Wisdom and Folly

Recently I had a day with divine handwriting all over it—like taking a half day tour of the City of God and ending with a tour of the City of Man. As you might know, several years back Jim and I de-meated our diet as a matter of conscience. I can still hear the documentaries Jim researched for an ethics class (I say hear because I didn’t have the nerve to actually watch them.). This, along with his reading on the subject, was enough to push us over the cliff that all crazies must jump off to land in the world of vegetarians. Unfortunately, we have recently discovered that our oldest, Bailey, is allergic not only to peanuts, which we have known for a while, but all related legumes, including lentils, soybeans, and peas of all sorts. So I have gone back to the drawing board a bit with regard to meal time. Since our objections are to factory farming and not carnivorousness per se, I have started seeking sources for free-range meat.

The other day the kids and I set off for a farm in the area that looked promising. I must confess to having a certain, but by no means negative, picture of the typical Indiana farmer.  And since I had found this particular farm on the internet and acquired directions on the phone, I was more than a little surprised when were greeted by a strikingly Amish-looking man. He very politely showed the kids around the farm which included several horses and buggies. I am not sure of his family’s exact convictions but we had an interesting conversation concerning his misgivings of grocery stores and what it means to depend on the land. (When Jim and I “depend on the land” this means we rely on someone else’s farming and their produce for which we happily pay.) The kids had a great time trying to feed the cows, watching the chickens, and clambering over hay bales. We paid our bill and went on our way. Then, since the farm was a bit of a drive, I decided to reward the kids for their patience by taking them to Chuck E. Cheese.

Now I must confess to having a rather low opinion of this establishment which I often refer to as “Children’s Las Vegas.” Still, I had a coupon and sternly declared that we were only staying until the first wave of tokens was gone. They rushed the doors like bargain seekers in the pre-dawn hours of Black Friday. But their glee quickly receded in the face of their greed. To stretch our dollar, I made them play one game at a time, waiting until their brother or sister had finished before they could move on. Even with this torturous methodology, it wasn’t long before my pockets were mercifully empty. I told them they could play on the indoor playground for a few minutes and then we had to go. I laughed a bit to see how the whining subsided as Sam and Maggie quickly devised an imaginative game involving half the square footage of the place and absolutely no money. Andrew plopped down at one of the racing games and happily pretended to drive, though I am not sure he knew he was pretending. They were back to the kids who had so much fun slopping through the mud an hour before.

As much as I would have liked to smugly judge my children for desiring what is manufactured and hollow, I fear that would be hypocritical of me. How often does the warmth and comfort of my own personal Chuck E. Cheese win out over my higher calling? I am not talking about hitting the snooze button rather than enjoying a pre-dawn quiet time. While we are surely called to study the Word and pray, my failures are often much more personal. To me, one the greatest virtues of the farm is the interdependence that it demands—between the animals and people, the people and the land, and the people with each other. But frankly, when it comes to my own life, I often value my independence and privacy to the detriment of relationships with others. I want to be a part of the body of Christ when it means that I am saved from eternal damnation but when it means asking someone how they are really doing and being prepared to actually listen, I sometimes resent being so fused to my fellow believers.

The City of Man is like Chuck E. Cheese—sterile (minus a few snot-smeared control handles) and cold, both literally and figuratively. The frenetic atmosphere charged with a blood lust of consumerism doesn’t allow for much interpersonal connectivity. If the City of God is anything like the farms I have visited, there is a different pace of life that is warm and everything seems somehow more real. But it all comes from a great deal of sweat-inducing work (and a large quantity of poop). The City of God is substantive and it is substance that we build or rather that is built through us and for us by our great Architect.

Leaving with my ears still ringing, I saw with more clarity how the bricks of those fabled mansions are made as we connect more deeply with one another and perhaps held together at least in part with the crap of this life.

Want to check out something amazing?  How about an atheist who extols the benefits of Christian evangelism?  Think I’m kidding?  Read this London Times article.

Here’s an excerpt from Matthew Parris’s fascinating confession:  “Now a confirmed atheist, I’ve become convinced of the enormous contribution that Christian evangelism makes in Africa: sharply distinct from the work of secular NGOs, government projects and international aid efforts. These alone will not do. Education and training alone will not do. In Africa Christianity changes people’s hearts. It brings a spiritual transformation. The rebirth is real. The change is good.”  Parris goes on to note that “Faith does more than support the missionary; it is also transferred to his flock. This is the effect that matters so immensely, and which I cannot help observing.”

How refreshing to see such an even-handed appraisal of the salutary effects of the Christian worldview.  At a time when the “new atheists” are making millions publishing books which demonize the faith, this is a much-needed corrective.  But this piece also raises some interesting questions.  If you’re like me, you found yourself wondering how Parris could persist in his atheism, given his obvious recognition of the power of the gospel.  After all, he admits the reality of “spiritual transformation.”  The rebirth, he grants, “is real.”  So what gives here?  My guess is that Parris regards the change in converts to be entirely moral in nature.  The transformation  and rebirth, he might tell us, are just shorthand ways of describing a shift in ethics.  Yes, these new Christians fervently believe in God—about which they are deluded—but the critical fact is that their behavior and motivations change with conversion.  And, given the positive cultural impact of this, that’s all that really matters.

If this is Parris’s analysis, then it begs an obvious question:  How could such a fundamental delusion be so practically beneficial, producing so much personal and social renewal?  Not an easy question to answer.  This is why Parris’s position is an unstable one.  I suspect he will eventually come to grips with the reality of God or else change his tune about the public benefits of Christianity.  In any case, he should be commended for his candor and courage.

Brief comments on film by Amy.
Some old, some new.  Domestic films and foreign too.

Changeling — Recently, I concluded that there is an inversely proportional relationship between the amount of hype that Hollywood gives a film and that film’s actual quality. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Changeling is an exception. Having avoided this movie like one avoids “Toys R Us” on Christmas Eve, I finally caved and am so glad I did. The whole atmosphere of the film is spellbinding and, for the most part, even-handed. The bad guys are really bad but entirely believable; the good guys are good but not saints. Though the clear hero of this story is Angelina Jolie as the courageous mother of a missing boy, there are other characters along the way who follow their conscience against the pressures of corruption. There is the policeman who goes with his gut rather than following orders; and the pastor who desires justice for his community but cares for the individual as well as the collective. It is the sum of their efforts which result in justice being served, and though you aren’t allowed a perfectly happy ending, you certainly feel the world is a better place for their struggle.

Australia — Back to my theory on the relationship between hype and quality…  If I was tempted to throw it out completely, the film Australiacertainly relieved the temptation. Now I will admit that the site of Hugh Jackman galloping across the plains of said continent is enough to make any girl inwardly swoon and, yes, Nicole Kidman looks really pretty in skirts and has great taste in head apparel. But that is where most of the charm of this “epic” sadly ends. It is as if they put Indiana Jones and Dances With Wolves into a blender, and the combination is none too tasty. Though easy to dismiss for being just bad, I think the most disturbing aspect of this film is its message regarding what it means to love. Love is not sacrificing your own happiness for someone else’s. Love is not committing yourself to their well-being. That is imperialism! Love is freedom, this film tells us—the freedom to be who you are, whatever the price to those around you. Certainly I don’t believe that love means conforming yourself entirely to the wishes and demands of others, but there must be something deeper holding love together than sex and emotional whims.

Half Nelson — I have a habit of putting off films that I know are going to be good but not easy. It’s like saving your green beans for last. Sometimes it is tempting to eat the rolls and mashed potatoes first because they go down so much more easily. After months of pushing Half Nelson around my plate, so to speak, I was rewarded for the effort with a great story. Despite the occasional jarringly misplaced political rant, this film is an authentic slice of life. Too often, when films depict relationships between characters of different ethnicities, there is a hyper-awareness of race that breaks the illusion of the film. In this film, though the main characters are of different ethnic backgrounds, racial issues are never really discussed outright. They are just there. The overall message of Half Nelson falls somewhere between Requiem for a Dream hopelessness and Remember the Titans optimism. Lean too far one way and you are a nihilist. Too far the other and you are Pollyanna. This movie stays right in the middle. You won’t even have to hold your nose while chewing. 

Honorable (and Not-So-Honorable) Mentions: For the classics lover, check out Fallen Angel. Nothing life changing, but a great who-done-it. And, ethically speaking, I didn’t feel I could review a movie that I could only watch for twenty minutes, but I have to comment on The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Ugh. How do you ruin F. Scott Fitzgerald? Ask these guys.

I have a lot of linguistic pet peeves—terms or expressions that annoy me for various reasons.  I thought I’d share a few of them here so that I can have some company in my annoyance. 

Let me begin with a term that now actually appears in some dictionaries:  “incentivize.” In recent years this verbification of the noun “incentive” has become so common that it seems now to be as popular as the term it replaces: “motivate.”  But the question is, why use “incentivize” instead of “motivate” when the latter is actually easier to speak and write?  It seems to me that if you’re going to prefer a word with an extra syllable then it should be clearer or more descriptive than a standard synonym.  But neither is the case with “incentivize.”  So what’s the deal?  Probably the term emerged in the business world, and this verbal virus spread from there.  Ugh. 

Another one that drives me crazy is the way many people add an “n” to the word “other” when using it after the word “whole,” as in “that’s a whole nother matter.”  I have even heard well-educated people do this, and I really have to fight my inclination to lower my opinion of them.  This is another  deviation from correct form which actually increases the difficulty of the phrase.  It is easier, after all, to say “other” than “nother.”  Yet many people use the latter, even though it’s not a word.  I just don’t get it.

Perhaps the most annoying to me, however, is the phrase “past history.”  Sadly, this expression is often used in formal contexts, even by scholars like the author of this statement:  ”Past history of major depression is more common in smokers than in non-smokers” (from the abstract of an essay in a scholarly journal).  Since this was a published paper, it must have been approved not only by the author but also the journal’s main editor and at least one referee!  The problem, of course, is that when one refers to the history of anything, we can assume that s/he is talking about the past.  So use of the word “past” to modify “history” is simply redundant.  Again, I don’t get it.

Thank you for allowing me to vent about these things.  I hope you share my annoyance.  If you don’t or, heaven forbid, you are guilty of using one or more of these expressions, then I urge you to repent.  I trust you’ll clean up your act and make the world a better place from a linguistic standpoint.  Or you might be guilty but refuse to change, such as if you are one of those sad individuals who doesn’t really care about proper use of the English language.  If so, then I have other ways to motivate you.  But, alas, that’s a whole other issue.

Have you ever noticed how everyday activities that you do without much thought seem rather odd when you step back and examine them? I have shared my love for carbonated beverages with you and while I am still very much attached (some might say addicted) to my Polar Pops, it is a bit absurd when you think that each day I drink a mixture of food coloring, bubbles and sugar and pay for the privilege. In my recent travels with our nine year old, I had one of those re-evaluation moments. Bailey and I were settling in for our long, overseas flight. The flight attendant was going over the emergency instructions, and I suddenly realized that I was getting ready to travel over a very large ocean for hours on end inside a flying metal box with my precious first born at my side. What was I thinking?!? You can quote all the safety statistics you want; they all seem a bit meaningless when a smiling, well-groomed young woman is explaining the procedure for hurling yourself into shark infested waters. (Okay, so I don’t know if they were actually shark infested, but at this point I don’t think I was at my most logical. Plus I watch a lot of Discovery Channel.)

While highlighting some of my submerged irrationality, this also provided a moment of clarity that was very encouraging. As I played through the scenarios of destruction, I tried to think of what I would say to Bailey if we did indeed face a life-threatening situation. Of course, in reality, I might have some difficulty being eloquent while plummeting from the sky. Still, something did strike me like a plastic bag on the head from the overhead compartment. If in fact the cabin did lose pressure—after first securing my own oxygen mask and then assisting my child—I could look him square in the eye and with all honesty say, as best one can while breathing oxygen through a plastic bag, “Buddy, we are going to see Jesus. We have absolutely nothing to fear.”

This statement may seem terribly Sunday School basic to you, but for me it marked a huge step in my faith. For though I have been affirming the happily-ever-after that awaits those who follow Him since I was knee high to a grasshopper and have seen more flannel-graph depictions of God’s plan for our salvation than you can shake a stick at, I am constantly plagued with the what-ifs that you face the other six days of the week. This especially pertains to my kids. Forget questioning whether or not I am instructing them correctly in the Gospel. Most days my prayer is that I am not convincing them of the opposite. The awesome responsibility of forming someone’s worldview from the ground up is too often a task I feel completely inadequate for. But as we placed our trays and seats in the upright position and perused the movie selection, the simplicity of it all settled over me. It reminds me of the story told of Karl Barth, the great Christian theologian who was asked by a student to sum up the most profound truth he had discovered in his life. Barth responded with the words “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” We may not know much more than that, but thankfully that’s more than we will ever need to know.  So just relax and enjoy the flight.

Recently, I was invited to give a “last sermon,” as is a popular trend these days.  At first I pondered various topics that are dear to me.  Then I considered how I would want to be sure my words lived on after me.  I realized there was no better way to ensure this than by echoing the words of those whose profound teachings have already proven the test of time and/or rigorous scrutiny. 

Also, in the rabbinic tradition, I thought it appropriate to use a method that would be given to easy memorization.  So I decided to exploit that most revered method of the top ten list.  In addition to being an outline of my hypothetical “last sermon,” I intend this to be a handy reference for those of you who are now putting together your summer reading list. 

So here we go—profound lessons from ten great Christian minds.  All of these lessons are practical, but some are more personal than others.  I will begin with the more public and civic themes and drive to those which are moral and personal.  Also, I tried to order these chronologically, but couldn’t quite pull that off.  Still, with a few exceptions, they do go in chronological order.

Lesson #1—Augustine (5^th century):  Remember that you are a citizen of another kingdom.  Augustine is the greatest theologian of the first millennium of the Christian era, and his ideas have shaped the thoughts of every Christian since, to one degree or another.  In his magnum opus, The City of God, Augustine notes that there are two great cities:  the earthly city—a perishing, imperfect order, with human rulers, typified by the Roman Empire—and the heavenly city, an imperishable, perfect order where God rules.  These cities are distinguished by their loves, respectively of self and of God.  When the two come into conflict, remember where your ultimate citizenship lies.

Lesson #2—Martin Luther (16^th century):  Expect politicians to be corrupt.  Have you ever wondered why politicians tend to be so corrupt?  Have you ever considered why God allows this to happen—why he permits such smarmy people as the former Illinois governor, Rod Blagojevich, to get into power?  Luther gives a simple and strangely encouraging answer:  It is because our leaders reflect us.  As a people, frankly, we don’t deserve any better.  In fact, having corrupt leaders keeps us humble and reminds us of the heavenly city of which we are citizens first.  As Luther puts it in his powerful little essay “On Secular Authority,” “Frogs must have their storks.”  Keep this in mind, and you’ll be wiser without becoming cynical.  You’ll be wiser because you won’t be gullible, and you won’t be cynical because you’ll know that God does occasionally bless us with some morally decent public leaders, though they may be rare.

Lesson #3—Thomas Aquinas (13^th century):  God has made himself known in nature.  Aquinas was a Dominican priest who has been more influential than perhaps any other Christian theologian.  In his massive Summa Theologica he emphasized the fact that while scripture gives us a wealth of theological knowledge, nature and experience also provide knowledge of God, which Aquinas calls “natural theology.”  This is crucial because:  1) it reminds us that no one has an excuse not to believe in God (as Paul explains the first chapter of Romans) and 2) it inspires us to learn about God in all that we study, not just scripture.  Science, history, psychology, math, and every other subject teach us about God.  In fact, this idea is the inspiration of the concept of a liberal arts college, like the one where I teach.

Lesson #4—John Calvin (16^th century):  God is sovereign over all, including our suffering.  Calvin was not only a great Church Reformer, but he wrote the only systematic theology to come out of the Protestant Reformation:  The Institutes of the Christian Religion. The lesson of God’s sovereignty is far from being uniquely Calvinist, since it was emphasized by Augustine and Luther and many other great Christian theologians.  But for various reasons it is most commonly associated with Calvin, perhaps partly because he articulated this point as clearly and eloquently as anyone.  In any case, it is a teaching plainly taught in Scripture, most clearly in such passages as Psalm 139, James 1:2-4, and Romans 8:28.

Lesson #5—Jonathan Edwards (18^th century):  God is beautiful, and all beauty is divine.  The fine historian Mark Noll—who spoke here at Taylor last week—has called Jonathan Edwards the “greatest evangelical mind.”  If that isn’t an incentive to study this man’s brilliant work, then nothing is.  Like Augustine, Luther, and Calvin, Edwards emphasized the sovereignty of God.  Everything God does, he does for his own glory.  This is, in fact, the point of history and the point of your life and mine:  the glory of God.  But Edwards recognized that the concept of glory is essentially an aesthetic concept.  It falls within the category of beauty.  So what this world is all about is showing the beauty of God.  And all of our longing for beauty—whether in the form of art, good music, good films, poetry, or the beauty of other people—is really an aspect of our longing for the One who is beauty itself.  And all of the finitely beautiful things we experience are so many expressions of God’s beauty.

Lesson #6—Thomas a’Kempis (15^th century):  Practice self-denial with a passion.  Born in Prussia in 1380 to a peasant family, Thomas entered a monastery in the Netherlands at age 20.  As a monk he penned the great classic Of the Imitation of Christ, which has been translated into more languages than any other book except the Bible.  The theme of the book regards how to faithfully follow Christ, but more specifically it is focused on humility and self-denial, the defining characteristics of Christ, as we learn in Philippians 2:5-11, where Paul tells us to imitate Christ in being a radical servant.  If even the God-man refused to lay claim to his rights, then what does this say about the approach we should take?  a’Kempis unpacks this theme in profound ways that will transform your life if you put them into practice.

Lesson #7—John Wesley (18^th century):  Be disciplined and make the best use of your time.  Wesley was the founder of the Methodist church and very much a social activist, known as much for his organizational and motivational skills as for his Christian preaching.  Wesley worked especially hard on two major social justice issues of his day:  prison reform and the abolition of slavery.  He also devoted himself diligently to the spiritual disciplines and the pursuit of holiness and personal sanctification.  Wesley was never idle but worked constantly.  Early on in his life he resolved to live on a certain modest amount of money, and despite the huge increases in his personal income, he died with few possessions, having given away his wealth to people in need.

Lesson #8—Fyodor Dostoevsky (19^th century):  God’s grace can reach anyone.  Dostoevsky was a Russian novelist who is sometimes regarded as the greatest writer next to Shakespeare.  His insight into human nature is profound, and this, combined with his Christian sensibility, make reading him immensely profitable.  Dostoevsky nearly didn’t survive to have a long writing career.  When he was in his twenties he was arrested for being part of an insurrection and sentenced to death, but the death sentence was revoked and he was sent to a prison camp instead—an experience which had a lasting impact on his life and thought.  In his classic novel Crime and Punishment, Dostoevsky paints the portrait of a young man, Raskolnikov, who dares to challenge the concept of moral law through murder.  As Raskolnikov is consumed by guilt, so is the reader.  But the reader also vicariously participates in the severe divine grace that finds this seemingly hopeless man.  Nowhere else in the history of literature is there a more compelling picture of Christian redemption.

Lesson #9—Dietrich Bonhoeffer (20^th century):  Beware of cheap grace.  Bonhoeffer was another Christian thinker who took part in an insurrection (a plot to kill Adolf Hitler).  Bonhoeffer, too, was sentenced to death.  In this case, however, the death sentence was not revoked and he was hung with his conspirators just prior to the end of World War II.  Fortunately, however, Bonhoeffer had already completed many great works of theology, including his classic book The Cost of Discipleship.  This work contains profound insights into the importance of self-denial and suffering for the Christian, thus echoing the same emphasis in Augustine, a’Kempis, Calvin, and Edwards.  Bonhoeffer distinguishes between cheap grace (preaching forgiveness without repentance) and costly grace (which is premised upon repentance).  There is no such thing as cheap grace, Bonhoeffer reminds us.  Jesus tells us to take up our cross and turn from sin.  If we don’t do so, then we are not truly under grace.

Lesson #10—Alvin Plantinga (21^st century):  Moral virtue is crucial for intellectual health.  Plantinga is one of the premier Christian thinkers of the last generation.  At a time when theists were retreating in the philosophical community, he had the temerity to suggest that belief in God is not only reasonable but is in fact a proper starting placefor knowledge.  This was, of course, axiomatic for the Reformers, but Plantinga made a persuasive philosophical case for the idea.  In light of this insight, he has developed a rich Christian psychology (especially in his Warranted Christian Belief), complete with an arresting account of how sin corrupts cognition and how, correlatively, right living is crucial for the proper function of our cognitive faculties.  Virtue, as it turns out, is as important for the mind as the mind is for the life of virtue.

Greetings from Asia!  Bailey and I are visiting my sister and her family who work at an international school in Taichung, Taiwan. This is Bailey’s first international experience and it has been interesting to watch him processing the sights, sounds, and even the smells of a country so different from his own. One of the things that has made the biggest impression on us both has been the difference in driving styles. Having spent most of his life cruising the back roads of Indiana with few cars in sight, the crowded streets of a big city have taken some getting used to. Here in Taiwan, there are not only cars to contend with but lots and lots (and lots and lots) of scooters. My sister appropriately compared the rules of the road here to the flow of water. Just as water follows the path of least resistance, traffic flows in a rather free-form manner here, without any discernible rhyme or reason. I have been amazed at my sister’s patience with other drivers as they weave in and out of traffic around her. She (and the other drivers on the road) seem unphased by maneuvers that would elicit some unfriendly hand gestures back home.

As we traveled to our destination last night, Bailey pointed to a scooter rider crossing in front of us and said “How rude!” While I have to admit to seeing his point to a certain extent, I tried to explain to Bailey that rudeness is largely a cultural concept. What is rude in one country may be perfectly acceptable in another. (Unfortunately, I made the mistake of illustrating my point with the example of cultures who consider burping a compliment to the chef. I will now be hearing this bit of cultural relativism as an excuse for bad table manners for the next several years, I am sure.)

This idea of perspective-defining behavior has been kicking around in my head for a while. I must confess to often looking at things in black and white terms, but lately I have begun to wonder whether this is a valid approach to take. I don’t want to get all postmodern and revisionistic on you, but I think there is some truth to the idea that there is a great deal of gray in the world when it comes to human interaction. Though I find this realization a bit disorienting considering my natural bent toward defining things in terms of right and wrong, there is some comfort to be gained from viewing things this way as well. Prior to being more open to this way of thinking, when I had a conflict with someone, or was frustrated with the way a situation was handled, someone had to be in the right and someone had to be in the wrong. So I was either the good guy or the bad. Either way, I lost because this meant that either I was in the wrong and had trespassed against a friend or I was a victim of someone else’s wrongdoing. Neither role seemed terribly satisfying. But allowing for shadowy areas where two parties are at odds, not due to some moral failure on their part but simply because they didn’t share the same perspective, means that no one need be diminished in a moral sense. It is a clash of cultures, so to speak, rather than a transgression.

It’s all about giving someone the benefit of the doubt that you hope to be given by others. I am not saying there aren’t plenty of instances where someone is truly in the wrong. The Nazis were bad, cannibals need to cut it out, and serial killers aren’t just misunderstood. There are certainly universals which have been woven into our natures as bearers of the Imago Dei, and those who transgress against them are without excuse. But between the boundaries of the law there is a lot of wiggle room. Like those darned scooters squeezing into minuscule spaces between cars, we are sharing the road with a great many of our fellow humans. If we want to reach our destination in one piece and save ourselves a lot of grief along the way, perhaps it is best to put away our driver’s manuals and allow for a bit of tolerance. If we are lucky, those around us will do the same and all will be made right in the end. After all, Jesus didn’t seem to get bogged down in the little things but was much more concerned with the big picture. As the saying goes, the devil’s in the details and that is certainly company I don’t wish to keep.

Before seeing Slumdog Millionaire last month, Amy and I had begun to despair over whether we would ever be inspired by the silver screen again.  Well, now it has happened again, this time in the form of Over My Dead Body, a film so inspiring, redemptive, and beautiful, we couldn’t believe our eyes.  In fact, as much as I’d rather not admit it, we actually sat through two consecutive showings of the film at the local Kerasotes theater—something which neither of us had ever done before.  But this was somewhat involuntary, as we were virtually unable to move from our seats for a good ten minutes after the closing credits—partly from aesthetic fascination, partly from moral inspiration, and partly from sheer ineffable joy.

The source of Over My Dead Body is every bit as surprising as that which gave us Slumdog.  It is independent production company Thejo Films, and the director is rising Japanese filmmaker Keiso Nyou.  Otherwise, the film itself is thoroughly American, though its message is anything but American, as it profoundly challenges our culture’s prevailing quality of life ethic.  But now I’m getting ahead of myself.

Summarizing the film is not easy, since there are three interconnecting plot lines, which converge in some ironic ways in the riveting final scene.  But the central story concerns one Alan Chambers who has been diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.  The film is set in the not too distant future when advances in stem cell research have succeeded in providing a cure to this horrible degenerative illness.  However, being a devout Catholic, Chambers is fundamentally opposed to stem cell research and to any medical advances based on such research.  So he is faced with a particularly excruciating moral dilemma.  Will he compromise his ethical convictions and be cured of ALS or remain true to his principles and face a protracted demise.

For Chambers’ wife, April, the decision is easy.  He must pursue the treatment, despite the hypocrisy this might involve.  “Put your love for your family first,” she tells him.  “Don’t be a fool for your principles.”  Things become even more complicated, as we learn through back story how Chambers has firmly impressed upon his two teenage sons the importance of not compromising one’s values.  Still, the boys side with their mother, reassuring their father that they would not lose respect for him or his Catholic ethic if he goes ahead with the treatment.

However, as the film’s title suggests, Chambers refuses his family’s pleadings.  Instead, he simply prays for a miracle, all the while making practical preparations for his impeding disability and eventual death.  It is here that Nyou’s directorial strategy is most gripping, as Chambers’ faith is displayed subtly but convincingly through numerous symbols and figures—images which are apparent enough to most Catholics and Protestants alike but perhaps too subtle for the biblically illiterate.  Nyou’s refusal to succumb to cliché and melodrama is steadfast, and consequently the potency of the film’s theological statement turns out to be as powerful as anything in cinema since On the Waterfront.

It is impossible to explain the film’s ingenious climax without presenting a spoiler.  But suffice it to say that Chambers’ dilemma turns out to be, well, less straightforward than one might have thought, and his faith is proven true—though, again, not in any way you could possibly expect.  Amy and I agreed that the final scene is the most surprising, even mind-blowing we have witnessed.  Think Sixth Sense or The Crying Game on steroids. 

Yet, for all its fascination and surprise, the film’s greatest quality is its exquisite emotional realism.  Superb performances by Carnes Ward (as Alan Chambers) and Rita Maroth (as his wife) should cement Oscar nominations.  And young supporting actor Bryan Childress (as Lief, their eldest son) is also worthy of consideration.  Add to all of this a stunning soundtrack, featuring music by artists as wide-ranging as Ingrid Michaelson and Wilco while somehow maintaining a consistent melancholic but hopeful mood, and the result is nothing short of a masterpiece.

Two thumbs up?  Uh, yeah.  But that would be, as they say, damning with faint praise.  Just three days after seeing it (twice) Amy and I can already confidently declare that Over My Dead Body is one of the all-time great films.  Sound like hyperbole?  Hardly.  Check it out yourself, and we’re sure you’ll agree.