Movies and Theology - Sweeney Todd

It's disturbing. It's evil.
It's meant to be.
You like horror? Thrillers? Try your hand at this one.
Of course, the music in the movie lacks the talent of a stage version.
To read my review of the movie (no spoilers), go here.
To join in the discussion that looks at theological themes (some spoilers), go here.

The Theology of Gardening

Back in the spring, I told you about my new garden. Well, it was time for some fall planting.
I'm new at this whole gardening thing. In other words, I have no idea what I'm doing. Good thing my mom's brilliant with these things. Last week, I spent a few days in their neck of the woods (and I mean that literally), and helped my mom do some of her gardening. Very instructive. For example, I learned that pansies and snap dragons are winter flowers.
So home again, home again this weekend and time to work on my miniature garden (which never feels miniature when you're working on it).
I think I like gardening. Besides getting to sink your hands into dirt (or, in Texas, clay, which passes for dirt), you have time to think, pray, and sing (yes, out loud--don't worry; the neighbors have known for a while about the conditions of my mind). And it struck me. God's work in me is a lot like gardening.
The process spanned three days. My process, that is, not God's. Although wouldn't it be nice?
Saturday, I bought all the supplies with the intention of planting in the afternoon. Except we needed to run this errand and that errand. Okay, so no gardening done Saturday. Still, supplies were bought.
Sunday, after an afternoon nap that went longer than planned, I got out there. Alas, our big trees (which I adore, so this is not a complaint, mind you) had stripped their leaves all over our front yard, including in my garden. You'd think they were five (or my husband) leaving (leafing? I know, I know) their clothes all over the floor. Sheesh. So I spent most of my time on Sunday clearing out the leaves and the acorns and the pecans, knowing that in another week, I'll have to go back there and clear it out again.
Which brings me to astute observation number one: does God get tired of clearing out my old dredge, knowing He's going to have to do it again? And again. And again.
I also had to pull out the summer flowers--the vinias and the zinnias (I sound like Dr. Seuss) and the daisies. I hated doing it. They still thrived with the weather being what it has been (spring-like). But I knew (or rather, my mother knew and told me) that they wouldn't last much longer. They wouldn't make it through the next season. So I pulled them out and cut back the potato vine and the honeysuckle. The potato vine and honeysuckle look like they've had a crew cut.
Astute observation number two: does it make God sad to pull out things that seem beautiful in our lives but that He knows won't last? He has to pull out the old sometimes to make room for the new. Does He ever not want to dig out some flowers in our lives? Or prune, even though He knows that's what'll allow us to thrive later?
Sunday was also my day of pain. The sun had set, and the light dimmed, although I didn't realize it because I was busy at work and busy chatting on the phone with a friend. My mom had given me an agorapantha plant (which I'm spelling wrong, but I can't find how to actually spell it), and I took a knife to it to cut it into at least two plants. Suddenly, sting, sting. I looked down at my knees to see a colony of red ants attacking. I could almost hear the trumpet: Charge! I ran into the house, peeling off my pants as I went (hoping the neighbors weren't watching).
"Fire ants! Fire ants!" I yelled and dashed into the shower.
Now, if you live or have lived in Texas, you know the two bains of gardening here are the aforementioned clay (which is not conducive to growing living things other than roly polies) and fire ants. Fire ants inflict much pain. Later, that pain becomes a maddening itch (although I'll contend it's not as bad as fleas).
Needless to say, I was done gardening for the day. The following day, when I returned to the garden, I found the knife sticking out of the agorapantha like an abandoned crime scene.
Astute observation three: does God's gardening in my life sometimes inflict pain upon Him? Besides even the pain He endured on the cross? Does He hurt when I lash out, not liking having a knife stuck in me one bit and sending out my army of fire ants?
Finally, we're at Monday. The final day (sort of) of my gardening process. Monday was my fun (as opposed to all claims in the song). The ground was prepped, and I came armed with a drum of ant killer. Before planting the seasonal pansies and snap dragons and dianthus, though, I dug holes for my bulbs--tulip, daffodil, and hyacinth. I don't remember what I put where or what colors I bought. Which means that come spring (hopefully), I'll have a fun surprise waiting for me. But it'll be a long, long wait through the cold (or occasionally chilly days here in Texas).
Astute observation number--what number are we on?: I don't want to wait. I've been through all this pain, this pruning and clearing and digging, and I want the pretty now. But maybe come spring, I'll have a fun surprise waiting for me. I wonder, is God ever pleasantly surprised by what comes up? (Scratch that last question. I'm not in the mood to debate omniscience and sovereignty and free will.)
After the bulbs, I put in my winter plants. This was the easiest step and the most immediately gratifying. Voila! Beautifulness on my front lawn. I went running yesterday and stood first for a couple of minutes in front of my house, admiring my work. I like making things beautiful, in music, in writing, in knitting, in gardening. That's not to deny the darkness of it, the tension without which resolve and release in music means nothing, the conflict that makes the plot in writing, the cramped hands in knitting, the tight hamstrings and fire ant bites in gardening. But in the end, it's beautiful, and I like being a part of that.
I suspect that God enjoys making things beautiful. After all, He's Creator. We get it from him (I learned it by watching you, alright?).

Movies and Theology--The Mission

Perhaps everyone in the free world has seen this but me, but I can’t resist a few comments. Excellent, excellent movie. Superb acting with Jeremy Irons, Robert DeNiro, and Liam Nielson. And the area is beautiful--the dangerous but gorgeous falls reflecting the love and calling of God. (Side note: not too long ago, a missions conference was held there as a tribute to the Jesuit's work.)

It’s the story about western civilization in Brazil. Spanish and Portuguese settle in Brazil. At the time, it was Spanish territory, though originally populated by the natives. The Portuguese government supports slave trade. The Spanish doesn’t, although the settlers freely engage in it with their Portuguese neighbors. The Jesuit missions stand between the natives, who are being captured and sold, and the westerners, who are doing the capturing and selling. The Jesuits may not have done everything right—they taught the natives to sing western music (beautifully so) instead of teaching them to praise God with their own music, and their Catholic theology imposed penance for forgiveness. However, they set up plantations that belonged to the natives so that the money made from the plantations went back into the natives’ communities. The Jesuits sheltered the natives from the unmerciful mercenaries. And they incarnated Christ’s love through martyrdom, art, and teaching. Through their lives, in other words.
The movie picks up when the boundary lines are redrawn putting the Jesuit missions in Portuguese territory. The Portuguese don’t like this. Neither do the Spanish. Jesuit missions prevent slave trade, and their plantations combat with plantations that put money into western pockets. The question is: will the Church support the government or not? The pope sends a cardinal to evaluate the situation. In truth, the cardinal comes to persuade the Jesuits to close their missions.
What I love about this movie: in the midst of cruelty, in the midst of the failures of the Catholic Church to protect and serve and love, the Jesuits shine as an example of people committed to loving the Lord and loving their neighbor. It’s beautiful to see a group of priests, each fighting in different ways, standing firm in their beliefs and to see the transformation in their lives because of it.

It's ironic, seeing this movie at this time in my life. The Jesuit priests stood firm, fighting for the people not knowing what would happen to them, not knowing if God would protect their lives or if the tribe would survive or remain steadfast in Christ. Still, the stood. No guarantee exists to tell me, yes, if you keep working hard, God will use your writing and speaking in this way. All I can do is stand firm.

One thing that bugged me in the movie--the music was beautiful, but the main tune reflected a twentieth century sound rather than fitting in chronologically.
If you haven’t seen this movie, put it on your Netflix or Blockbuster account. You need to.

Movies and Theology--The Departed

Chris and I finally rented this movie the other day.
First, let me say that this movies was excellently done: the writing, the dialogue, the directing, the editing, the cinamatography, the acting, the soundtrack--oh, the soundtrack. I must tell you about the soundtrack: at times ironic, at times in your face, but the best thing about it was when they would stop...and that stop would step up the tension. Great job with the music.
And look at the cast: Jack Nicholson, Martin Sheen, Mark Wahlberg (who, although always Marky Mark in my mind, is innumerably better at acting than he was at singing--kudos for finding your calling, Mark), Leonardo DiCaprio (who's acting recalled his Basketball Diary and What's Eating Gilbert Grape? days), oh, who else? oh, of course, Matt Damon, who just gets better and better with each movie, I think, and Alec Baldwin, who seemed a bit odd in this role, no that's not right. His role seemed a bit odd. Too naive, I thought.
The movie is about the crime war: mafia v. the cops.
Except no one knows who is who.
Who's good and who's not. Who's fighting violence and who's feeding it.
There's not much room for God in the streets.
This movie is a study on evil, the manifestations of evil, the devastation of evil, and how evil affects humanity in different ways. Under good-boy haircuts linger dark hearts. In the facade of hitman is a man struggling to do good and tormented by what surrounds him.
Redemption? No. There isn't any. Without God, what redemption can there be?
Justice. In a manner, yes. I'll leave you to decide that.
Pain? Mess? Yes. There always is when evil's involved.
For those looking to rent it--beware of language and blood. Lots of both.

Movies and Theology - Equilibrium

I had no intention of posting this today, especially since I just did those book reviews, and I don’t like to do so many movies and books so close together, but I started writing notes on the movie I saw last night in order to remember points and found myself with a full-blown post (and an even longer sentence). So here it is. No spoilers. I talk about the movie itself and then some thoughts it led me to.

Premise: after a third world war, the powers that be realize that man could not survive a fourth, so they seek to eradicate the cause: emotions. If emotions cause rage and jealousy, and rage and jealousy cause war, then it is better to do away with them, sacrificing love and joy and the like for the sake of so-called peace. People take their injections of Prozium, which I’m sure you’ll recognize as Prozac, to deaden their feelings. No grief, no sadness, the government says. Sense offenders, which are anything from those who harbor works of art such as the Mona Lisa or a book by Keats to those who collect odds and ends like perfume bottles and record players and old Mother Goose books (sounds like my husband’s grandfather) to those who dare to love. The scene that got me: women and children were found rescuing and caring for dogs. They killed the dogs. I can’t handle animals getting hurt. I closed my eyes and tried to plug my ears to block out the yelps. The top cleric (the specially trained agents who seek and kill sense offenders in order to keep order—I’ll get to the whole cleric thing in a minute) sees something that awakens a corner of feeling in him. He plays with it. Stops taking his Prozium (itself against the law), allows himself to linger over the harbored objects of beauty to be destroyed, and aligns himself with the rebellion. The friend that loaned us the movie likened it to The Matrix. I think it’s more like V for Vendetta, personally.

One complaint: the movie did a great job of developing the main character’s character (ha!), growing his feelings and emotions and appreciation for beauty. And it had great fight scenes. However, in the climax, I felt jilted. Things went along too easily. (I tried to comment so much to my husband, but he shushed me so that he could fully enjoy the fighting.) There were two scenes in particular: one the Ordeal, one the Road Back with that death scene climax, that could have been developed and heightened, in my opinion.

Oh, two complaints, really: I had a hard time with the premise, that anyone would accept the wiping out of all emotion as the solution. Without gentleness and empathy, one easily kills (as you see in the movie). And, there seem to be some accepted emotions: pride or anger when it’s on the “right” side, so that seemed to be out of sync.

Props: the ending had a couple of surprises I was not expecting (hence the surprise) but really enjoyed. They did a good job with that. I won’t say anything more.

The movie stars the guy from Swing Kids and Batman Begins (Christian Bale), Boromir from Lord of the Rings (Sean Bean, also in The Island, National Treasure), Benjamin Coffin from Rent (Taye Diggs), and the guy who played Robert the Bruce in Braveheart (Angus Macfadyen). Also, the girl from Punch-Drunk Love and Gosford Park (Emily Watson) was in it, and Lincoln Burrows from Prison Break makes an appearance. (See, isn’t it so much better to go ahead and take care of these things from the start? Now you won’t have to sit through the movie going, where have I seen that guy?)

The governing power outlawing everything beautiful and everything emotional are associated with Christianity. Their symbol is a cross, and their top trained agents are clerics. I find this ironic for a couple of reasons. First, Christians have always maintained that God created emotions as part of humanity. Granted, some weigh logic as better than emotions instead of equal, and very few go to an extreme as to say emotions are bad. But it’s the same with anyone, Christian or not, in our Western Society. Second, we have a Creator God who looked at this beauty He made and said, It is good. He gave us the capacity to create and to appreciate the waterfalls and the sunsets (some even, the sunrise, if you can awake in time) and the snow-capped mountains. He made the rainbow as a promise. He directs us to an end even more beautiful than the beginning, if that can be possible (which, obviously, it is)—more on that tomorrow. Third, technically, this ideology, of getting rid of emotions, belongs to Eastern religions such as Hindu and Buddhist. While the end goal of Christianity is to have perfect humanity, perfect in emotion, reason, and body, each individual personality in its most beautiful state, glorified, in other words (words that the Bible uses), the end goal of Hinduism and Buddhism is getting rid of personality to meld into one, one essence, one nirvana, the One. This sounds lovely, really. I mean, who doesn’t want to be part of the One that flows in everything? But it does mean ridding yourself of your own personality, emotions, reason, body, the whole bit.

This brings me to another point: peace done man’s way v. peace done God’s way. They are trying to control things, forcing a community together to fight, well, fighting. But in their way, they do away with everything beautiful. And it’s controlling, manipulative, and power-hungry, even if their original intentions were good. In God’s way, though, we “fight” with all the things that the government in this movie tries to wipe out: love, charity, gentleness, beauty, selflessness, generosity. God’s way is covert and surprising. God’s way protects the weak and the hurt and the poor doggies (I’m still not over that scene). Which brings us to the role of the cleric. In the movie, the role of the cleric was calculating and controlling while we know that in God’s body, the role of the cleric is shepherding, loving, caring, encouraging, willing to leave the 99 safe ones to go out on a limb (like a shepherd reaching for that stuck sheep) for the one lost. This is the hard (and that darn convicting) point for me. Isn’t it more fun to be with the 99? Isn’t it more gratifying? Isn’t it more strategic, even? Isn’t it just easier? But as a shepherd, we’re called to the lost one. No, the numbers aren’t behind us. Nor is the guarantee. Who knows if that one druggie or one woman who had an affair or one guy who left the church because Friday nights at the bar are more fun or one child who has a habit of biting as his only form of communication or one girl who thinks her only recourse is abortion will come to Christ? Who knows if our efforts will be wasted?

In the end, I think I’ll wait for God’s peace and God’s community, which will be in perfect harmony with Him, each other, and nature, thank you very much.

Update: I knew I'd forget something. Not important, but interesting to me. The main character's breaking point comes while he's listening to Beethoven's third symphony, the Eroica (which is not erotica but Hero) Symphony, originally dedicated to Napoleon, who, of course, is related to the French Revolution. (Later, the dedication was scratched out when Napoleon declared himself Emporer and proved himself to be just another tyrant.) I wonder if the film makers meant to associate that moment and the resistant's movement with the French Revolution.
And Real Live Preacher is right: it's not a particularly great movie, although I enjoyed it and felt it worth the two hours, though I wouldn't put it on my top ten by any means. He likens it to 1984. I would add Brave New World.

Movies and Theology - Over the Hedge

This movie reminded me of an L.L. Barkat post, except that it was two hours, in narrative, and animated. Bear with me a minute here. With humor, and I’m talking literally laugh-out-loud humor, it points out the foibles of an over-indulgent (the raccoon related all our lives to food), independent (cars are necessary because humans are forgetting how to walk, and only one human fits per car), heck, let’s even say gluttonous U.S. society. And then it plays out these faults in the animals, a group of whom discovers suburbia and all its junk food, and one of whom uses the family unit instead of becoming part of the unit.
The film is a commentary on separation of man from man (seen in individualism) and separation of man from nature (seen in the life of suburbia), two effects of the Fall. It presents the dangers of going it alone and doing it yourself (a.k.a. how we do things here in the U.S.) as loneliness and a just plain mean spirit. It presents what was lost the further we get away from nature: beauty and simplicity.
If you haven’t seen it, add it to your Blockbuster or Netflix list whether or not you have kids. It’s worth it.

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

A month or so ago, I picked up an article entitled, “Can You Overshelter Your Kids?” Expecting an answer in the affirmative, I was surprised to read a resounding no. The author said of course you can’t based on God’s actions. She explained that the opposite of shelter is endanger or expose and since God never endangers or exposes us, we never can to our kids, therefore you can’t overshelter your kids, by golly, shelter, shelter, shelter!
Huh?
I have to wonder if she’s ever actually read the Bible. What would Job say? Did God allow Job in a difficult, might I even say exposed, position? How about Paul? Was Paul’s life ever endangered? Hebrews 11 and 12 anyone? My goodness, someone was even sawed in half for the faith! In fact, Jesus told us to expect these things.
I’m not saying you drop your kids of in the middle of gang central, kiss them goodbye, and say good luck! What I am saying is that sheltered surburbia with a side game of keep-away may not always be what God intends. Would you never let your kid ride a bike because he might fall off and hurt himself? Would you never allow your kids to participate in ministry because it might be dangerous? Of course, each person has a different role in the play. One may homeschool, another send to public, still another private school. That’s not really the question (although motivations for answering that question are related).
Some of you may say, Heather, you don’t even have kids. You have no idea what you are talking about. True, true. But I can think about these things, and I can attempt to work how an answer that reflects the Truth in this world. I want to live dangerously, meaning, I want to teach my kids, when I have them, to be lights in the world. I want to teach them to love their neighbor unconditionally, even when said neighbor takes advantage of them. I want to teach them to love the Lord their God in the midst of persecution. This type of education may require letting God expose them at times.
Of course, in all this education, I might have to learn it myself first!

L.L Barkat's Sick Reflections

I just love using confusing modifiers! Like the large women's group.
Anyway, I'm here to redirect. I'm all about a good designation, and Barkat's thoughts words today on Seedlings in Stone are well-worth your visit.

Movie and Theology: Babette's Feast

An international movie from the eighties (I’m behind in trends), this movie portrays where mercy and truth meet and the joy of grace. I will tell you the story, though I hope you watch it. I knew the story before I saw it and enjoyed it. It is slow, but there is a peace in its movement.
The story, set in the 1870s during the French Revolution, is about two austere women who are the daughters of a beloved pastor in a small Scandinavian village and the maid that comes to them. The pastor had died, and the two sisters struggle to keep those left of the congregation together when factions and disputes threaten to shred it. Martina (named for Martin Luther) and Phillipa (for Luther’s friend, Phillip Melangthon) exceed in their good works toward others, taking care of the poor and the forgotten. They love serving God in their simple lives, and they gave up much to do so (including love, money, and fame). After all, their father taught them that the pleasures of this world are distraction from doing God’s work.
One day, a refugee from the French Revolution shows up at their door with a letter from a lover of one of the sisters (to be honest, I never knew which one was which, but it didn’t matter). Her husband and son had been killed. Would they take this woman in? She’s a cook. The sisters tell the woman that they have no money to support a cook, but Babette begs to be taken in, to serve them for free. Moved by her plea, they give in. They teach her to speak the language, cook their food, namely ale bread and fish (which had been dried and needs to soak to cook), and she does. Every day she serves them, though you can tell that the food is distasteful to her. She haggles prices, multiplying the small income of the sisters and allowing them to better serve others. Her one connection to France is a lottery ticket, which a friend renews for her daily.
Fourteen years later, a letter from France arrives, announcing that Babette has won the lottery, 10,000 francs (in that day, quite a bit). The sisters congratulate her, but lament her loss. She is part of the family, and they don’t want to lose her.
Meanwhile, the hundredth anniversary of the sisters’ father (beloved pastor) approaches, and they want to celebrate. A simple meal, as they usually have, followed by coffee. The congregation has deteriorated into petty fights and ancient grudges, and their hope is that this remembrance will knit them back together. Babette asks one favor, the only favor she has asked since she arrived. Let her make the meal, a French meal. They assent, although they have their doubts. Then she must meet her nephew, who owns the boat that first brought her to the village, to make arrangements for the food.
When she returns, she brings fruit and baking supplies and fine dishes and live quail and turtle and a block of ice and the finest wine. Upon sight of the turtle (that looks as if it hailed from the Galapagos Islands), one of the sisters dreams that the meal is from the devil, a witch’s hex. She gathers the others in the church and tells them the dilemma. What has she brought upon their heads? She only wished to grant one favor. They, knowing the transitory nature of such earthly pleasures, agree to go ahead with the meal, but vow that their tongues will be rendered tasteless and not one world will be said about the meal.
Babette slaves over the meal, taking care over each detail. The guests arrive, the congregation and one general, who comes with his aunt. The general has traveled the world over and has developed a distinguishing palette.
Each course is served with a separate wine. They drink the wine and eat the food without comment, as promised, except for the general. He exclaims over each dish and declares the wine the finest he has ever tasted. Real turtle soup! And what turtle soup! Have you ever tasted anything like it? Yes, they answer, much snow is expected this year. He looks confused and returns to his dish. In the kitchen is the coach driver of the general’s aunt (the only nonsimpleton in the village) and a village boy who acts as the waiter. These two receive the “crumbs from the table” and thoroughly enjoy the meal, letting Babette know of its wonder.
In the dining room, the main course comes, each dish its own quail served in a bread bowl with some manner of sauce. The general is shocked. Why, this is [insert fancy French name here]. And he tells the story of a chef, a woman chef at that, at Café Anglais, an expensive restaurant in Paris, who invented this dish. Her cooking, tales tell, and this general confirms, brings together the body and soul and makes eating a love affair. The table nods, dismayed at his use of the term “love affair.” They continue to eat, and as the meal goes on, the old friends laugh together over old fights, bless one another, and remember the teachings of the minister, who taught them love and mercy. The general stands to give a speech. We chase after many things, he says, but here mercy and truth come together, righteousness and bliss kiss. By dessert, the participants all smile their enjoyment of the meal and drink. One frumpy lady, clad in black, as they all are, sips the water, makes a face, then returns to the wine.
After they all leave singing, the sisters rush into the kitchen. What a wonderful meal! Everyone adored it! We will remember this when you return to Paris, they say.
I will not be returning to Paris, Babette says. There is no one left waiting. They are all dead. And I have no money.
But the 10,000 francs!
Gone. Spent.
They look at the dishes and the vestiges of the meal.
I was the chef at Café Anglais, she explains. A meal for 12 costs 10,000 francs.
The sisters don’t understand why she would spend everything for them and go back to poverty.
An artist is never poor. I didn’t do it only for you.
The sisters, one of whom is a singer who gave up the stage for the village, understand and tell her that this is not the end. Someday she will be the great artist God meant her to be, and she will awe the angels.
Tears, tears flowing at this point. Mine, I mean. A beautiful story. It tells of God’s joy in us, the beauty of not just extending mercy, as the sisters always did with a cheerful heart, but in receiving grace, and how in the reception, we bring joy to others. It portrays relationships and the joy in them, rather than the austerity we strive for. (Huh, I’m sounding Kierkegaardesque again. Sorry. Old habits.) It tells of the artist and of service and the peace in creating. And there is this idea that who God created me to be, who I take joy in being, that person will shine, giving joy to others for eternity. Now, in this life, I have the opportunity to be a piece of that. Which is why I’m back at my computer now and leaving you to write.

Review of The Character of Theology by John Franke

In The Character of Theology, Dr. Franke examines the nature, task, and purpose of theology as a postconservative evangelical. His approach follows the reformed tradition taking into account that theology needs both an understanding of God and an understanding of humans. Further, these understandings are not static but historically “have been developed and formulated in the context of numerous social, historical, and cultural settings and have in turn been shaped by these settings” (p. 14). Franke holds that theology itself is second order: only Scripture has a first order position of primacy. “Theology is a metadiscourse on the first order language of the Christian story narrated and expounded in Scripture. The content of this theological metadiscourse should always be viewed as second order, interpretive venture subject to further clarification, insight and correction” (p. 104). Theology is developed from the canon of Scripture, the tradition of the church, and cultural contexts in which theology is developed. Its purpose is to assist the church in its mission of participating with God in restoring good to His creation. While being responsible to the global and universal church, theology has flexibility because while Scripture does not change, culture does in local situations. Franke calls this nonfoundationalist theology.
In his discussion, Franke dissects the postmodern culture, which he clarifies is a descriptor of the “social and intellectual context in which we function,” not something we affirm or deny (p. sixteen: the number six is not working on my computer today for some reason). He takes a look at historic understandings of theological subjects, subjects that are not addressed overtly in Scripture but have been developed and assist the church in its mission. I could go on and on about what he says, but I’ll finish this summary with the specifics I appreciate about his approach:

1. His thinking regarding epistemology. He understands that we all work with the influence of culture on theology. In other words, we all have filters. This is not to say that Scripture itself changes, but our theology does and should.
   Because of the above, his weighing of both the local culture and the universal and global tradition in understanding theology.
2. His focus on the mission of the church. “The purpose of theology is to participate in the work of the Spirit by assisting the community of Christ’s followers in its missional vocation to live as the people of God, namely, as a Christ centered [pardon me, my hyphen key is not working today either] missional community, in the particular social historical context in which it is situated. Theology provides this assistance and service through ongoing critical and constructive reflection on the beliefs and practices of the church and the articulation of the biblically normed, culturally relevant, and historically informed models of missional Christian faith centered on Jesus Christ in order to promote the establishments of missional Christian communities” (p. 188).
3. His commitment to community. This includes an understanding that “the church is more than the aggregate of its members. It is a particular people shaped by a particular constitutive narrative of Scripture, which spans the ages stretching from creation to consummation” (p. 179). Further, he stresses the need for unity among the different denominations as a vital part of the church’s mission to make Christ known (taken from John 17, which just happens to be one of my favorite chapters, even though we shouldn’t have favorites). He finds a place for the diversity within orthodoxy as different parts of the Body of Christ, and says that “the unity of the church is not to be found in full agreement concerning all the teachings and practices of the church but rather in the living presence of Christ in the church. What marks a particular community as a Christian community is its Christ centered focus, which shapes the missional character of its life together. By the gift of the Spirit, Christ not only serves as the example of Christian life and witness but is also a living presence in the midst of the church” (p. 192).
4. His expansive understanding of the means and aim of theology: “Theology is a wider activity than just scholarship…works of art, hymns, stories, dramas, comic books, cinema—all these media can become valid forms for theology in particular cultures” (p. 188). As a musician and writer as well as a scholar, I love this opening for several reasons. It recognizes that whether we like it or not, theology is taught on screen and at concerts and through the music worship part of the service, perhaps more so than from the sermon (my thesis talks about this). It encourages those who practice these arts to take seriously their role in theological understanding. And it encourages scholars and pastors to recognize other influences and encourage them. Secondly within this expansion is a recognition that the confidence of a Christian comes not from indubitable knowledge but through living a life that follows the call of Christ.
   

Franke concludes,

“the purpose of theology is to assist the church in the establishment of Christ centered missional communities that promote the unity of the church and the pursuit of truth in order to foster this confidence for the sake of the gospel and the hope that it offers to a broken world. In this way, theology bears faithful witness to its subject and participates in the divine mission of reconciliation and redemption through the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit” (pp. 197 thru [darn key] 98).

One more word: I love, love, love this book. I think it is a key book. That being said, for those of you who may be interested, it is difficult to work through, especially without some knowledge of theological terms and history.