.

Spend enough time watching highlight films, and you’ll soon be watching games for those “moments.” You find yourself increasingly bored with every other part of the game. You’ll multitask or wander off getting chores done—only to rush back into the living room to catch the instant replay of one of those “moments.” It turns us (okay, me) into fourth-quarter junkies. Since most crucial plays happen at the end of games, why bother watching the first three quarters, or even the whole fourth quarter? Why not just tune in at the two-minute warning?

That’s like reading the last chapter of a P.D. James mystery to discover the murderer. But the point of a James novel is not just unraveling the mystery but the conflicts and character development along the way. What we’ve forgotten in the site-bite age, is that every athletic contest is a story.

Take baseball, a story that evolves over nine innings. The characters are introduced as each team goes through the batting order for the first time. Like a good novel, the conflicts are introduced simultaneously: Conflicts between pitchers and batters, fielders and the elements, batters and their own worse habits, and so on. Only as the game unfolds does it become clear which of these is the main conflict. The plot is not resolved until the last out, and only then can we look back and discern the arc of the game.

And there are also stories within stories. Every inning has a story line, as does every at bat. And there are stories outside these stories, series and seasons and entire careers, all being plotted out pitch by pitch.

When compared to this reality, the highlight reel is an absurdity. It cannot, by its nature, let the game’s story unfold at its natural pace. Like a truncated reading of a mystery, this will never be able to reveal to us anything beyond the satisfaction of superficial curiosity, and actually so misrepresents what athletics is about that is undermines sports.

In the highlight film, we see a hobbling Kirk Gibson limp up to the plate, and with two outs in the bottom of the ninth hit a game winning home run against the Oakland Athletics in the first game of the 1988 World Series. We see Gibson pump his fists in triumph and his team greet him joyfully at home plate. It’s like popping a piece of candy, tasty but finally unsatisfying.

But if you had watched it as a story, you would have seen the Dodgers break out to a quick 2-0 lead in the bottom of the first, only to be silenced the next inning by a Jose Canseco grand slam. The Dodgers were held to but four hits over the next seven innings, managing to squeeze but one more run. When reliever Dennis Eckersley stepped on to the mound in the ninth, you would have sensed an air of doom in the Dodger dugout.

Had you been following the larger story, you would have known Eckersley had just come off a brilliant championship series against Boston, allowing but 1 hit and no earned runs in four closer appearances. You would have known that Gibson had, in the National League championship, batted a paltry .154. And now he could barely take a decent batter’s stance, let alone swing with any rhythm, having spent the entire game on the bench stretching and massaging himself just to be able to walk with a limp.

And then, and only then, would this at bat begin to reveal something. Two quick strikes—you just don’t fall behind a pitcher like Eckersley and expect to do anything. But a patient and crafty Gibson manages to work the count back to 3-2. You sit amazed that he was able to do that much. And then comes the backdoor slider, and the unbalanced swing, that final flick of the wrist, and then the voice of CBS announcer Jack Buck: “Gibson … swings! And a fly ball to deep right field! This is gonna be a home run! Unbelievable! A home run for Gibson! And the Dodgers have won the game, 5-4! I don’t believe what I just saw! … I don’t believe what I just saw!”

It seems trivial to suggest that such moments point to the biblical truth that “with God all things are possible”—as if Gibson or the Dodgers are symbols of the divine (well, maybe to a Dodger fan). Neither am I suggesting (certainly not as a Giants fan) that God helped Gibson hit that home run to teach us all a lesson about never giving up.

But it is nonetheless true that such moments are transcendent. If you had sat through that entire game, and had experienced something of that season, you would have known that this homerun was a great moment, yes, but one in a long story—not an allegory nor morality tale. As such it helped all of us watching experience something deep and true. So yes, to not put too fine a point on it, Gibson’s homerun, was very much a signal of biblical hope.

To be sure, not every game has hall-of-fame drama, but every game has a story, and stories within and outside that story. Even games where the conflict is resolved in the opening chapters by a scoring onslaught–even these are dramas about character in the face of certain defeat.

For those who have eyes to see—the patience to watch something longer than a highlight film—they’ll see a story unfold, and invariably a story that points to something beyond what goes on down on the field.

Mark Galli is managing editor of Christianity Today.

Copyright © 2005 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

Related Elsewhere:

More about the 1988 World Series is available from Major League Baseball.

The video of that series is available from Amazon.com.

Galli’s previous Play Ball columns include

The Grace of Sports | If Christ can’t be found in sports, he can’t be found the modern world. (March 4, 2005)

Baseball Isn’t Entertainment | The sooner we stop thinking sports are about the spectators, the more enjoyable the games will be. (Feb. 25, 2005)

Rooting for T.O. | Why Terrell Owens irritates most of us most of the time. (Feb. 11, 2005)

Freedom Between the Goal Posts | Sports is much more important than our culture lets on (Feb. 4, 2005)

Salt and Light in the Arena | It’s going to take more than a few good Christians to clean up sports. (Feb. 18, 2005)

To learn about Christian athletes in sports, or for daily, sporty devotionals, our sports channel offers that and more.

Recently media have paid much attention to two distinct religion stories. One is the surge of global Pentecostalism. The other is the visibility of mainline Protestantism in U.S. culture wars. Yet the two stories rarely connect, and for good reason.

Pentecostals and mainliners generally glide around each other like icebergs passing in the night. Over the years, Pentecostals have viewed mainliners with deep skepticism, judging them theologically lax and culturally spineless. Mainliners, for their part, have viewed Pentecostals—when they viewed them at all—with disdain, judging them theologically primitive and culturally unwashed. No one took prisoners.

My aim is modest. It is not to foster ecumenical dialogue (though that would be nice), nor ecumenical worship (though that would be even nicer). I only hope to suggest that the standoff should cease—not for reasons of Christian unity, but so that each tradition can be more true to itself. Pentecostals can become better Pentecostals, and mainliners can become better mainliners, by paying attention to each other’s strengths.

What Mainliners Can Learn

Healing. Pentecostals have made two enduring contributions to the Christian healing tradition.

First, along with healing as physical and psychological restoration, they have emphasized healing as release from addictions. They understand that addictions, no less than illnesses, entrap. Hence addictions too are subject to God’s release.

Second, Pentecostals have esteemed healing as the first, not just the last, privilege of the Christian. Early Pentecostal preachers liked to tell a story. A young woman asked a ship captain during a storm if anything could be done. The captain responded, “No, ma’am, it is in God’s hands now.” To this she replied, “Oh my, has it come to that?”

Pentecostals teach that it always “comes to that.” God controls our lives not just at the end but also at the beginning and the middle of every day.

Pragmatism. Pentecostals are willing to adjust principle to the needs of the moment in order to accomplish their larger aims. There are countless examples, but one stands out. Several years ago I received an invitation to talk at the Assemblies of God Theological Seminary in Springfield, Missouri. Just before I stood to speak, the president asked if anyone needed prayer.

One woman said that she had been diagnosed with cancer. The president looked around the pulpit for anointing oil. Finding none, he turned to the students and asked if anyone had hair spray. Someone passed a small canister to the front. He sprayed a bit on his finger and touched her forehad. I do not know if the woman was healed. I do know that the service affirmed the priority of human needs over prescribed forms.

Inclusiveness. By inclusiveness I mean that Pentecostals have sought to embrace everyone, men and women, white and black, rich and poor, able-bodied and physically challenged. To be sure, the track record is mixed, but on the whole, it outshines mainliners’. At the grassroots level of higher education, for example, the Pentecostal Regent University in Virginia Beach enrolls 22 percent African Americans. My own Duke University publishes an African American enrollment of 8.5 percent. The public may perceive Regent as very conservative and Duke as very liberal—but in reality, which is which?

Fullness. Deep in the Pentecostal tradition stands an emphasis on the amplitude of God’s grace. That idea, growing out of 19th-century precursors, has taken various forms, sometimes described as “deeper life,” sometimes as “higher life,” sometimes as the “completeness” of God’s blessing. The fullness idea names the nourishing undercurrent that leads to practices ranging from Holy Spirit baptism to speaking in tongues. It names the aspiration that lies behind Pentecostals’ remarkable determination to work and witness, often at great personal cost.

Submission. This word is problematic. Beyond its reference to wives’ relation to husbands, it aptly describes Pentecostals’ habitual stance toward the divine. At its best, submission is what Pentecostal spirituality fundamentally represents: the bending of the individual’s will to God’s—a deep-seated awareness that humans do not create themselves and therefore owe their lives to another source. Pentecostals’ insistence on teaching scientific creationism in the public schools is less a statement about science than a call to remember the contingency of all things God has created.

Theism. All Christians are theists but, for many believers, that is a mere principle rather than a daily reality. They are, as the saying goes, “atheists of the practical sort.” Though such Christians live moral lives, hour by hour they salute no transcendent reference. In contrast, no one will ever say that Pentecostals are “atheists of the practical sort”—nor that they exhibit a moribund form of culture religion. Pentecostals’ God may tumble into trivialization but rarely into dormancy.

Accountability. The second-generation Pentecostal theologian David DuPlessis earned recognition for emphasizing the phrase, “God has no grandchildren.” For him, that phrase did not mean that tradition and the church remained irrelevant. It meant that God holds everyone directly responsible for their beliefs, attitudes, and actions. The idea that society causes individual shortcomings, widely spread in mainline Christianity, finds little resonance in Pentecostal culture. There are no ideologies of victimization, social or otherwise.

Assertiveness. Pentecostals take stands. The movement’s corporate habit is to take a public position on issues of consequence. To be sure, a majority of white adherents come down on the “conservative” side of most public debates, especially moral issues like gay marriage and abortion. African American and Latino Pentecostals present a more complex picture, sometimes parallelling and sometimes differing from whites and from each other. On the whole, however, Pentecostals voice their views.

Pentecostals deserve better. No group can be equally concerned about all ills all the time.

Planting. Pentecostals evangelize. Indeed, there is a quip about it. When someone gets on a bus and says, “Is this seat saved—oh, by the way, are you?” you know that person is probably Pentecostal. For lots of reasons, some more commendable than others, most mainliners have come to doubt the warrant for overt evangelization of outsiders. In contrast, Pentecostals remain invincibly convinced that a buried truth, even a shielded truth, is not a truth worth holding at all. They rarely lack the courage to share the Good News.

Urgency. For Pentecostals, time counts. This is not to say that they always use their time more wisely than do other Christians. They don’t. But it is to say that when they don’t, they feel badly about it. And for good reason. Virtually all subscribe to some form of premillennialism. Like most secular ecologists and globalization theorists, Pentecostals strongly doubt that history can keep on going in the same old ways. Thus they emphasize stewardship, not only of money but also of the time God has given each of us to do God’s work.

Music. Hear it! Who can forget a hand-clapping Pentecostal choir singing “There’s Power in the Blood” in an old-fashioned revival?

What Pentecostals Can Learn

Nurture. Mainliners know that Rome was not built in a day, and neither is Christian faith. Mainliners, especially Lutherans and Reformed Confessionalists, seriously catechize the young and reproduce the faith in denominational schools and seminaries. They use the lectionary systematically to present (and re-present) the whole of the Christian theological tradition. Mainliners understand, in other words, that the Christian God is a slow God who builds the edifice of faith one brick at a time.

Sacramentalism. Mainliners appreciate that God meets humans not only spiritually but also palpably, in material things. Bread and wine (or juice) typically come first, yet other material objects—stained glass in the nave, carved wood in the chancel—become sites for the intersection of the supernatural and the natural. Mainliners know that Christians experience God with their senses too.

Proportion. Mainliners grasp that the antidote to extremism is not prayer for success but for balance. John Hersey captured this insight in his classic novel The Call, about David Treadup, a YMCA missionary in China who lightly resembles Hersey’s missionary father. After a reckless confrontation with brigands, Treadup prays “to be given, for the love of Jesus, a sense of proportion.” Mainliners know the virtue of radical moderation.

Quality. More precisely: quality over quantity. Not that quantification is always bad—it goes with evangelization. Indeed, mainliners seem strangely quick to discount the goals as well as the methods of the church-growth gurus. But in their better moments they sense that boasting about big numbers says more about status aspirations than spiritual attainments. Here, mainliners, blessed by the tempered sensibilities of centuries of history, have much to teach.

Community. By community I mean awareness that the corporate body of Christ precedes individual bodies in Christ. That awareness stands timelessly expressed in the Apostles’ Creed: first the “communion of saints” and then “the forgiveness of sins.” This litany, recited in most mainline churches every Sunday, reinforces the orthodox sequence of priorities.

The mainline also expresses its theological priorities in its preaching tradition. My colleague Richard Lischer, a Lutheran theologian, makes the point with brilliant succinctness. “Remember,” he tells his students, “the Bible is more interesting than you are.”

Reverence. “Overbold with God Almighty” is what Queen Elizabeth said about the upstart Protestant sects disturbing the peace of her 16th-century English church. Not the most pious of souls, the good queen nonetheless discerned the importance of cultivating a proper sense of human finitude in the face of God’s infinitude. The danger that the mainline seeks to guard against, in its confessions and liturgy, is undue familiarity with God. Mainliners know that God’s will cannot be confined, let alone reduced, to a calculus of human reckoning and desire.

Accountability. In 2003 the Pentecostal Evangel featured the reigning Miss America. The Evangel proudly noted that this talented young woman—headed for Harvard Law School—had distinguished herself as an advocate of premarital sexual abstinence. The article admitted that some Christians oppose beauty pageants, yet failed to acknowledge that historically the Miss America pageant has traded on the objectification and commodification of the female body.

It is hard to imagine a Wesleyan Christian Advocate or a Lutheran Digest showcasing a beauty-pageant winner. More secure in its status, the mainline has better learned how to cast a critical eye on the seductive claims of contemporary middle-class culture.

Scholarship. The important point here is not that mainliners have more scholars, but that they respect their scholars’ wisdom. They suppose that persons who have devoted their lives to studying the church’s traditions should be consulted. The mainline assumes that their academics have earned the right to speak. They know perfectly well that academics have their own foibles and quarrels, but they are willing to take the bad with the good in order to gain the benefit of disciplined expertness.

Commonality. In his Second Inaugural Address, Abraham Lincoln made clear that the Civil War lasted as long as it did because the North, no less than the South, had profited from the slave driver’s lash. Americans, he effectively said, were all in it together, and all had to pay. Mainliners too know that Christians are all in it together, and all have to pay. If any part of their group falls into sin, or teaches a heresy, the whole group is affected and must shoulder some responsibility, sometimes for the failing and always for the resolution. Sharing the name means sharing the burden.

Humility. Mainliners call their institutions denominations. Historically the term denotes, among other things, a group of Christians who see through a glass darkly. Each tradition, it suggests, must recover an aspect of the great body of Christian teachings and practices that others have underplayed or overlooked. (The sect, in contrast, assumes exclusive responsibility and privileged knowledge.)

Mainliners, who have been around for the better part of five centuries, know that the magnitude of the task and the limitation of the resources mean that everyone’s hands are needed.

Music. Hear it! Who can forget a robed choir soaring with “O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing” in the amber glow of a Gothic nave?

True Grits

Fuller Theological Seminary president Richard Mouw once told a story at Duke about a northerner who attended a conference in Durham, North Carolina. Eating breakfast at a mom-and-pop diner, the traveler requested eggs, sausage, and toast. When the server, a local woman, brought the order, the northerner saw a little knot of white stuff on the plate. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Grits,” she said.

“What is a grit?” he asked.

“Honey,” she drawled, “they don’t come by themselves.”

So too with Pentecostals and mainliners. They do not, or at least should not, come by themselves. Together they can learn from each other’s experiences and profit from each other’s wisdom. If Pentecostals have given us the gift of tongues, mainliners have given us the gift of ears. Together they witness to the full gospel held by the whole body of Christ.

Grant Wacker is professor of church history at Duke University Divinity School. He is the author of Heaven Below: Early Pentecostals and American Culture (Harvard University Press, 2001).

Copyright © 2005 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

Related Elsewhere:

A CT review and an excerpt of Grant Wacker’s Heaven Below is available on our website.

Our sister publication, Christian History & Biography, also reviewed the book.

More about Wacker is available from his Duke University page.