The Truth, a Social Experiment?

I just saw the movie "The Social Network." I liked it, despite some plot pacing problems. But as I watched it, I wondered how much of the story was "true." Mark Suckerberg, the protagonist boy genius who invents "Thefacebook" comes across as socially awkward but focused and brilliant. The movie highlights his relationships with best friend and Facebook Co-founder, Eduardo Saverin, as well as Napster co-founder and Facebook collaborator Sean Parker. It doesn't take long to guess that the actual principals in the story have to be at the best uncomfortable with their portrayals in the movie. And again I wondered, "Is this how it really happened?"

So when I came across a quote from Aaron Sorkin, who wrote the screenplay, I was stunned.

"I don’t want my fidelity to be to the truth; I want it to be to storytelling. What is the big deal about accuracy purely for accuracy’s sake, and can we not have the true be the enemy of the good?"1


I can appreciate storytelling as much as the next guy, and understand dramatic or "artistic license." But to be so cavalier about "the truth," as if the details of our life were just some artist's palette of colors to be blended and blurred for the sake of expression, seemed to go over the line. If one owes "integrity" to "storytelling" rather than "the truth" doesn't this place entertainment as the highest good? Hasn't the medium shaped the message, as McLuhan and Postman et. al. said it would? 


What do you think? Does the truth have to suffer in order to tell a story? And can "the true" really be the enemy of the good?  




1. ^ Harris, Mark (September 17, 2010). "Inventing Facebook". New York Magazine. Retrieved October 9, 2010.

The Big Freeze Ends

I have a unique way of allowing anxiety to freeze my faculties when it comes to big decisions. Whether or not to get a dog must be a BIG decision…because I’ve been frozen for some years! I know, you’re thinking ‘what’s the big deal,’ right?


“Every kid deserves to have a pet growing up,” you’ll tell me. (And I suppose it won’t help to remind you that I bought them hamsters six full years ago? No? Ok, didn’t think so).

It’s just that every time I think of all those vet visits, the hassle of finding pet sitters (in addition to baby sitters) and the added expense of another mouth to feed I’m rendered immobile as a teen asked to do chores. “Maybe just a bit more time to think about this?” I mutter, to whomever might be listening.

And apparently, no one was…listening, that is. Because my wife got that look on her face that says “Please don’t bother to say ‘no’ when I ask you this question” (her face is very expressive). “Are we going to get the kids a dog for Christmas?”

What can you say to a face that forbids “no?” Before I knew it we were off to the VA Beach SPCA
 
I must have had “that” look on my face (the look of a man who knows he’s about to spend money and is not happy about it) because my wife said, “Oh, didn’t you hear that Priority Automotive is providing free pet adoptions before Christmas?”  (I hadn’t). “Crud, there went one of my best, most practical arguments,” I thought to myself, of course, not expressing this to the now smiling face directing me into the SPCA parking lot.


Once inside, I had the ominous feeling of a doomed man. Memories of Hillary Clinton, postulating the existence of a vast right wing conspiracy, drifted through my head. Because, I’m not quite sure how to put this, everyone in the SPCA seemed to be on a first-name basis with my wife, Bridget. “Hi Bridget, (said with a knowing look) good to see you.” “Great to see you again, Bridget, you’ll be coming right this way, yes? Oh, and HE’S the one? (with a contemptuous nod of the head in MY direction). “Good luck!”

That’s when we met a Lhasa Apso named “Alex.” Even HE seemed to know Bridget, jumping up into her lap and yipping with joy in the small cubicle reserved for ‘visiting hours.’ The realization slowly dawned on me that we weren’t ‘just visiting’ and that I had entered a battle of wits unarmed.  The long freeze was over in my decision-making process. We were the proud owners of a 6-year old rescued dog who was coming home with us for Christmas.
 

 

Should a church feel like a night club opening?

The Regent University Mission team was in New York City this week to serve on the streets and in the hospitals to give care and compassion in the name of Christ. To be fair, there is great debate as to what if anything a short term team can accomplish that adds to the work going on long term in a location. For that reason, I work to always come alongside existing ministries like NYSUM  or The Bowery.

But once the students get out on those streets, they discover the truth that ministry is draining. Jesus knew it... when the woman with a 12 year medical problem touched him, the Bible records Jesus' words "Someone touched me, for I perceive that power has gone out from me." That's why our groups always visit not one but several great, bible-believing churches to recharge spiritually. This trip, it just so happened that Hillsong NYC  was launching as a new church. We joined nearly 4000 other young people in making this first service a can't-miss event.  In fact, for the first time I can remember, we stood in line for church for over an hour and a half!

Going to a church service that felt like the opening of a new club was a novel experience. People walking down the street would stop and ask, "What's happening here?"  The answer would come, "It's the launch of a new church," to which there was an inevitable quizzical rejoinder, "What kind of church?" Answer: One unlike I've ever seen!

Couple of observations about this new church from a former church planter: 

1. Almost no money was spent on advertising/marketing. The push was through Twitter @HillsongNYC btw. (yes I follow) as well as Facebook. The result? A huge crowd of young, hip church goers.

2. The pastor/spiritual rock star @CarlLentz was on the scene giving a very distinctive flavor for the evening. Virginia Beach residents will know him as the hip Pied Piper of Soul Central at Wave Church. Others of us know him as the once-errant son of Steve and Kathy Lentz (also in attendance) and the result of much prayer over the years. God got hold of this guy in a unique way that connects with young adults like very few people I've ever seen. High energy for sure.

3.   Big guns @BrianHouston and @BobbiHouston, the dynamic duo co-pastors of the Hillsong Sydney "mother ship" were on hand, as well as their son @JoelHouston, the creative mind behind Hillsong United. Added into the mix was @JudahSmith from City Church in Seattle to give the service the feel of an All-star game of young, hip evangelical leaders in the US and Australia.

4. The young people who were there made it clear, however, that the unifying factor was not the pastor, nor the preaching, nor the "namebrand" church Hillsong, but the music. From the first chord, the crowd hopped, reached, sang and shouted in a familiar sway, demonstrating that it was the experience that mattered, not so much the personalities. Over three thousand people waited in a queue for hours to experience the chance to feel freedom and liberty.

So hop and sway and shout we did, drawing on the spiritual hunger and energy in the Salvation Army theater near Union Square. It replenished us, encouraged us, and sent us out to do more work for others. Do you think a church should feel like the opening of a night club? Let me know.

Pastor Judah Smith meeting Crystal from our team. 

Who Are the Homeless?

Her bag could have been from Fendi, a chic accessory joining the crisp, cool air to give notice that fall had come to the corner of Fifth Avenue and 55th St. The crumpled papers in her hand might have been a playbill from the latest show that the most fashionable boots in the City had tromped by droves to see. The swirl of her conversation could just as well have been recounting her latest visit to Harry Winston’s or De Beers there on fashionable 5th Avenue.

But it wasn’t.

Instead, her conversation over coffee sitting on her bag in the shadow of 5th Avenue Presbyterian Church was an orientation of sorts. This, her first night on the streets of New York City revolved around overzealous policemen who kicked, fined or screamed profanity at her. Prior to tonight she had tried to resolve her “circumstances” by sleeping on the subway. With her bag and knit sweater primly tucked around her, she survived for months in this manner, by day the fiancé of a Chinese pastor, by night a hounded denizen of the public transportation system.

I didn’t understand.

Why would this spirited, Asian woman be sleeping on the street? I began to ask questions, to discover the reasons behind her circumstances. Had she spoken to her fiancé the pastor? Did the church know she was here? How long had they been paying the fines levied on her for her nomadic public slumber? I needed a peg to hang this on, an entry point into her world.

She rebuked me.

“I could tell you more about my circumstances, but you couldn’t begin to understand. You would think you did, but you don’t. You would misunderstand and tell someone. And you’d be wrong. You don’t have the perspective of God. Would you like to know why I am here tonight?” Mutely, I shook my head. “I’m here in complete surrender to the will of God.”

She was right.

I needed a tidy explanation. I wanted her to fit into a category that explained her presence there across from the Fendi store, sleeping on the steps. As her rebuke sunk in, I knew I asked questions to discover how she was different from me. How she had fallen. Where she had chosen unwisely; who had failed her, harmed her, victimized her. So that she would be a “homeless” and I her encourager, rescuer, reaching down across the gulf to show my goodness.

Who is my neighbor?

A question asked of Jesus, that ancient sage, designed not to enable further outreach or care for a new friend, but to categorize. To place someone in a group different from oneself, and so to insulate from up close, personal love and care. And so Jesus told a story, about a man in need. A man treated roughly by life, robbed of his dignity and left alongside the road to rot. A man much like the lady I met. But wise Jesus told the story not to focus on a victim who needed help, but on the startling responses from those walking alongside the street. The fashionable, acceptable residents of that city walked right by the man. They knew he belonged to a different category, a man who had made poor choices. Given time, they might help, but circumstances dictated otherwise. But the hated Samaritan walked up and entered the world of the man by the road. Without judging his circumstances, he brought care, and according to Jesus, demonstrated that he was that man’s neighbor. And then I realized, it didn’t matter how she got there…

Eiku is my neighbor.

Prayer of the Heart

St. Theophan the Recluse (1815-1894), Russian asectic, bishop, and prolific author

I don't know about you, but prayer intimidates me a bit. I'm not by nature a contemplative, and the thought of being alone in a room with just my thoughts (just as likely to be about baseball or some banal subject) is a bit scary. I've discovered that I need coaches or guides in prayer.

One I've discovered is a guy named Theophan the Recluse. I know, I know--any guy with "Recluse" in his name, who's not a spider, has got to be a little creepy. Don't let that intimidate you; he was just a Russian monk of the 19th century. Monks are the ones through history who've made a point of retreating from society in order to think more deeply about God, and cultivate a life of contemplation and prayer.  Theophan's main contribution to Christian spirituality was his translation of a group of writings on prayer called the "Philokalia" into Russian.

He says something that helps me, and addresses some of my prayer insecurities.


Recall how you prayed and always strive to pray this way, so that prayer comes from the heart and is not just thought by the mind and chattered by the tongue.

When he says, "prayer...chattered by the tongue" I know just what he means. In my tradition, prayer is considered "good" if it is long, eloquent, and (usually) loud. My tradition values free-form prayer laced with spiritual-sounding phrases like "washed in the blood of the Lamb" and "sanctified and set-apart by the sinless substitutionary atonement of Jesus..." I know all about prayers "chattered by the tongue" and they do much to intimidate me in my own prayer life.

My new friend the recluse, perhaps because he has spent more time praying alone than to try to impress others, speaks of a different kind of prayer-- the prayer that comes from the heart. The thought in this more Eastern method of prayer was to memorize a simple prayer, sometimes called a "breath prayer" and repeat it often enough that the words weren't central. It was a "known-by-heart" prayer.

This kind of heart prayer takes me out of the competition mode. It puts me into more of a contemplative moment, allowing me to reflect on what God might have to say to me. This I think, is what Theophan must have intended. Perhaps that is why the saint once known as "George" took the name Theophan which means "God appears." When we pray from the heart, God often appears.

How do you feel about prayer?