On The Power of Myth and How DC Films get it Wrong

     Modern film serves an important role in culture, and older generations that fail to recognize it are doomed to either do it wrong, or misunderstand its power altogether. As they display the stories of a culture on the big screen, they undertake, through an audio/visual medium, to tell tales that have a history stretching back into the ancient world that fall into three distinct, yet overlapping categories: stories about (1) gods, (2) demigods, and (3) mortals. These tales often spill into each other, but will have emphases that spotlight very different needs of the people that spin those yarns. Let's briefly discuss below what each does for us.

Stories about the gods: From the Enuma Elish of ancient Mesopotamia to the Greek legends of Olympus, stories about the gods and the heavenly realm have helped humankind to organize the world in our mind. The inexplicable is made relatable by means of attaching it to the diversity of deities given expression on those epic sagas. Why does the thunder and lightning appear so violent in the sky? How did the diversity of creation first come to be? Who oversees the chaos that is the vast mysteries of the oceans? Why does the natural order sometimes get out of whack, resulting in natural disasters with which the mortals must contend? The "old world" had its share of the deity tales, but so did the "new world" also. Aztec, Maya, Mixtec, Inca cultures all had the myths and stories of the gods that helped explain why creation operates how it does, and what obligations humans have to those deities because of it. Stories of the gods are not designed to make them relatable characters. Audiences do not gain inspiration from them to better themselves. Instead, they receive information and instruction on the nature of the gods, and their spheres of responsibility, in story form. The ancient world did not seek to write propositional doctrines and systematic theologies as began in the West during the medieval period. Instead they taught of the gods (their nature, their power and their behavior) by means of creation and clash mythologies.

Stories about demigods: While mortals and gods may be completely separate categories, so that mortals have no need to find the gods relatable or even interesting, the middle area is needed that would inspire humans to reach beyond the mere drudgery of everyday life. After all, credible histories could account for heroic feats among the ranks of men (and in some cases women) that far exceeded the abilities and accomplishments of the average person. Even actual history can be mythologized over time, exaggerating the deeds of heroes to keep them awe-inducing for subsequent generations. Thus, the tale undergoes subtle revisions to eventually make them a child of the gods, or a product of deity/human union. In the ancient world, these become not just examples of divinely enhanced human potential, but also can serve as lessons for teaching ideal human behavior. The self-sacrificing hero battles the forces of the netherworld, or some monstrous aberration, for the win... and their story is told to inspire the hearers to comparable deeds. This, or they serve as a morality tale to instruct on what virtues the gods find praiseworthy, rewarding the hero with victory because of their own journey of character. The hero is superhuman, but relatable to the human experience, opening up a wealth of applicability for the audience.

Stories about mortals: Human life, with all of its peaks and valleys, drama and drudgery, has always provided rich material from which to glean lessons for wise living. Relationships of all types, struggles and celebration, adversity and elation, are rightly dramatized into tales with which the audience can empathize and emote, gaining wisdom and practical knowledge for enjoying life to the full. The documentary, the comedy, the crime drama, the romance tale (sometimes called a "chick flick"), all have their place in that repository of human stories that the audience, in exploring the themes and imbibing the sentiments along with the storyteller, actually become more "human." The varied recesses of the human soul are exercised and quickened by considering how the story illuminates the nuances of relationships, the diversity of human experience, the joys of laughter or the messiness of justice. We need stories that often expose or remind us how the world really is, and not just trafficking in how we'd like it to be.

     Along a literary spectrum, it could be said that the gods are fully "two dimensional characters"(lacking struggle, development or growth through a lesson journey) with the mortals being fully "three dimensional" (relatable to the audience in areas of human experience). This would place demigods somewhere in between, with considerable overlap. The short version is: gods are boring, people are interesting. So if you're going to tell a tale of superhuman heroes, it's necessary to "humanize" them considerably so that they can be analogous for or inspiring to the human audience. Demigods that lack development through lessons, romance, tragedy or joy, or lack the humor found in human relations, slide precipitously toward the genre of "gods" mythology. This is as much a detriment to the demigod category as if it were to lack superhuman ability and thus become just another mortal tale. In a sense, the demigod story is a balancing act in which the storyteller keeps the superhuman nature and the mortal nuances in a delicate tension. If we don't believe the hero was in love, we don't care that he saved the girl AND the world too for that matter.

     Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice is the latest installment in the new DC films cinematic depiction of their comic book repertoire. It builds upon the groundwork laid in 2013 by the reboot of the Superman franchise, Man of Steel. According to Rotten Tomatoes, a movie/television review aggregate web site, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice has received a current score of 29% out of a possible 100, with audience reaction being tepid at best. Opening weekend, predictably, found DOJ (Dawn of Justice) making considerable money because of the hype and subject matter. However, audience reaction can often be responsibly gauged by repeat viewings. For DOJ, second weekend grosses had dropped dramatically. Reports of second weekend declines are commonplace, but movie news articles add that a 68% drop for the second weekend is quite extreme. Being a lover of films, my daughter and I saw it opening night as well, and later shared critiques that ranged from objective evaluations to inside jokes that only we understand. To date, we appear in in the majority of viewers that found it an adequate spectacle to witness at a theater, but not remotely worthy of its hype, and unworthy of money spent on repeat visits.

     As an anthropologist, I am quite curious as to what explains this phenomenon beyond the mere nuts and bolts of good film-making. Lessor skilled directors have been able to grasp the sentiments of audiences and conjure them back to ride that ride over and over again. What makes DOJ different and less able to connect with moviegoers? Incidentally, among the more pointed critiques leveled at "Man of Steel" in 2013 was that it "was not inspiring." This has not been true of all DC movies. On the contrary, the Dark Knight trilogy (started with Batman Begins in 2005) directed by Christopher Nolan, enjoyed tremendous success, and appears to have been as much a watershed breakthrough for comic book hero films as was the 1978 blockbuster Superman with Christopher Reeve. In addition, audiences appear well conditioned to receive these fantastical tales and enjoy them repeatedly (rf. the current Marvel comic universe, beginning with Iron Man in 2008, has enjoyed positive response from critics and audiences alike). The Marvel success stands in stark contrast to the DC films in those two areas; critics have praised them and audiences have affirmed them by spending dollars on repeat visits to the theater. I believe this is explainable through the lens of the role for ancient stories described above.

     Societies and technology may change, but people don't. Many of the basic human needs in the ancient world still are plainly evident in the modern day; with this exception though: audiences today are even less interested in stories of the gods than in ancient times. To keep the modern (and especially postmodern) audience engaged for a superhuman story, you must go easy on the "super" and heavy on the "human." The powers must be incidental to the struggle, with emphasis on the seemingly "mortal" experiences of romance, remorse, joy, laughter, wit, wisdom, multiplicity of motives, etc. Without it, people may show up once to watch the "gods do battle," but be quite satisfied to have taken in the data it conveyed, with no need to return and experience it again. What's more? They'll share that "data" with friends, essentially negating the need for those friends to go see the film and get that data themselves. The characters are not "heroes" that we empathize with or are inspired by. They are deities that held their apocalyptic conflict, and that explains why we have the occasional geologic phenomenon of destroyed cities.

     It's not that Zack Snyder, the director of Man of Steel, DOJ and upcoming Justice League movies, isn't a skilled moviemaker. On the contrary, he's demonstrated considerable prowess in the past. It's just that he (and DC studios) has adopted a storytelling strategy that falls mostly in the first of our categories listed above. They're not attempting to tell a relatable story from which mortals should glean inspiration for achievements or analogies for life lessons. They're essentially sitting around the campfire, like old fellows wrapped in a thick cloak to protect from the night breeze, and regaling us with the myths of the ancient Greek gods, and how their conflicts resulted in the natural world we experience today (coincidentally, Snyder directed the film 300, which was a decidedly mortal tale, stylized to appear more like a deity story also).

     Comic book hero films cannot fit within the realm of mortal stories. They are not meant to reside in the ordinary, mundane aspects of everyday experience. This leaves two categories remaining they can fall under: stories of the gods or demigods. DC appears to be choosing the former, and Marvel the latter. This is ironic because before their cinematic manifestations, comic enthusiasts recognized that DC enjoyed greater readership than Marvel for the exact same reasons, only reversed. In this way, Nolan's success with the Dark Knight trilogy was attributed to being "so true to the comics." The DC comics were demigod stories (heavy on the human, easy on the super), with Marvel comic heroes pushing the limits of fantastical. Now the roles appear to have switched. Marvel seems to have understood the above analysis and is cashing in on it, but DC will continue to suffer mediocre results if they do not.

     I, for one, have likened the contrast to two roller coasters at a theme park. One is loud, shaky and exhausting; the other is thrilling, joyful and exciting. After getting off the second one, you look to see if the line is very long, and if not, exclaim "Let's do it again!" But after exiting the other one, you wiped your brow and sighed "Whew, I'm glad that's over." I believe stories are important. They are not mere movies, and not merely comic book heroes. These are tales from which we, as humans being, are supposed to glean inspiration for achievement and analogies to unravel the enigmas of our mortal experience. Storytellers, as writers of novels or directors of films, are custodians of those stories, and are to convey them in a manner from which the audience will derive the greatest benefit. It's too bad DC has decided to tell campfire stories of the gods. The relatable demigods on the screen are turning me into a Marvel guy.

Semper Reformanda

Frequent misunderstandings arise concerning the purpose, meaning and application of the Protestant Reformation. It's such a multifaceted epoch in history that widely varied opinions and interpretations exist regarding whether it was good or bad. The Reformation of the 16th Century is at once both a tragic tale, and a glorious one. It's a tragic one because an unintended consequence of it was the subsequent splintering of the Church of the West. However, it's a marvelous story because the need for the western Church to correct some of its errors was THAT dire. Basically, it's both a fond and painful memory for all of us - not unlike how an adult recalls a particular meaningful spanking they received as a child. For this reason, some may cringe at the prospect of celebrating the Protestant Reformation on October 31st (the traditional date in 1517 when Martin Luther nailed his "95 Theses" to the front door of his church in Wittenburg), and understandably so. On the other hand, I believe it's deserving of a commemorative party - not unlike how adults recall a younger spanking with stories of childhood discipline that resemble, "Yeah. My father was a loving, but strict man. I remember one time I acted up...and instead of just leaving me to my self-destructive folly, he applied the 'board of education' to the 'seat of learning.' I'm so glad he loved me enough to straighten me up then...but I still couldn't sit down comfortably for days."

To the Philippians, the Apostle Paul wrote, "For I am sure of this very thing, that the one who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus" (Phil 1:6; emphasis added). This confident statement by the Apostle can be appropriately interpreted as Divine assurance that God will remain an "engaged Father," disciplining and correcting the Church (semper reformanda - "always reforming") until the return of Jesus Christ. Far from standing aloof, allowing the Bride of Christ to wander aimlessly in error, he set events in motion and supervises them to fix things that are broken. There can be no doubt that the disunity that ensued has left us rubbing our collective backsides, saying "Oooh! That smarts." Nevertheless, the bruised posterior offers both bragging rights for the Herculean endurance and an endearing narrative concerning an attentive Father.

Therefore, while I understand that reluctance to celebrate the Reformation can be born of a legitimate distaste for the division in the Church that has sense ensued, I instead take the position of recalling the episode as a story of God's grace. Imagine the opposite scenario of a disengaged father that leaves his offspring to their own devices, meandering about without corrective intervention. Surely the the healing process continues, and we will one day see a Church re-unified in it's doctrine and mission. In the meantime, celebrating Reformation Day is to celebrate the God that corrects us when we need it. He remains interactive and engaged, bringing us back on track when we wander off it (i.e. indulgences, Transubstantiation, etc.).

Some have exploited this discipline though, using the post-Reformation division to advance their own sect, seemingly reveling in the tragic pain of a splintered church. They exult in the division and assume that efforts to heal from these wounds and seek ecumenical unity are misguided. This is a wrong application of the Reformation "spirit," by seemingly wanting to keep the "spanking" going on longer than is necessary. On the contrary, as any loving Father holds and consoles the very same child they just painfully disciplined, so also would the Father like to see us united as "one, holy, catholic and Apostolic Church" again. Until that oneness is again realized (and even when it is), celebrating the God who fixes us is appropriate for any time.

In addition, Reformation Day is a celebration of the Church about the Church. It was the Church's very process of theological reflection and geographic expansion that God used to correct the errors of the medieval era. Scholars such as Martin Luther wrote on the abuses of the Roman church, calling for their correction, desiring reform more than discord. Thomas Cranmer and others advanced Christian worship free of odd innovations to classic Christian teaching that arose from Rome as well. All of these events reinforce that when God wanted his Church back in the right path, he used the Church to do it. So Reformation Day commemorates the triumph of the Church in addition to celebrating the triumph of God and his Word.

All of this suggests the necessity for a grand party, feast, celebration for God's people. It's a legitimate reason to gather the Lord's people together and incite them to revel in God's goodness demonstrated in "fixing" us when needed. When we celebrate our "engaged Father" that has reformed us before, we too can be "sure of this very thing, that the one who began a good work in you [us] will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus." As a result, his work of semper reformanda ("always reforming") in us is his loving attention to the Church to keep us faithful to him and his mission to the world.

The Line of My People

Lo, there do I see my father...
Lo, there do I see my mother and my sisters and my brothers...
Lo, there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning...
Lo, they do call to me. They bid me take my place among them...
...in the halls of Valhalla where the brave may live forever.

This is the dying confession of the Vikings in the above movie clip from "The 13th Warrior." It appears loosely based on (if internet sources are to be trusted) an ancient "Viking Death Prayer" dating to well into the first millennium A.D. In the context of that story, it is prayed just before the one praying is expecting to die any moment and enter the afterlife. Many cultures have this custom of preparing themselves for death, reflecting on being "gathered to one's fathers" in the moment before leaving this life and taking that "journey" into the next one. No doubt Muslims, Jews and other major religions of the world all have such an incantation. Certainly a Christian would naturally recite The Lord's Prayer or perhaps Psalm 23 in that final moment. Nevertheless, something should be on the tip of the tongue at that moment to remember one's belief and what you expect to behold when your eyes close for the final time.

The "Death Prayer" in the clip above is highly instructive on a number of levels. Among the chief lessons that should be gleaned, though, is found in line three: "Lo, there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning." It has become such a maxim that this truth runs nearly uncontested: rugged individualism is killing Christianity in the West. Individualism has become religiously syncretized with Christianity to the point that when someone is asked to give their "testimony" of converting to Christ, they typically speak only of their own religious decision and conversion, leaving out the familial context into which they were born. The instinct to tie one's self with the family line that has come before is so conspicuously absent that missiologists note with regret that even in churches the difference in greeting stands in contrast to the rest of the world (Inside the U.S.: "Hi. What's your name?...What do you do?" contrasted with outside the U.S.: "Hello. What's your name?...Who is your father?"). To combat this tendency it is necessary to remind people just how "tribal" or "communal" Christianity is meant to be.

This concept is ubiquitous throughout both the Old and New Testaments of the Bible. Specifically, our focus in class recently was on the genealogical record of 1 Chronicles chapters 1-9. For some, reading through this record can become cumbersome, labored and even curing insomnia in some cases as people pass out. This is unfortunate since this record, and others like it in Holy Scripture, is so important for the reader within the faith community to identify with the ancestral story. One did not simply arrive into life with the LORD on their own. There is a tribal tale to tell regarding God's history with "your people." Over and over again God speaks to the people of Israel with the opening reminder, "I am the LORD your God that brought you out of the land of Egypt..." Communal history and personal identity are inextricably linked.

For this reason, the ancestry of faith becomes the most important story one can know and tell. It is because the ancestry of faith trumps all others that it's such an important source of identity. Even Jesus listed his "mother and brothers" as those "who hear the word of God and do it" (Matt 12; Mark 3; Lk 8). So "the line of my people, back to the beginning" is the ancestry of faith for as long as God has been relating to people, holding them covenantally close to himself as a Father holds his children. This "line" is also reflected in how authority in the Church is passed down. The paradigm of "Apostolic succession" for bishops serves as a central uniting strand in "the line of my people." Quite literally, when a bishop can trace his successive "line" back to the Apostles it offers a powerful visual image of "the line of my people" because it truly is laid out on a chart, tracing this "line" back through the centuries.

In like manner, in worship the congregation joins with all that have come before in lifting our hearts up unto the Lord. This communal/tribal sense of worship is reflected as the liturgy confesses "Therefore with angels and archangels, and with all the company of Heaven, we laud and magnify Thy glorious name, evermore praising thee and saying, HOLY, HOLY, HOLY, Lord God of hosts, Heaven and earth are full of thy glory: Glory be to thee, O Lord Most High. Amen" (emphasis added). Thus even in the the process of worship, we rightly can say, "Lo, there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning." Any given Sunday is a tribal exercise wherein our individualism can be shed, confessing that we, along with the whole ancestry of faith, will "dwell in the house of the LORD forever" (Psalm 23:6).

For me, one aspect of a Holy Communion service that feels truly "tribal" (or almost "Viking") is the recitation of the Nicene Creed. In reciting it together as a congregation, we confess the same faith as did "the line of my people, back to the beginning." The Church is "the line of my people." But not merely them, for ancient Israel also worshiped the only God who IS until he was revealed in the person of Jesus Christ. So "the line of my people" truly does extend "back to the beginning." There is ONE God and he only ever has ONE people for himself that are charged to reveal him to the world; and since the Church as become what ancient Israel used to be, that ONE people is "the line of my people, back to the beginning."

I can see "the line of my people" in Christian icons, in artwork of the ancient Church, in frescoes and wood carvings. I can see them in the heroic tales of the Reformation or in the succession of bishops in the first millennium. I can see them in the Acts of the Apostles authored by Luke, or the genealogical record of Christ authored by Matthew. The line of my people extends back through English reforms of Thomas Cranmer, the translation works of William Tyndale or the Bohemian John Huss. This line reaches back through the missionary exploits of Saint Patrick or the persecutions of Diocletian. This line spans the globe and includes churches on every continent and throughout time, from Tokyo to Antioch, from Philadelphia to Alexandria. It runs across north Africa and through the Scandinavian fjords. It navigates around the British Isles and under the Cape of Good Hope. This line runs through the great ecumenical councils of Nicaea and Chalcedon. "Lo, there do I see the line of my people..." of all tribes, tongues and nations that at are my fathers, my mothers, my sisters and my brothers though faith in the Lord Jesus Christ "...back to the beginning."

"Lo, they do call to me..." from around the throne of he that was worthy to receive and open the scroll by purchasing for himself a people with his own blood. "They bid me take my place among them..." worshiping with angels and archangels, hearts lifted up unto the Lord. Because the Lord is our Shepherd, we will dwell in the house of the Lord... forever. Amen.

On the difference between sermons and homilies

Sunday was my first occasion to deliver the homily for a liturgical service, and the differences between this setting and previous ones in which I have preached could not have been felt more strongly. The transition from one tradition to the next has been rather smooth regarding participating in other aspects of the service, but none of those so clashed with my personality and ministerial experience of preaching the sermon in the midst of the ritual's flow. In Baptist context, a physically animated communicator is not simply welcomed, but practically required. The science and art of communication must become the focal point of the service because the preaching of the Word is the most highly valued "sacrament" in that tradition.

When I was a Baptist preacher, I was very animated. I've never stood stationary behind a pulpit in my life. I moved around, gesticulating wildly to make my point with hand motions, face expressions and body stances. My marching along the stage and around the podium has even helped me address my life-long battle with talking too fast. The steps and gestures created something of a "cadence" with which to time my syllables and avoid becoming the audio equivalent of fine print. The "auctioneer" preaching style needed to be tamed and movement helped with that.

In addition, extemporaneous anecdotes or quips were also encouraged in the Baptist preaching context. Sure preparation of a quality sermon was prudent and expected, but relating to the audience was also valued; and this is achievable through letting one's "hair down" a bit. After all, the entire service builds up to the "climax" of the compelling sermon and the responses it motivates. For this reason, I've spent approximately 18 years with that approach, developing those skills and seeking to refine THAT type of delivery. I've spoken in front of churches and classrooms, and have been confident that I'd be at ease addressing them once I get going (the butterflies before have never really fully gone away).

That confidence would flee far from me last Sunday as I prepared to deliver the sermon in a context that differs so considerably from the Baptist genre. In an Anglican service the preaching of the Word is not the chief "sacrament" that the congregation will encounter - Communion is. Thus, the service does not build up to the sermon. The sermon is part of the build up to the Eucharist. For this reason, it's inappropriate for the preacher to so deliver his message in a manner that might eclipse the importance of Communion. The same characteristics valued in a Baptist preacher are not those valued in an Anglican preacher. The sermons even differ in length and structure. Consequently, it's important that the Anglican preacher remain behind the pulpit. Mobility is not your friend. In addition, I was trained that when reading the Epistle selection in the Sunday morning service, it's inappropriate to infuse too much of one's personality into the reading because, again, that would be imposing upon the reading of God's Word the distinct skills and nuances of the reader. It's NOT all about you after all.

Therefore, I wrote my sermon to the requisite length, preparing to read it as I had the Epistle lesson at other times as well. This proved a disaster for two reasons: (1) I still did remember that I was delivering a sermon, and thus all the old instincts were right on the surface desiring expression, and (2) focusing on the new constraints created somewhat of a nervous "bind" that distracted from good oratory discipline. Thus I rattled off that sucker with the speed of a radio commercial contest disclaimer. A sermon written for a strong 15 minute duration was completed in 10 minutes. The syllables smeared together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. The dynamic acoustics of the sanctuary ensured that elderly ears would be forced to hear several sentences at once. That puzzled look on those in the audience was not attentive interest in what was being said; it was the looking of straining to discern WHAT was being said. All of the years of preaching experience had been rendered null and void for this vestment clad "greenhorn."

The solution is not, however, to think about returning to former habits. Instead the need is to adopt new ones. The sermon must be delivered with attention to the components of good communication. The chief need for me will be to SLOW - THE HECK - DOWN. One idea presented to me might prove useful. After the sermon has been written and printed out, I can stamp around the page the image a of turtle. It's slower than a hare, but gets there nonetheless. I'll be looking for that turle stamp in a stationary shop very soon. It will need to have the desired effect by the time the next preaching opportunity arises. Years of experience delivering Baptist sermons can work against you when it's time to deliver an Anglican homily. Perhaps the turtle will help me make that transition smoothly.

Generation "xbox" at War

The present military action in Libya has several troubling components. I can assert, with a clear conscience, that I would have the same concerns even if I had voted for the current President. It seems that the "bar" has been considerably lowered for what constitutes a "clear and present danger" to the sovereignty of the United States. For some reason, we simply are not as war averse as we use to be. For all the accusations leveled by the current culture against previous generations for being less humanitarian, the present day society seems much more comfortable with prolonged military operations with less definable objectives. The present generation of American leaders fight more wars in more places than previous generations did.

This critique uses WWII as "the gold standard" for setting the "bar" in justifying Americans being sent out to war.

To ensure consistency, I will apply to this to the "War on Terror." Unfortunately, what began as a response to a specific attack has seemingly lived beyond its "shelf life."

A "shelf life"?!?! For wars?! Yes. Definitely. When the "War on Terror" began in Afghanistan, many complained that it was taking too long (after 1 year!). I remember, in 2003, chiding the culture, saying, "Come on, people! Can't you have at least the attention span of the WWII generation?" Now, eight years later, I'm inclined to remember those words I spoke and admit: the WWII generation weren't asked to maintain their support for a war THIS long, against an enemy THIS nebulous.

WWII set the bar by offering a clearly definable enemy, with clearly definable objectives. The war effort had a goal (the unconditional surrender of the Axis nations: Japan, Germany and Italy). That generation, it seems, was less willing to enter war that could not be tied directly to American sovereignty or national interests. Accused of being isolationists, those in leadership demonstrated an understandable reluctance to commit U.S. soldiers and sailors, ships, tanks and planes to a cause not convincing to a peaceful populace. The nagging question seemed to be: when the troops return for their victory parade, who will the thankful civilians know they were protected from?

The point is that the WWII generation appeared to accept the "hell" that is war because the enemy was THAT evil, THAT organized, THAT powerful and THAT much of a threat. Therefore, because of those conditions, we were willing to enter into that war (though we were the latecomers). However, as a culture, we seemed to hate war then. We understood that war is "hell," and a horrific perversion foisted upon the human experience when evil forces are on the march, that must be resisted and defeated. Therefore, when we got into a war, we fought as nasty and efficiently as possible in order to destroy the enemy and go home. We seemed to understand then how bad war is, or at least how bad it SHOULD be so that no one wants to do it very often.

Since then a watershed change has taken place. War is seemingly a lot less abhorrent to the present generation. Thus, we're willing to do it often, and for far less threatening reasons.
We don't require that our incarnations of evil be Hitler anymore...
they can merely be Saddam Hussein.
We don't require that our enemies be threats to our national sovereignty...
they can merely be treats to our "interests."
We don't require that our enemies be powerful compare to us...
they can merely be cruel to their neighbors.
We don't require that our enemies even have a military...
then can merely have enough weapons to terrorize their neighbors.

Thus, we now seem more into "fighting" than we are into "winning."
We're seemingly willing to keep the event going rather than to decisively conclude it.
It's like we don't think it's THAT bad anymore.
It's like a video game.

Generation "xbox" has decided that war is like a "game" that can just keep going, so long as you can show that you seemingly have the upper hand. In a video game, you fight surgically, house-to-house, with hand-held rockets, small arms and occasional bombs. War is clean and neat. You don't gain any points for collateral damage. Our enemies know this, so they have the advantage of knowing that though they destroy our buildings, we will not destroy theirs.

The "War on Terror" has come to resemble more an xbox game than the destruction levels of WWII that convinced the German, Japanese and Italian cultures to get along with the West. And because we fight wars this way, we seem willing to fight them when no discernible mission or clear national threat is present. Libya is along this vein; in this category.

Some may suggest that I'm only critical because this present action was ordered by a President that I did not vote for. But in defense I say that the "War on Terror," though seemingly closer to that standard at the front end, has slipped below it over the years. Therefore, I believe this is a consistent opinion. America does not like war, and thus needs better reasons to enter into it. But the xbox generation needs only the thrill of fighting to justifying picking up the controls and rebooting the game.

Rememberance can be unpleasant...but it's important.

Today is December 7th, the 68th Anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The Japanese people, with their rich culture, fascinating history and beautiful home islands, are no longer an enemy of the U.S. On the contrary, Japan has become not only a healthy commercial neighbor, but also an ally in resisting the present-day threats from North Korea and China (not to mention the Soviet Union during the decades-long Cold War). Therefore, remembering the attacks on Pearl Harbor is not intended to resurrect indignation toward a historic enemy. Indeed, Japan is not the only former enemy to become a close ally against mutual threats. The United Kingdom is an excellent example of this, for July 4th celebrations do not strain the current U.S.-U.K. alliance. So the reason for remembrance must serve another purpose.

I posit that the reason why we MUST take time to remember and reflect on such days (i.e. Dec 7th, June 6th, Sept 11th, July 4th, etc.) is not because we love war, but because we love those who have fought and must fight them for us. Our moments of remembrance are the opportunity to soberly reflect on the nature of humankind, and the necessity for bravery and sacrificial duty in the face of unjust aggression. In essence, remembering historical moments of conflict is to reflect on the unpleasant reality of humankind's perpetual need for valor and courage in resisting evil aggression. Battlefield virtues may illuminate positive sides of humanity, but their necessity at all displays the negative sides of us as well. It's unpleasant business to reflect on man's need for defense and bravery, but it's important.

This principle is applicable to the Christmas season as well.

For example, our priest pointed out the other day that Advent is for "building up to Christmas," without celebrating it too soon. I found this curious. Does not the Christmas season begin the day after Thanksgiving ("Black Friday" insanity notwithstanding)? Should not the Christmas carols be sung jubilantly as soon as possible? Apparently not according to the "spirit" of Advent (mind you, I'm new to much of the historic Christian calendar, so my understanding of Advent must not be taken as authoritative). From what I'm learning, Advent is for reflecting on our need for a Savior in anticipation of His coming. It is to soberly reflect on why God would need to fully take humanity onto himself, enter our experience as a vulnerable newborn in a stinky, untidy stable. Indeed many carols are sung in a minor key because the tragedy/triumph of God entering humanity as a newborn is as much mourning over our need for salvation as it is a celebration of how he meets that need. Some aspects of remembering when Emmanuel ("God with us") was born can be unpleasant business, but it's so important.

For some, the unpleasant aspects of remembering deter them from taking the time to do so. "Why dwell on unpleasant things?" so goes their logic. The answer? Because it's important; because failing to remember can breed unhealthy ignorance regarding our needs, our flaws and our potential. All of the ways one should reflect on the reality-exploding nature of the Incarnation can be left for another time, for today is Dec 7th, deserving of it's own emphasis.

Memorializing the attack on Pearl Harbor is good because it reflects honestly on the nature of humankind, and remembers those moments when courage and valor were brought to the surface by the the scalding heat of combat dynamics. It's right because it celebrates a period in history when defensive might and national unity were (rightly so) held less suspect than can be assumed in the present culture (cynicism regarding present day military application must not retard appreciation for times when the cause was more clear and the goals more noble). I would encourage many to read FDR's "Infamy" speech, or watch a movie about the Pearl Harbor attack (accuracy is not the key objective with such films, but instead to remember and emote with the historic figures that lived through it precisely as it happened).

Take time to remember what occurred during that generation, and to those servicemen and women. Remember the virtues of sacrifice, duty, bravery and valor. Remember that such events are still possible today, for humankind has not evolved so much since then. Remembrance can be unpleasant... but it's necessary.