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Three Reviews of “The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug”

This one has me feeling slightly depressed.

It’s astonishing, given the brevity of Tolkien’s story and the hours of screen time expended, how many of the novel’s memorable incidents are nevertheless omitted, abbreviated or conflated. The story flies as quickly as possible past Beorn and the horrors of Mirkwood, presumably on the theory that the sooner Bloom and Lily are onscreen the better.

The best review I found, written by…..someone who never read the book:

This second Hobbit movie was for me not just a pleasure, but a revelation. For the first time, I “got” the JRR Tolkien/Peter Jackson experience. I tuned into the frequency. I tasted the fusion cuisine. I heard the eccentric but weirdly rousing choral harmonies. And this is despite – or more probably because of – never having been a Tolkien fan and being agnostic about the myth-making and, indeed, the prose quality.

And then there’s this:

There has been a fair amount of outrage already spilled on the Internet about how Bilbo has been reduced to a secondary character and how the action sequences go on for far too long. But honestly, I didn’t have a problem with either aspect of the movie. Unlike the first “Hobbit,” which spent an undue amount of time trying to develop characters that we never would really care about, this one is more interested in the chase.

So do you care whether or not the movie remains true to the general character of the book, or are you just looking for some Middle Earth in your life and you’ll take it any way you can get it?

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Seven Things This Protestant Likes About the Pope

6020860169As a Protestant, I don’t normally pay too much attention to what the Pope is up to. If I see a news story about him, I might click over and see what’s going on, but for the most part we travel in different circles. You know.

But I have to confess, Pope Francis is one guy who has my attention. Here are seven things I like about him:

1) He has decided not to move into the papal apartments in the Apostolic Palace, but to live in a suite in the Vatican guesthouse.

How refreshing to see a Christian leader who doesn’t use his position to build a personal empire of wealth (or a $1.7 million mansion). A leader who doesn’t have a designated parking space outside the church. How often do Christian leaders more closely resemble Charlie Brown’s little sister? You know, the one who says, “All I want is what I have coming to me. All I want is my fair share.”

Instead of taking all that he has coming to him, he lives in simpler quarters (I’m sure they’re still beautiful) among the people he works with. That’s refreshing. I like it.

2) Did you see the photo of the pope kissing the head of the disfigured man? What a powerful image, a challenging reminder that Christians are called to serve the weak and the poor, the broken and the neglected.

3) He seems very relaxed about his own importance.

When a little boy joined the Pope on stage while he was addressing thousands and thousands of people, and the Pope simply smiled, and patted the boy on the head, and let him sit in his big white chair while he continued speaking, well, it made me smile.

4) Simplicity.

What does the pope carry on to the plane with him when he travels? A razor, a prayer book, a diary and a book about St. Theresa. He carries his own bags because, “It’s normal, we have to be normal. We have to be accustomed to being normal.”

5) Sarah Palin is worried about him. Even those of you who aren’t fans of the Pope must admit that this means he must not be all bad.

6) He wants “pastoral” bishops, not ones motivated by ideology. I like the idea of encouraging leaders to become more in tune with the problems and tensions faced by their congregants. Too many pastors have become preachers, standing up once a week and delivering a message, yet having no real feel for what is going on in their church or in the lives of those they have been called to serve.

7) Finally, I find the general sense of humility that surrounds this new Pope endearing. In the words of Neal Wooten,

I think it is that character trait that endears me to Pope Francis the most: humility. That’s why we never see him in the million-dollar pope-mobile, but his car of choice is a donated 1984 Renault with 190,000 miles on it, or at times a Ford Focus, and at least once a little Fiat. He’s even expressed his concerns with priests owning new cars.

“It hurts me when I see a priest or a nun with the latest model car, you can’t do this. A car is necessary to do a lot of work, but please, choose a more humble one. If you like the fancy one, just think about how many children are dying of hunger in the world.” – Pope Francis

Do you have any thoughts about Pope Francis?

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What Would You Do If Your Child Confessed to Murder?

Refuse to Drown front onlyJust over six years ago, a high school student and his parents were killed by an unknown assailant. This happened right here in Lancaster County. What made the case unique was that weeks passed without the police receiving any solid leads.

Then, one month later, another high school student confessed to the crimes. But he did so in the confines of a counseling session, and the psychiatric hospital where he was staying turned to the boy’s father, also in the room when the confession was made.

“You need to do the right thing, sir,” the counselor told the father, Tim Kreider, inferring that it was up to him to turn in his son.

What would you have done, if your son looked like he might be getting away with murder? What would you have done, if your son faced three life sentences?

* * * * *

Three years ago, I received an email from a man named Walt Mueller. He said that he knew of someone who had a story to tell, and he wondered if I would be okay with him giving them my details.

Sure, I said.

Soon after that I received an email from a man named Tim Kreider. He said he had written a story about what he had been through recently when his son confessed to murdering his best friend and his best friend’s parents.

He wondered if we could meet.

* * * * *

For some reason I think it was in the fall. I remember standing outside the front door, waiting, wondering what Tim and his wife Lynn would be like. I’d never met the parents of a murderer before.

Tim answered the door and shook my hand. Lynn gave me a hug. Tim has changed a lot since that day when I first met him, and on that early evening, in 2010, he had very sad eyes. While he was eager to tell his story, there was a subconscious reluctance, a hesitancy. He knew that if he was serious about telling his story, he’d have to revisit emotional spaces he preferred not to visit again.

At the end of the evening he asked if I would take a look at what he had written.

I nodded.

He reached down and brought up a folder filled with over 300 pages. He asked me if I would read it. It was a very rough draft, he said, something he wrote in a heavy, dark place, but the writing of it had been one of the keys to helping him find his way after what his son had done.

Over the last three years we have rewritten it, polished it up a little, added sections previously forgotten. There were large chunks of time where the story lay dormant – things resurfaced, made the writing too difficult for Tim. Times when he needed a break, or when the business of life took over. But it is finished now, the story of a man whose son admitted to a terrible crime, and the decisions Tim was forced to make. It’s a powerful story, one full of redemption and hope.

If you’d like to find out more about it, please go and “Like” our Facebook page, Refuse To Drown. Or you can check out our website and sign up to be notified when the book releases, on or around February 1st of next year.

Thanks for supporting this, my latest venture. You folks have been such loyal readers through the years, and I’m really proud to bring you this incredible story.

* * * * *

If you would like Tim to share his story at your church, please let me know.

If you are a blogger and would like an advanced copy of the book to review on your blog during the week of February 1st, 2014, please let me know.

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What I Learned About Waiting, Searching, and Finding Hope in the Wreckage

2182787850There’s a sense of longing in all of us, isn’t there? This undeniable yearning for something to be completed, something to be brought to fruition. We want to see the incomplete brought to a right finish, we want to see the hole filled in, the tragedy redeemed.

We want the story to end well, not just happy-go-lucky, but well. We want Julian of Norwich’s saying to become a reality in our lives:

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

But things happen in life. Small things that chip away at our foundation. Huge things that leave all of our structures flattened.

What do we do then, when the completion that we long for seems further away than ever? What do we do when hope feels like a tiny keepsake lost in the ruined expanse of a tornado-wrecked town?

Where do we begin searching among so much rubble? How can this thing called hope ever be found?

I’ve learned things throughout the years, after businesses that left me feeling like a failure, after miscarriages that spilled the life out of Maile and I. After hurts and betrayals and disappointments that still evade words.

One of the things I learned was that I have this instinct, when these painful things happen, to curl up inside of myself. And this is good, for a time. This is safe and quiet and healing. But there is also a time to let people back in. This weekend, at church, after everything that had happened, I was reminded how helpful it is to cry together, or to hug someone and let them cry on your shoulder. How healing it can be to listen and to simply say, “I’m so sorry.”

The other thing I’ve learned about this quest for hope is that we can rejoice in the waiting and the searching. Yes, we want to see the completion of all things, we want to see the resurrection and the redemption, and we will (please, God, we will), but there is space for joy in the in-between.

Advent teaches us this, that there is a kind of waiting that will bring fulfillment.

* * * * *

This is what I love about U2’s song, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” The lyrics speak of a longing, a pursuing, but there is also a sense of rejoicing in that not-yet.

Peace. Healing. Joy. Love. Forgiveness. We have yet to attain these things in perfection, but I hope that during this Advent season, we can all somehow rejoice in the things yet to be found.

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Five Things You Shouldn’t Say After a Report of Sexual Abuse

176382627Ever since this thing happened in our community earlier this week, I’ve heard all kinds of comments. Well-meaning people end up saying really hurtful, harmful things. Things they would never say in the presence of someone who has experienced abuse or to the parent of the victim.

But abuse victims, and those directly affected by it, are everywhere. Since posting my last blog post, I’ve received numerous messages and emails from friends who experienced abuse as children. I had no idea.

I’m so sorry.

Here are five things we need to stop saying when it comes to sexual abuse:

1) “I always had a bad feeling about the abuser.” Yet armed with this amazing insight and miraculous prescience you did what? Oh. That’s right. NOTHING. Hindsight is 20/20 folks, and if you had a feeling the perpetrator was the kind of person who could abuse a child, and you said nothing, that’s not a mark of your discernment. That’s a lack of judgment.

(Disclaimer: you may say “I always had a bad feeling about that guy” if you are weeping because you didn’t express your concerns earlier. You may also say this if you actually reported your feelings to the appropriate authorities.)

2) “This is just a reminder to parents that we have to be constantly vigilant.” Say this to your spouse, if you want. Or to yourself in the mirror. But for the love of God, don’t say this publicly or post it on your Facebook page because THE CHILDREN OF COMPLETELY VIGILANT PARENTS CAN STILL BE ABUSED, and when you say things like this you make the parents of abused children feel even worse than they already do.

3) “I’m so glad that I did (such and such) in this particular case because it probably saved my children from being abused.” Same reply as number one. What you’re really doing here is patting yourself on the back for…saving yourself.

4) Another life destroyed. Not true. Yes, the effects of abuse are terrible. Yes, there are consequences all around. But to say that their life is destroyed? To say (as I’ve heard some say) that this is, “in some ways more difficult than death”? Get good counseling, not just for the individual but for the family. Talk about what happened. Come together as a community. But please don’t write this life off as destroyed.

5) I would kill someone if I found out they were abusing my child. This is such a common sentiment, and it’s one that I understand. I’m not arguing with your right to vigilante justice, but I will say this: be careful about who hears you making such rash vows. There was a case in Florida where a little boy kept an abusive relationship secret because his father often said “If anyone ever abuses you, I’ll kill them.” The little boy believed his father, didn’t want his father to go to jail, so he didn’t speak up. Think about the consequences of what you’re saying.

I understand why we say these things. I’ve said a number of them in the past…because I was trying to rationalize why this wasn’t going to happen to my family. I had a certain number of rules in place, and if I followed those rules then I could keep my children out of harm’s way.

Abusers don’t follow the rules. Sometimes children from really great families, with completely vigilant parents, end up in abusive situations.

If you truly want to help, if you want to do more harm than good, then there’s one rule in situations like these that, if you follow, you’ll never go wrong.

That rule?

Think before you speak. Would you say what you’re about to say to the agonized face of a parent who just found out their child had been abused? If the answer is no, the way forward is simple.

Stop talking.

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I Will Pray For Him, Too, Though I Do Not Know How

I wrote a post last night about this. It was late. I wrote some things that had deep roots in anger and a churning stomach. My hands trembled as I typed. But those words brought death to me, a deep sense of hopelessness and despair, and I suspect they would have brought the same to anyone who read them.

So I deleted the post.

Then I received a message from a friend. “There’s so much hate,” he said. “So much confusion.” Would I write something? Would I put words to the deep hurt so many of us are feeling? At first I thought, no. I can’t. I can’t dig this stuff up, this rotten stuff inside of me, this stuff that needs more time to break down and decay before it turns to useful soil.

I woke up late this morning after a long night debriefing with close friends. We wept and wondered why, how. These things don’t happen to your friends, your church. Of course not. They happen to other people in other cities with other problems.

Then, after I slept in, we celebrated my daughter. She turned nine this morning, and we sang Happy Birthday to her while walking down the steps to her room, served her breakfast in bed (chocolate chip pancakes and hot chocolate and one extravagant gift). I remembered how she came screaming into the world, bloody and wet. I remembered how I had cried when she emerged because she was a she, a girl to the boy my wife had delivered 18 months earlier.

“It’s a girl!”

Then I brought in the Christmas tree and cut off the lower branches and it smelled so good. So clean. A fresh start. But there was still this sick feeling in my stomach over everything that had happened, everything we had learned. I wondered if throwing up would help, but I haven’t yet. There’s a sadness, too, a weight. The heaviness of disappointment and death – not a physical death, but the passing of innocence and the loss of futures and this outward spreading ripple of anger and sadness.

Should I hate this young man, my friend, arrested yesterday for sexually assaulting a teenage boy? Should I hate him, now waiting in a jail cell, on the way to being officially labeled a pedophile?

I certainly hate what he did. I hate the atomic bomb of sexual assault, how it flattens and chars and melts. I hate a world where people take advantage of other people’s trust. These things I hate.

But do I hate him? I don’t think so. I don’t know.

* * * * *

But I still ache. My insides literally churn with desire for a new world. For a world where families don’t receive this kind of news. For a world where young boys are given the space and freedom to grow and develop and mature in a healthy way. For trust.

That’s close to the foundation of it, I think. I yearn for trust. To trust and be trusted. But this world falls so short. And because the church is in the world, it falls short, too. The church, made up of imperfect people, hurting people, cannot protect everyone. Even the most innocent. Even the most vulnerable.

I hate this about the church, so much so that I want to grind my teeth and scream. I also hate this about me and my friends and my pastors, because we are the church, and sometimes no matter how many background checks you do, no matter how many references you check, you cannot protect everyone. I hate that we cannot protect everyone. Someone will always manage to take advantage of our deep yearning to trust. To be trusted.

I hate this about us, our powerlessness. Our failures. Our impotence.

* * * * *

What now? Where do we go from here? What do we do?

What do I want to do? I want to give up on church. I want to give up on trusting people. I want to keep my kids home this Sunday and hide in solitude, cutting down trees and chopping firewood in the backyard and thinking about nothing. I want to watch a movie with my kids and ride four-wheeler with them and pretend none of this ever happened. Pretend my friend did not do this.

But on Sunday I will go to church, and I will hug my friends. I will cry with them over the pain that has so recently descended. I happen to be on the schedule to work in the children’s class, so I will accept the looks of skepticism and distrust the parents send my way, and I will understand them. I will not be offended in the least. I will nod and shake the hands of parents who can no longer leave their kids with other people. I will hug them, too, because I know how they feel. I don’t blame them, not at all.

I will plead with God that peace rains down on the family who has entered the nightmare, and I will pray that they will find their way as best they can. I pray that they still know, deep down, that they are good parents. Because they are.

I will pray for my friend, too, though I do not know how.

* * * * *

I started reading Ruthless Trust by Brennan Manning a few days ago, before I heard about all of this. “Before” – that word has a certain echo to it, a certain emptiness. Anyway, there was a passage that I highlighted, a verse that Manning quoted that resonated with me on that particular day.

Here is a saying that you can rely on and nobody should doubt, “that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners” (1 Timothy 1:15).

Sinners, like my friend, now looking to spend year after changeless year behind bars. Sinners, like those of us who did not possess the wisdom or the guile or the power to stop this from happening.

Sinners, like me.

Jesus, please return.