Editing a faith-focused website like Beliefnet, it's hard not to dream of the star writers I wish we could get to write for us. And who is bigger than Jesus Christ himself? Alas, he hasn't been on the freelance market for a while--or so I thought. Somehow the humor magazine The Onion got him to contribute an opinion piece in the current issue.
In "No Way I'm Saving That Guy," the Man From Nazareth tells us he's finally reached the limit of his heretofore-unlimited forgiving nature. Acknowledging that he is "supposed to be all-merciful, universally loving, the Light and the Way and everything," Mr. Christ goes on to blast the owner of a local automative shop (though he refrains from saying what locality that is), listing his many faults. He continues:
Don't get Me wrong. I'm extremely forgiving--to a fault, maybe. I've absolved some of the worst people you can imagine. We've got thieves, adulterers, murderers, even Romans sent to persecute my followers out the wazoo up here. In fact, if you ask Biblical scholars or learned clergy, they'll go so far as to tell you My capacity for forgiveness is infinite. Well, that's usually true. But not with this a----e.
A word to Jesus: It's true that The Onion has some of the most biting religious satire out there and can always be counted on for some laugh-out-loud reading. But, please. Beliefnet is the biggest spiritual website around, and I'm sure we can fit you into our roster of columnists. Gimme a call, and we can discuss terms.
The devil I await is the one wearing Prada, of course.
Though the idea of embodying the devil in female form is not terribly original, I tore through Lauren Weisberger's payback of a novel, "The Devil Wears Prada"--a thinly veiled "fictionalized" account of Weisberger's stint as the tortured assistant of none other than the Queen of Fashion herself: Anna Wintour, editor in chief of Vogue. The story is a deliciously hellish portrayal of the underside of the glitter and glamour of the runway and its fashionista critics and connoisseurs. I am excited to see it portrayed on the big screen when the movie version of "The Devil Wears Prada" opens tomorrow, and despite the fact that the famously fashionable are bemoaning the film's "lack of chic" according to Ruth La Ferla's article in today's New York Times, "The Duds of 'The Devil Wears Prada.'"
Though the film's director, David Frankel, apparently aimed to create a "magical kingdom of fashion" for movie-goers, he missed the mark, La Ferla reports. Rather, the film portrays "a caricature of what people who don't work in fashion think fashion people look like."
Regardless of the pan--at least from the runway angle--I'm excited to see Meryl Streep's stint as the devil in couture clothing as she plays the role of Miranda Priestly, the Anna Wintour-like character.
John Holland is the perfect psychic for the History Channel. He eschews the usual gimmicks of media mediums, the schmaltziness of John Edward or the histrionics of "Most Haunted" and "Ghost Town"'s Derek Acorah, and even goes so far as to say, with a slight roll of the eyes, that although he's able to take on personality traits of people who've passed, he's "not being possessed."
Holland, a Boston born-and-bred psychic medium, is apparently well-known on the lecture and book circuits, but is looking to break into the lucrative world that is cable television with "Psychic History."
In the pilot episode John is taken to Waco, Texas, to the former site of the Branch Davidian compound, Mount Carmel. Currently, nothing occupies the site other than a small non-descript church. All signs and identifying markers were either removed or covered. Holland is not told where he's going and arrives blindfolded. He is able to relive the events and answer some of the mysteries surrounding the 1993 siege: Yes, the Branch Davidians shot first, and yes, some of the Davidians were being held against their will. What may be most remarkable is that Holland is able to get readings off of a house in L.A. that once housed weapons used in the siege. Apparently, this information was only known by police. (The pilot episode is being re-aired July 8 at 5 p.m.)
My only quibble with the show is an incredible credulity-stretching moment when John is taken to the garage where Lee Harvey Oswald was assassinated, as a sort of warm-up to Waco. In this very non-descript parking garage, accompanied by the law enforcement officer handcuffed to Oswald that day, Holland is able to determine that they are at the site of the shooting, but then seems to say that Oswald was a generous person. While the former officer completely disagrees with this assessment, the narrator chimes in with a line about how "John may have been right after all," as his assassin Jack Ruby was known to be a very giving man. If that isn't trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, then what is?
The show is typical History Channel treatment, featuring one-on-ones with experts and participants, for the most part properly couching language so as to not present Holland's readings as absolute fact and leaving room for differing viewpoints. Plus, an investigative reporter from the Dallas Morning News accompanies Holland in order to verify what he's saying.
Whether you believe in psychic abilities or not, "Psychic History" is an interesting, remarkably balanced show for the genre.
Earlier this week, Oprah held a Dr. Phil-like parental advice-giving session, yet not with Dr. Phil himself--her show about on-camera counseling for families in crisis was hosted by none other than the ubiquitous Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, author of many popular books, including his most recent, "10 Conversations You Need to Have with Your Children." Rabbi Shmuley is no stranger to television, either--he hosts his own show, called "Shalom in the Home," airs on TLC, Monday nights at 10 p.m.
His appearance on Oprah's show included no shortage of "Shmuleyisms"--bits of wisdom that this celebrity rabbi offers to parents and kids unhappy at home, quite like the popular TV nannies that many of my friends with children watch religiously every week. "Shmuleyisms" are generally straightforward and certainly not earth-shattering, and include simple views like the following:
"Many parents believe they can take a hammer and chisel and sculpt their children into an image of what they want them to be. Instead, it's much more effective to get [your children] to hear their own inner voice of what they want to be."
Also:
"Parenting is done with two hands--the right hand is unconditional love, and the left hand is establishing boundaries amidst that unconditional love. That is the role of a parent--love and discipline."
On Oprah, Rabbi Shmuley packed the salvation of four families into one hour, departing from his regular "Shalom in the Home" formula, which focuses just on one family per hour-long episode. Each family story arc on Oprah included the requisite embarassing camera-in-the-home footage of parental incompetence and bratty childish behavior, followed by a Rabbi Shmuley miracle advice session, followed (in most cases) by happy-ending footage of a family excursion orchestrated by the rabbi himself, talking them through success all the way.
As I am one of those people who watches reality TV with my hands over my face, not able to suffer through the public humiliation of others, I can't say that after Rabbi Shmuley's Oprah debut I'll be canceling my Monday night plans to make it home in time for "Shalom in the Home," but it was interesting to see a "male nanny" taking control of the reality-parenting market for once--and a rabbi at that.
This week's US Weekly features a headline that one might expect to find on an issue of the magazine Guideposts rather than on one of the nation's top gossip magazines: "Kevin's Last Chance: A Christian life coach helps Britney forgive as she struggles to save her family."
It seems that the once-again-pregnant popster has completely cut Kabblah out of her life, and is returning to the religion of her roots to help resolve her rocky relationship with her husband of 21 months, Kevin Federline. According to the magazine, a source reveals that Spears and Federline "have agreed to continue to pray together and put their faith back into their marriage, recomitting."
The same source reports that, "the fresh start stems from a four-hour conversation encouraged by Spears' newly acquired Christian life coach"--a conversation which apparently took place before her head-scratching interview with Matt Lauer.
For all the headlines of "Christian life coachs gives Britney and hubby faith in marriage," the article offers remarkably little else, other than the aforementioned quotes, about that Christian life coach or the couple's faith life. In fact, it goes on to talk about Federline still showing some party-boy proclivities. And, we don't even know what to make of Britney's brunette and bare spread in Harper's Bazaar, except to paraphrase the late Senator Lloyd Benston and say, "I saw Demi Moore's 'Vanity Fair' spread... and you are no Demi Moore."
Perhaps US Weekly has learned what Newsweek discovered long ago: Religion on the cover sells.
Of the two time-travel related movies available this July 4th weekend--and sans the existence of a wonderful July 4-ish movie like "National Treasure" or "Independence Day"--here's why I highly recommend "Click" over its play-with-temporal-reality competition, "The Lake House."
First, I'm a guy: Though "Click" is fairly close to chick-flicky, it's not quite there. Next, "The Lake House" offers a love story and barely delivers, while "Click" promises stupid Adam Sandler humor and overdelivers with emotion and affection. Also, "The Lake House" advertised romance and depth, but "Flick" actually delivered more of it (or at least it was less concocted).
For those who love timeshifting movies, "The Lake House" never even gives a reason or cause for the magic mailbox, changes the rules of time travel (or mailbox travel?), and then breaks them anyway, while "Click" at least makes sense within the timewarp fantasy it creates. Finally, "Click" moves from the typical Sandleresque absurdity to some real meaning by the power of timewarp, while "The Lake House" loses more credibility as it goes along and falls off the table at the end. With all respect to my fellow Idol Chatter blogger Donna Freitas, I found "The Lake House" to be disappointing, while "Click" was at least unpainful.
Why write about either one? There's something deeply spiritual about the possibility of conquering time and space, transcending time, or overcoming the boundaries of our three dimensions. It is something that only God has done in history thus far, and our fascination with it is one of the closest flirtations with deity that we entertain in our pop culture. In the meantime, though, I think I'll go rent "Back to the Future," "Contact," "Minority Report," "The Final Countdown," "Frequency," or even "The Terminator." They're all light years better than "The Lake House," and at least a few clicks stronger than Sandler's latest.
Tuesday night, I had the pleasure of watching the Boston Red Sox beat the New York Mets 9-4 at Fenway Park. But as much as Boston baseball can feel like a religion, I'd never personally witnessed any warm-fuzzies at the ballpark...until last night.
Before the game, the 1986 Red Sox were honored on the 20th anniversary of the team's storied pennant- and division-winning season. I don't have to tell any baseball fans out there that this is also the 20th anniversary of the team's storied collapse and stunning World Series loss...to the New York Mets. That was the year they wheeled champagne into the Red Sox locker room only to roll it right back out. That was the year a ball slipped through Bill Buckner's hands, and rolled tragically between his legs.
But as each retired player (of the '86 Red Sox, only Roger Clemens is still playing professional baseball) jogged out onto the field to stand in their old field positions, there was nothing but love from the stands. The announcer made a specific point when he announced Buckner (who did not attend because he was taking his child to look at colleges) to say that the great player will always be welcome at Fenway Park. Everyone cheered.
To add to the positive mo-jo, former Red Sox pitcher Pedro Martinez, who now plays for the Mets, was also given an official warm Fenway Park welcome, and when he came out to wave to the crowd, everyone at Fenway was on their feet.
Listening to sports radio on the way home from the game, the host told a caller who called the ovations "bittersweet," that those feelings weren't fair. It was time to move on from the painful past, to "let it go" and celebrate 1986 for the victory that it was. It was time to let that year's later defeat fade into safely distant history.
But then host pointed out that the warm welcome, the happy nostalgia, would probably not have been possible prior to the 2004 Red Sox's World Series victory, the team's first since 1918.
As much pride and excitement surrounds Red Sox baseball, there also remains a lot of pent-up frustration and disappointment with roots in that ballpark. Seems one World Series win wasn't enough to take the "bitter" out of "bittersweet" for that caller. But for the rest of the fans who stood and clapped as those Red Sox legends took the field, it was a brand new day.
Superman is back, and not a moment too soon. The world is falling apart, and now even Lex Luthor is being let out of jail. Does the world need a savior? That's a question pondered by the characters of the exciting new "Superman Returns." But can there be any doubt that it does?
The first new Superman movie in 19 years, "Superman Returns" is a worthy successor to the iconic 1978 original "Superman: The Movie" (forget its three increasingly bad sequels). Director Bryan Singer hits all the right notes here in honoring the look and feel of that movie--literally, when it comes to the score, which borrows heavily from its predecessor--while successfully making an original, relevant film that avoids any taint of mere literal-minded homage.
This is not a Superman of the ironic and cynical, in the way that many superhero movies have been lately; the Man of Steel in 2006 is still a man who struts around, unabashed, in a red cape and blue body suit with a big 'S' on it. And yet, he's also not the same stoic, don't-show-your-weakness 1950s father figure of the past.
Singer spares us any extended explorations of Superman's dark past or troubled psyche, and there are no moments when he hangs up his cape to go find himself in Tibet. But those moments of despair, longing, and doubt are there, all the more powerful for the fact that they're hinted at and alluded to rather than tackled head on. How can they not be there? In "Superman Returns," our hero comes back to Earth after five years away, during which he confirmed that, with his home planet of Krypton destroyed, he is indeed the only survivor; once back, he finds that the love of his life, Lois Lane, has moved on and is engaged to someone else. Sitting in a bar as Clark Kent, brooding over a beer, he hears of a tragedy in progress--innocent civilians imperiled, and one of them is none other than Lois herself. After the briefest moment of hesitation, he snaps into action, of course. Does he do it for love or altruism? In this case, it doesn't matter.
I'll leave it to others to explore the Christ parallels in this film--suffice it to say they're there in force--but I was struck by a very different side of it. Yes, the Man of Steel is the powerful other-worldly superhero, come to defend truth and justice. But this Superman film makes clear that it's not a one-man show. Superman has his vulnerabilities--physical and spiritual--while conversely and more importantly, the world is saved by a lot of people reaching deep inside themselves to find their own inner superman, the spark of moral and physical greatness that they didn't know was within them. It is only then that salvation truly comes. Call it the Gnostic Superman.
None of this is entirely new to "Superman Returns"--little can be fully new in a story told and retold for almost 80 years--but it is an exciting, fresh, and refreshing take, one that is true to the spirit of Superman while also presenting us all with a unique challenge for today: Don't look to the heavens for anything more than a bird or a plane; look inside yourself for Superman.
So how was Nicole Kidman able to wed Keith Urban in a Catholic church?
Kidman, baptized and raised Catholic, is one of the most famous divorcees in filmdom these days, her 1990 marriage to fellow actor and former Catholic Tom Cruise having collapsed in 2001. In the Catholic Church, marriage is for life, no matter what a civil divorce court might rule, unless the couple can obtain an annulment from a Catholic marriage tribunal, a process that typically takes several years. Kidman and country singer Urban announced their engagement only two months before their wedding ceremony, which was performed by a Catholic priest last weekend at the Cardinal Cerretti Chapel in Kidman's native Sydney, Australia.
Here is the lucky break that enabled the couple to proceed speedily to the altar despite Kidman's divorce: Her marriage to Cruise took place in a Church of Scientology ceremony (both were practicing Scientologists back then, and Cruise still is).
The Catholic Church requires its members to be married by a Catholic priest in a Catholic sacramental ceremony, so the Cruise-Kidman marriage was what the church calls "invalid as to form." Proving a defect of form is relatively easy. The rules of diocesan marriage tribunals vary, but typically, the Catholic party or parties simply have to file copies of their baptismal certificates along with their marriage certificate (which would show who performed the ceremony) and a copy of their divorce decree. The process takes at most a couple of months--after which the marriage is declared null and void.
Thus, in the eyes of the church, Kidman, who returned to her childhood Catholic faith after her divorce from Cruise, has been married only once: to Keith Urban.
"I’m sick to death of Jesus. I feel that Jesus and Paris Hilton are both overexposed." Loud and obnoxious statements like that should offend my Midwestern evangelical sensibilities just enough to make me want to rant about Kathy Griffin, the pseudo-celebrity and stand-up comedienne who these days expresses her snarky "militant atheist" views on her reality series “My Life on the D List.” But I can’t quite bring myself to do that. Even if I am not a big fan of every word that comes out of her mouth, I thoroughly enjoy her show, which recently returned for a second season on Tuesday nights. I've decided to give her a new title to add to her "D list" standing--my favorite celebrity atheist. (And we here at Idol Chatter think everyone should have a favorite atheist.)
Griffin has carved her comedy club career by riffing on the foibles of A-list celebrities, but her reality series is more about poking fun at the flaws in her own nature. While all reality shows may be edited to death in post-production for maximum dramatic impact, I still can't help but admire the way Griffin--who executive-produces her show--allows some of her most vulnerable and unattractive moments to play out on the camera. When Jay Leno makes a cheap joke about her looks when she appears on "The Tonight Show," she lets the cameras follow her offstage ,where we see her burst into tears. When she makes a crude joke at movie star Renee Zelleweger's expense only to have Zelleweger shower Griffin with dozens of roses in response, Griffin turns the entire episode into a mea culpa to Zelleweger for taking the moral low road in her act--again.
But it is her generosity and loyality that I find most endearing. Her unflagging work for charity was around long before her show came to TV--instead of wedding gifts she aseked her guests to donate to charity instead, for example. No stunt for charity is too crazy, as viewers find out when Griffin ebays a weekend at her house to a complete stranger just to raise some money for Hurricane Katrina relief efforts. And even though she is vehemently opposed to the war in Iraq, Griffin goes on a stand-up tour into some of the most dangerous parts of Iraq to entertain the troops--places where other celebrities have never performed. She is also unabashedly emotional when she talks about how much she loves her (now former) husband, Matt, and her desire for them to stay reconciled after they filed for divorce last year. (So far, so good.)
To be perfectly honest, part of me wants to be a just a little more like Kathy Griffin. I could stand to learn to be a little more transparent about my emotions, a little more outspoken in the face of injustice, and a little more honest when I screw up. In return for what I have gained from watching Griffin, maybe next season she'd let me help her do a little work on re-thinking that whole existence of God thing.
With the amount of TV that most of us watch, it's inevitable--much as we try to resist or deny it--that the small screen shapes our worldview and our national conversation. To that end, a significant cultural leader passed away this weekend. Aaron Spelling was 83.
The producer of such megahit television shows as "Charlie's Angels," "The Love Boat," "Fantasy Island," "Dynasty," and "Beverly Hills, 90210" gained a reputation from critics as being a formulaic producer of "jiggle TV." According to the critics, he was after ratings more than writing, prioritizing superstars over substance. He was known as a crowd-pleaser, but I always saw him as an unbelievable crowd-shaper, and I believe that he affected your life and mine more than we knew.
Our parents may have seen him act in "I Love Lucy" or "Dragnet." Just about everyone from the Baby Boomer generation not only watched his shows but probably acquired their television-watching habit itself from his creations, including "Starsky and Hutch," "S.W.A.T.," "Hart to Hart," "Vegas," "The Rookies," "The Mod Squad," and "T.J. Hooker." I think the "The Boy in the Plastic Bubble" put the "made-for-television" movie genre back on the map, and probably kept John Travolta's career barely on track at the time. "Charlie's Angels" once gained a 50-plus ratings share--for a rerun.
For those slightly younger, "Dynasty" may have been the first exposure to Spelling's work; it influenced not only TV ratings but countless magazine and tabloid covers for years. "Beverly Hills, 90210" and "Melrose Place" introduced an entire younger generation to Spelling's work, as did "7th Heaven," which completed the circle (at least in my family), as my kids got hooked on it and still are.
If Spelling's shows didn't float our boat, certainly the stars he discovered have. A list including the likes of Julia Roberts, Joan Collins, Heather Locklear, John Forsythe, Linda Evans, Farrah Fawcett, Shannen Doherty, Luke Perry, Jennie Garth, Jason Priestly, Jaclyn Smith, Kate Jackson, William Shatner, and his daughter, Tori, were all discovered or re-discovered through one or more of Spelling's productions. Imagine how our shows--and our culture--would be different had these actors not had a career (or second career) launched through Mr. Spelling.
In all, he produced and/or had an executive role in almost 200 television series and movies, which at one point earned him the "Guinness Book of World Records" citation for the most credits as a television producer. Though most of the records in the "Guinness Book" can be considered irrelevant, I think Aaron Spelling's is one that matters more than we realize. He shaped what we saw and who we saw--and to some degree the values we've chosen and role models we've adopted--more than even he probably realized.
Those who knew him say he just enjoyed selling and producing a good show. I think we know he did both--and quite a bit more.
Were your weekend’s activities planned around exciting (and some ho-hum) World Cup soccer elimination matches? Mine were, and happily, here in the U.S. I had the benefit of daytime broadcasts from Germany. And though my biggest problem was fighting for television rights with my almost three-year-old daughter, I realize there are much worse problems that can come from a World Cup obsession.
Like the threat of being defrocked.
Seems World Cup soccer is cramping the religious style of some Buddhist monks in Thailand. IBN Live reports that monks who have been staying up past midnight to catch the soccer matches have missed collecting morning alms the next day.
So is it really that big a deal? I admit to rushing through prayers on a commercial break during a crucial match! But I guess rushing through individual prayer and sleeping through religious obligations to the public have different consequences. Nearly 40,000 Cambodian monks, next door to Thailand, have been threatened with defrocking if they become too excited while watch ing the games.
Phnom Penh patriarch Non Nget told Reuters that if the monks “make noise or cheer as they watch, they will lose their monkhood.”
Not make noise or cheer as they watch World Cup soccer? Not being able to join in “God Save the Queen” along with rabid English fans? Not being able to sing “Ole, ole, ole!” when Brazil’s Ronaldinho makes his incredible moves? Not being able to scream “Goooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!” any time any team scores a goal?
I’m praying that these monks are made of strong stuff. I’m sure they must be. Perhaps they know a way to internalize boisterous soccer enthusiasm. And if they do, I’d sure like to learn how. Then I won’t have to hear my daughter say, “No Mamma, no soccer. You’re too loud!”
One of the many reasons summer is my favorite time of year is the fact that while enjoying the view of Lake Michigan, I can also catch up on my reading. Yes, with re-runs on TV and little at the box office to grab my interest lately, it's time to turn the pages of some books that have been sitting on my nightstand for months. I chose all of my beach-lounging choices because they discuss the intersection of real life, faith, and/or pop culture from a smart and fresh perspective.
(If any Idol Chatter readers want to add some suggestions to my summer reading list, feel free to leave them in the comments box below!)
1. "Working on the Inside: The Spiritual Life Through The Eyes Of Actors": If you want to know what celebs like Liam Neeson, Kristin Chenoweth, and others really think about God , this book is an inspiring read. Author and journalist Rett Blaney does an amazing job of discussing the spiritual significance of mixing faith and art in some intriguing discussions with some A-list stars.
2. "The God Factor": This book is another series of interviews that examines the spiritual lives of public people from politicians, sports stars and actors. A variety of faiths and cultural backgrounds are represented in this book as the journalist Cathleen Falsani. Interviews an eclectic group from Muslim basketball star Hakeem Olajuwon, novelist Anne Rice, and musicians Annie Lennox and Melissa Etheridge. (You can read an excerpt of it here.)
3. "Faith & The City": If you're a twentysomething who's still making those tricky transitions into full-blown adulthood--like moving into your first apartment or searching for the career path that will make you happy--you will be able to identify with this "chick lit"-style book. While not quite as amusing as Bridget Jones or Carrie Bradshaw, Jennifer Ruisch's memoir about her life in Chicago after college is a fun, fast read that covers everything from sex to faith to the spiritual desire for lots and lots of donuts. (You'll have to read the book to understand that last part).
A British singer borrows an American president's phrase when painting graffiti on Israeli property that is characterized by Palestinians as a land grab. I'm not sure what I am more struck by: the scope of history, politics, music, and culture that came together in that one act, or the fact that some graffiti on a faraway wall made headlines across the globe.
Reuters reports that Pink Floyd frontman Roger Waters ("The Wall," "The Dark Side of the Moon") "scrawled 'tear down the wall' on the concrete panels of Israel's West Bank barrier on Wednesday." He was doing some touring before performing a concert that drew an estimated 50,000 Palestinians and Israelis. His red spray paint and marker pen--and the phrase he borrowed from President Reagan's famous reference to the Berlin wall--attracted quite a bit of attention.
"'It's a horrific edifice, this thing,' Waters told reporters as he stood beside a section of the barrier in Bethlehem. 'I've seen pictures of it, I've heard a lot about it but without being here you can't imagine how extraordinarily oppressive it is and how sad it is to see these people coming through these little holes… It's craziness.'"
Israel says they've built the wall to protect against suicide bombers. Palestinians see it as a thinly veiled attempt to claim more land. Whatever your thoughts or mine, simply the fact that a rock icon made a graffiti comment about it has drawn more attention to the conflict than the latest exposé by "60 Minutes" or "Nightline."
Waters's concert, incidentally, was moved from Tel Aviv when some of his fans complained about him playing in Israel. Instead, he performed in the Arab-Israeli village Neve Shalom, which literally means "oasis of peace." His graffiti and accompanying statements certainly didn't decrease the number of cars braving the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv Highway and Route 3 between the Latrun and Nahshon intersections to hear another rendition of really old songs by really old guys.
As far as saints go, free-standing statues, mass cards, portraits on the walls, ceramic figurines, and tiny iconic pendants that you can dangle from a chain are par for the course for anyone who grows up an Italian Catholic--namely, me--or, I'd guess, just plain Catholic regardless of ethnicity. In my house you didn't have to go far before you bumped into some martyred man or sainted lady, though, like for many Italians, St. Anthony--the famous finder of lost things--was the reigning favorite in the hearts of my grandmother and mother.
But roadside billboards? Now that's a new one.
Beginning Monday, Loyola Press, a Catholic publishing house based in Chicago, will be treating city drivers to some saintly wisdom on their commutes to and from work, with a campaign called "Use Your Common Saints." St. Jude--also know as the Patron Saint of Desperate Situations--is first on the list for billboard glory, and will be advising motorists that he "knows an alternate route" (ha ha!). A new sign will follow every two weeks until the end of August, featuring the following:
July 10: "St. Joseph says construction takes patience." July 24: "Joan of Arc says keep your cool." August 7: "St. Anthony offers roadside assistance." August 21: "St. Ignatius encourages Mass transit."
What's behind this inspired effort to quell summer road rage and breakdown despair? The instant success of their book "My Life With the Saints," by James Martin--with a dash of company social consciousness thrown in:
"Our goal is to nurture faith-filled lives," says Joseph Durepos, Loyola Press Acquisitions Director, in a press release about the campaign. "Proclaiming these messages on the Kennedy [Expressway] drives home the idea that God is with us in all that we do, even when we are stuck in traffic."
I admit, I could use more than a little assistance from St. Joseph in the patience department when I sit in N.Y.C. traffic. Maybe the saints will soon be gracing expressways beyond Chicago if the campagn is a success. Until then, I'll have to rely on my portable mass cards and pendants.
And so the dream has died, with the United States’ loss to Ghana yesterday (2-1) in the World Cup competition. Even though Italy did its part by beating Czechoslovakia (2-0), the U.S.’s loss cemented its shameful exit from the first round of the 2006 World Cup. I guess all my “bismillahs” as the U.S. maneuvered for a goal and all my prayers to God for a U.S. victory went unanswered. Them’s the breaks.
But the excitement persists, and faithful fans continue to call on the highest power to put their team over. In my opinion, it's faith (and skill, of course, and maybe some questionable calls by the referees) that drives this tournament. In fact the churches of Germany are capitalizing on the World Cup by trying to reach out to people of all religions.
An article on Forbes.com reports that thousands of churches asked for and received broadcast rights to the games: “Some are showing them on large screens in churches--others... in impromptu places of worship. Preachers have worked soccer themes into their sermons.” It seems that church officials are stressing the similarities between religion and soccer: “both have rituals, offer a sense of community, a chance to leave the ordinary behind.”
And apparently Christianity has cornered the world cup market in Germany. The article goes on to report that Muslim and Jewish communities are not undertaking similar efforts.
Too bad. It seems to me that the churches of Germany have latched onto something interesting. Want to increase attendance? Just broadcast World Cup soccer! But that doesn’t guarantee that your parishioners will listen to your message about God. As one Roman Catholic Church spokeswoman said, "We have to be realistic. Most people come here to watch soccer."
Steve Skelton--an author and minister--has been going around telling anyone who'll listen that Superman is a Christ figure. He's got a good point, what with the whole "only son sent to earth as a savior" angle. Now The Advocate tells us that the Man of Steel might be gay, or at least is an icon to gay people, what with his closeted secret identity and all.
Can both these be true? Wouldn't that make our supreme comic-book hero--gasp--a gay Christ figure?
Before making up your minds, consider these other factors: Superman might also be a Methodist, a Moses figure, a Jewish golem, or a twist on Nietzsche's ubermensch. And Bryan Singer, the director of "Superman Returns"--himself gay (and Jewish)--has called the hero "the most heterosexual character" in all his films.
Sounds to me like the Man From Krypton may be having an extended identity crisis that's leaving him unsure of his own religious leanings, religious/allegorical allusions, and sexual preferences. Maybe some super-counseling--or a turn at our Belief-o-Matic quiz--can help him sort out who he really is.
No need to wake early and drink warm beer to enjoy the World-Cup-time flap over English soccer star Wayne Rooney's new billboard for Nike, left, which has scandalized churchmen in the Sceptred Isle because it recalls the Crucifixion. "'The trivialization of Christ's suffering is highly offensive to Christians and to God," says one cleric. "This will cause real hurt to people."
The second part of this statement may turn out to be prophetic. Rooney's war cry might encourage fan violence, which European authorities finally seem to have quelled, which would be an obvious shame. But the red cross shouldn't offend Christians any more than the Swedes' yellow one or the Danes' blue one, which their fans commonly slather on their bodies. The swaths on Rooney's torso represent England's traditional banner, the flag of St. George. (The Union Jack is the standard of the United Kingdoms of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, all of which have their own teams.) It's the banner under which King Richard Lionheart's men marched off to the Crusades--another reason, a disconcerted Labor MPs says, the image is too touchy for good taste, considering the war in Iraq.
If the red cross summons delicate associations, however, it's a coincidence of England's past (often a violent one) as an unambiguously Christian nation. Certainly no one is proposing the cross be removed from all national displays.
The Rooney ruffle comes on the heels of a smaller flap on these shores about the place advertising occupies in our media. During last week's U.S. Open golf championship, Nike ran a commercial that memorialized Tiger Wood's father, who died this spring. Critics said the spot capitalized on Earl Wood's death. But the Woods family, which gave Nike all the footage, clearly viewed it as a tribute. The ad was Tiger's way of communicating his loving grief to his fans.
Rooney's image is haunting, even hard to look at, and its power unquestionably comes in part from its resonance with Christ crucified--not the suffering of Christ itself, of course, but hundreds of thousands of depictions in Western art. Nike has a right to that history, of course, as much as anyone who is trying to capture complex feelings to communicate about what we see or believe. In other words, to create art.
It's not often I get to (a) see a movie star up close and (b) see a Broadway show. But on my first --and hopefully not last--whirlwind trip to New York, I was able to do both in one afternoon. I sat in my seat mesmerized as Ralph Fiennes ("The English Patient," "Schindler's List"), wearing a baggy suit with an ugly green tie and matching socks, made me forget his big-screen persona, as he alternately shuffled and then paced back and forth on a stark, black stage. With a twinkle in his eyes but despair in his voice, Fiennes transported me back to Depression-era Wales in search of the miraculous in the haunting Tony-nominated tragedy "The Faith Healer."
The play, on the surface, is quite simple. It is actually a series of long, long, long monologues that tell the tale of a two-bit hustler, Frank Hardy (played by Fiennes) and the two people closest to him--his lover, Grace, and his "business manager," Teddy. The motley trio travels the impoverished back roads of Wales advertising Frank's supernatural ability to heal the lame and infirmed, for a small price, of course. The story of the same heartbreaking series of events surrounding the misguided use of Frank's spiritual gift is told from the perspective of all three characters and reveals glimpses of truth in the midst of a pack of lies. The challenge for the audience is to figure out which is which.
Does Frank truly have the ability to heal others? Well, sometimes, in spite of his whiskey-induced stupor, yes, he does. Do the people who come to him actually want to be healed? In Frank's opinion, no, they don't. Is God involved in any of these healings--or in some cases, the lack of healings--or is it just mind over matter?
"The Faith Healer" neither mocks the possibility that faith in a higher power heals nor fully embraces the notion of the miraculous. Instead, it is a tortured look at what could happen to those who does not question what they put their faith in. Frank heals others not out of a sense of the divine, but rather to escape the nagging spiritual questions inside his heart. Frank only feels escape from these questions when he is healing someone, yet refuses to acknowledge the possibility of a God who gave him this gift--if it is a gift. Grace and Teddy, on the other hand, place too much faith in the frail and unhappy Frank and suffer greatly because of this. What is clear by the final, tragic scene is that in this story, faith alone cannot save anyone.
I certainly have been taught since I was a teenager to "walk by faith and not by sight," as the Bible teaches, but this particular afternoon as I left the theater and walked down a crowded Schubert Alley, I was left reflecting on my own spiritual complacency. I put my faith in other people, other things--as well as my personal beliefs--but sometimes without a lot of thought. It only took a couple of hours in a darkened theater to remind me that it is when we ask questions and struggle with doubts, that we find what is truly worthy of our faith.
Tyler Perry--and his large black-woman alter-ego, Madea--have conquered stage, screen, and more recently, page, with the best-selling "Dont Make a Black Woman Take Off Her Earrings." Now, to coincide with the DVD release of his "Madea's Family Reunion," the Hollywood darling is giving something back to his (or her?) fans by helping you create your own online family tree, complete with photos.
I'm a sucker for unique music combinations (think: Metallica's "S&M" collaboration with the San Francisco Symphony). So when I listened to the first track off Celtic punk band Flatfoot 56's soon-to-be re-released album, "Knuckles Up," I was immediately drawn in to the tribal-like drumming, electric guitar chords, and sweet mandolin playing--which soon gave rise to louder, faster drumming and more powerful guitar and mandolin playing. It was a much different sound than your standard punk song, which is usually very simple and predictable in style and arrangement (a couple of guitar chords and a screaming lead singer).
The song "This Town" is also unique in another way--it's a positive anthem for change, something you don't often hear in more traditional punk music, which is more aggressive. And then, of course, you've got the band's Christian thing.
Although Christian punk bands aren't new, they're new to me. And, this one I like. Flatfoot 56 is comprised of three brothers from the south-side of Chicago--Tobin, Justin and Kyle Bawinkel-- and their friend Josh Robieson on bagpipes and mandolin.
Lead singer Tobin, who writes most of Flatfoot's songs, is very outspoken about the Christian messages in his work. In a 2004 interview with "The Phantom Tollbooth" he said, "Our lyrics talk a lot about brotherhood; standing strong with our brothers in the Lord, under Christ's banner; being a light for Christ. Many times our lyrics talk about our struggle with sin; how God's grace is always there to pick us all up when we fall down..."
Although the album was originally released in 2005, it will be re-released on June 27th, and will include new packaging, a new and sharper re-mastered sound, and a music video for their single "Brotherhood," the album's single about the power of friendship in standing up for what one believes.
One of my favorite songs off the album is a kicked-up version of "Amazing Grace." You can listen to it streamed on Beliefnet here.
It seems that Madonna’s Kabbalah connection with Lindsay Lohan may be reaching new heights of mystical ecstacy. Perezhilton.com is featuring pictures of Lohan with a Jewish “chai” charm necklace. It is not clear whether wearing the Hebrew word for “life” around her neck actually puts the starlet firmly in the Kabbalah camp, but she isn’t a stranger to the most famous Kabbalah adornment, the red string bracelet. Perhaps, she’s just on the Hebrew hip train like Scientologist Kirstie Alley, who has been seen carrying around a satchel emblazoned with Yiddish phrases.
Regardless of Ms. Lohan’s religious leanings, it seems that the mentoring Material Girl may have made a prodigious choice in this former child star. But maybe she should hold off on giving her new friend the 900-year-old Zohar she'd given Britney Spears--and reportedly requested back when Spears rejected Kabbalah.
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The devil I await is the one wearing Prada, of course.
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