Whisky Prajer's Christmas Appeal

It is less than two weeks away from Christmas, and priests and pastors everywhere are intensifying their focus, putting everything they've got into the sermon of the year. This is their annual window of opportunity, a time when the congregation of regulars is suddenly dwarfed by a sea of irregulars, the women coiffed and lovely, the men wearing ill-fitting suits and looking very much like they regret forfeiting their weekly sleep-in. This is the preacher’s chance for the big pitch, the appeal. Can he say anything that will stick to the ribs? Is there hope that something he utters will get one or two (or more!) of these people to come back next week?

There are also those preachers who eschew this soft-sell approach in favor of heading straight for the jugular. "The Gospel leaves no room for compromise. Turn or burn, baby, and be grateful you heard it here first," etc.

Those two extremes represent a good portion of my inner life, as a nutshell. I come from a long line of preachers, and while I may have forsaken the profession and no small degree of the tradition, the DNA matrix will not be denied. People, I got ta speak about sumpin'! My previous attempts at appeal have managed to perplex and alienate my conservative and my gay readers, which doesn't bode well for this appeal. But here goes: call me a witlessly insensitive naïf, but this is my Christmas appeal to my Jewish friends.

There are a number of scriptures that we Christians claim to have in common with you, and I'll get to some of those in a bit. But for the moment, please be so kind as to retrieve that "New Testament" our Gideons so thoughtfully gave you in Grade 5; then flip to the back, and read The Revelation of St. John The Divine. This could well inspire a few strange dreams over the next few nights, but this is an important book to read, and here's why: that one, weird little book has done more to captivate and stimulate the imagination of North American Christendom than all the gospels (Jesus narratives) and epistles (letters of instruction to the early churches) put together.

The Revelation is itself an epistle, with one significant distinction: it makes prophetic claims. Give it the once-over, and you will find similarities in tone and metaphor to, say, Daniel. It draws from (or rips off) that particular tradition, using primal, dissonant metaphors to speak directly to moral and physical crises that threaten a particular historical-religious audience. As with Daniel, the greater your understanding of its historical-religious audience, the greater clarity you have reading the text.

You don't have to be a seminary student to achieve this, either. Cursory research reveals that scholars of the text usually date it back to the reign of Domitian (81-96), whose enforcement of Emperor worship was, shall we say, enthusiastic. Jews have their own grim stories from that period, and could probably read the prophetic religious-historical narrative of The Revelation with a comprehension that might astonish most Christians. A fairly simple historical checklist can be made, with Roman acts of desecration and brutality on one side, Revelation metaphors on the other, and a great number of parallels drawn between the two categories.

Of course, problems arise when the historical record doesn't quite tally up with the prophetic metaphors - the triumphant return of Jesus being the most glaring example of this. In Christendom the all-too-common method of dealing with this discrepancy is to say, "Actually, none of the prophesied events have taken place - yet. It's up to us to recognize the moment they do and prepare for the Lord's return." This has led to many, many colorful anecdotes in Christendom - including the birth of the Mennonites. These can occasionally be quite humorous, but most of them are despicable and tragic (decide for yourself which category applies to the Mennonites).

A cheerful willingness to discount the epistle's original audience continues to inspire diverse activity, worldwide. Closer to home we have the runaway juggernaut of Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins' Left Behind series. Closer still, we have various Christian organizations assisting (chiefly Russian) Jewish immigration to Israel, in aid of fulfilling prophetic requirements for Jesus' return.

Jewish alliance with these groups had me perplexed at first: these are people with a religious point of view that I want as much distance from as possible - and I'm a Christian. Whenever I've asked my Jewish friends for their response, however, I typically get some uncomfortable silence, concluding with a shrug and a statement to the effect of, "Well, they're doing some good."

Fair enough - these are acts of kindness and compassion which I have no wish to impede. I wonder, though, if you could do me a favor. I can't reach these people, but maybe you can. They have a clear reverence for the Jewish people and the Jewish state, and even claim to admire the depth of Jewish scholarship. I expect you're in a dialogue of sorts with them, so I wonder if it might be possible to arrange the following:

Take them aside, and say something like, "You know, I read The Revelation the other week. Quite the book. It got me thinking of, well, all sorts of unexpected stuff. We should talk about it sometime, but could I ask you to do something for me? Could you maybe give St. John a wee bit of a breather, and read the Book of Amos once or twice?"

Amos is a piece of scripture I think both our religious cultures and their manifold communities could get quite excited about. Again - recognition of the specific religious-historical audience is critically important. But unlike St. John, I think Amos has a plainspoken approach to articulating divine concerns for all of humanity. The most rudimentary reading of Amos reveals not just G-d's expectations of a particular religious community at a specific time, but of governments and nation states that don't even acknowledge Him. Furthermore, Amos articulates G-d's unchanging expectations of those nation states who do acknowledge Him, and go so far as to claim kinship with Him.

North American Protestants are justifiably proud of the social changes brought about by the Great Awakening and its sequel. But I believe if everyone who ate up the Left Behind series were to read the Book of Amos and take it to heart, we just might possibly see the world's first Judeo-Christian Awakening. How about it?

Can I get an "Amen"?

Paste Interviews Tom Waits

Well, well - after giving Paste Magazine my shrug of indifference, I am now forced to reconsider. Here is a delightful interview with Tom Waits, persuasive evidence that Paste is worth a closer look.

Same-Sex Marriage

Big day, today, in Canada. I hesitate to wade in on this issue because I have friends and family members I respect who have taken a principled stand on either side of it. And with every new anniversary of my own marriage, I'm forced to confess anew that, at the time, my comprehension of my marriage vows was rudimentary at best. But that's the nature of youthful declarations: you're so full of piss and vinegar, you're convinced you're capable of anything, even lifelong commitment to something larger than the ape within. And every year you experience at least one dull moment where you stop and think, "So that's what I meant ..."

Of course, true respect requires full disclosure. And so far as I have achieved it, here's my sense of clarity on this contentious issue: state recognition of same-sex marriage is an issue of civil liberties. Period. I know there are evangelicals worried this will somehow boomerang on them -- that the Liberals, or God forbid the NDP, could assign police squads to force Baptist pastors to do the unthinkable -- but Constitutional law is unequivocal, and coercion like that simply cannot be done without scrapping the Constitution itself. It's part of the same recognition of civil liberties I raised at the beginning of this paragraph.

My niece said it more succinctly, in a moment of exasperation. After being unwittingly exposed to evangelical hectoring on the issue, she walked away and said: "But it's not about them."

Still, let's make it about them for a moment. Evangelicals, like any religious community, profess to have clear definitions of marriage and family. Definitions aside, evangelical congregations experience roughly the same divorce rate as the "unsaved" society around them. Here's a chance for the gay community to be a beacon of light, a chance to demonstrate to nay-sayers that fealty to one person, to family and to society are imperatives we would all do well to commit to. Demonstrate the vows. Turn the stats on their ear, and prove 'em wrong, baby! Prove 'em wrong.

I laughed, I cried - Well, okay, I didn't cry...

Woody Allen still has it.

The Daily Show gets Hitch'd

I watched Jon Stewart interview ... excuse me ... give the floor to Christopher Hitchens the other night. Two thoughts in response: 1) I find it ironic that Mother Theresa's religiosity gets Hitch frothing at the mouth, while Dubya's religiosity elicits little more than a shrug, or something akin to a nod of Machiavellian approval. 2) What's with the paper cup? Get the man a proper whisky glass, already!

Modigliani: Beyond The Myth

My wife and I drove down to the AGO to see this highly-praised collection of Modigliani works — some 85 pieces, with scant few narrative interruptions from the show's producers. Highly recommended from the Prajer point of view as well. I left with my brain a-swim in Modigliani-mode, which is what I was after. The display did a good job of showcasing the artist's development from the reckless but fiercely talented youth who scribbled portraits on lousy paper (with a 2H pencil, I'm guessing) for his drink and food, painted on cardboard and, when he could afford it, canvas for bigger coin.

One of the first plaques to greet the viewer claims this show is devoted to "moving beyond the myth." Too bad for me — Philistine that I am, I was familiar only with his nudes and knew nothing about the cad who painted them. Now I'd love to get into the myth, because I found his work compelling and the bits of personal history so vague (except when indicating who had committed suicide, when) that I thirsted for more tangible stuff: who was this guy? Bald facts: Italian Jew, fully immersed in Parisian bohemian life, versed in artistic modes of the time (African elongation of form), proud of his Jewish heritage, fascinated by the occult, indulgent, defiant, consumptive, prodigious. As presented, the show's minimalism winds up buttressing the myth, not "going beyond it." But then I couldn't quite bring myself to spend another fifty bones on the (Yale) catalogue, which might have pulled off that feat, so I'll have to do a little time in the public library.

Two overheard comments that sum it up for me:

"His sketches are so ... inspirational." Yes! They have a disarming simplicity that is naturally appealing. You are keen to identify with them, and you are keen to go home and try your own hand at it.
"How does he manage to bring out unique character in each of his portraits, while limiting his details?" How, indeed? In an odd bit of kismet, I think part of the answer lies in Jonathan Franzen's recent New Yorker meditation on the art of Charles M. Schulz, here. You might be weary of Franzen, and completely tapped-out by Schulz, but it is a rewarding read. Here's Franzen talking about Schulz's style:

Scott McCloud, in his cartoon treatise “Understanding Comics,” argues that the image you have of yourself when you’re conversing is very different from your image of the person you’re conversing with. Your interlocutor may produce universal smiles and universal frowns, and they may help you to identify with him emotionally, but he also has a particular nose and particular skin and particular hair that continually remind you that he’s an Other. The image you have of your own face, by contrast, is highly cartoonish. When you feel yourself smile, you imagine a cartoon of smiling, not the complete skin-and-nose-and-hair package. It’s precisely the simplicity and universality of cartoon faces, the absence of Otherly particulars, that invite us to love them as we love ourselves. The most widely loved (and profitable) faces in the modern world tend to be exceptionally basic and abstract cartoons: Mickey Mouse, the Simpsons, Tintin, and, simplest of all — barely more than a circle, two dots, and a horizontal line — Charlie Brown.

Modigliani works in the same mode: an invitational simplicity for the viewer to enter into. And yet Modigliani managed to capture such a diversity of yourself in his work...

Not to be missed.

So Many Books, So Little Time...

James Wood has savaged some of my favorite authors - and I love him for it! Then, when he finally gets a novel he loves, he falls for it heart and soul. Such is the case with Marilynne Robinson's new novel, Gilead, which he reviews for the NYT Book Review, here (the site also includes a wonderful illustration by Ed Lam). Gilead now joins my ever-growing list of novels I dearly hope to read in the not-too-distant future, which includes Wood's own The Book Against God.