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Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection is the central event in the Christian story. What we believe about what happens in this short period shapes everything else we believe. Little has been more confusing for many Christians than what happened when Jesus died.

When Jesus is on the cross, he cries out

My God, My God! Why have you forsaken me?

What did Jesus mean when he called out those words? How we answer that question informs a lot of what we believe: who we understand God to be, what our relationship with God looks like, how we live out our faith in the world.

Many Christians have heard that Jesus' statement means that the Trinity was broken in these moments. That God the Son became sin, so God the Father abandoned him. That because Jesus became our sin on the Cross, the Father poured all his wrath onto Jesus (instead of us), so now God can love us because his wrath has been satisfied.

All of those statements are completely, dangerously wrong.

In his excellent new book Forsaken, theology professor and pastor Thomas McCall comes to the Cross, arriving with a robust, fully-formed and orthodox Trinitarian theology. Looking at Jesus' death through the lens of the Trinity helps us to understand the God who rescues us more fully.

Dr. McCall arranges the book with four questions that take us through his argument clearly and succinctly:

1. Was the Trinity Broken?

In a word, No. McCall boils some complex and often-confusing theological positions on the nature of the Trinity down to accessible, understandable concepts. Because God is fundamentally Love, because God is essentially relational, McCall argues that

If the being of God  is a relational being, and if the relationships are sundered, then surely there is no God at all.

To say that the Trinity is divided is to say that God ceases to be God. To say that any one person of the Trinity ceases to be God is to claim that all persons in the Trinity cease to be God.

As McCall concludes:

The works of God in creation and redemption are always undivided,   and the Son's communion with the Father is unblemished.

2. Did the Death of Jesus Make it Possible for God to Love Me?

An important issue in dealing with the Crucifixion is the relationship between divine Love and divine Wrath. As McCall notes, we often pit these against each other to the extent that Jesus the (loving) Son is in tension with God the (wrathful) Father.

Having established that the Trinity is always and fully undivided in the last chapter, McCall is able to go on to show that

The Son does not love me and  bless me while the Father hates me and curses me (or would like to  do so, and would do so, if not for the presence of the Son between  us). Rather, it is God who is for us.

Working carefully through exactly what divine Love and Wrath are (and what they are not), McCall demonstrates that these attributes are never in conflict. Rather, God's Love (the essence of who God is), is the foundation of God's wrath.

God's wrath is God's judgment of sin, but it is a judgment in which God asserts that he is the God of the sinner and that the sinner is God's creature… Holy love is the "source" of God's righteous wrath.  Wrath is not essential to God's nature; God would be God without it. In short, God doesn't love us because Jesus died for us. God died for us because God loves us.

3. Was the Death of Jesus a Meaningless Tragedy?

Obviously, McCall answers No. But this chapter is really an exploration of how Jesus atoned for our Sin. McCall explores all three major models of Atonement - Penal Substitution, Christus Victor and Moral Influence. After carefully defining each theory, McCall weaves all three together. He claims that we can't discard any of them without missing some vital aspect of what Jesus' death accomplished.

As the sin offering, Christ makes satisfaction for our sin and guilt. As the one who gives himself away, Christ shows us how to live a life pleasing to God in the power of the Spirit. As the one who wins the decisive victory for us in his death and resurrection, Christ defeats the enslaving powers of sin.

4. Does it Make a Difference?

From his strongly Trinitarian foundation, McCall builds in his final chapter a picture of what Christians are called to.

Rightly observing that most discussions on the Cross center on what we were saved from (justification), McCall reminds us that we were also saved for:

Forensic justification, important and precious though it is, is not and cannot be the whole sum of the gospel message… It is impossible to read Scripture carefully and come away with the conviction that God's only (or even primary) purpose is to change our legal status.

McCall is talking about Sanctification, the process by which we are made holy. With language as clear and compelling as it's been throughout the book, McCall dispels the legalism that often accompanies discussions of sanctification.

This final chapter is a wonderful summary of themes McCall sketches throughout the book. Sanctification is God inviting us into the holy, Trinitarian love that is God's essence. We are not just saved from Sin and Death, we are also saved for Life.

Bottom Line: Though it's a bit technical, Forsaken deserves to be read carefully and discussed thoroughly. It's an excellent reminder of who God actually is, and a helpful corrective to a lot of the bad theology that's out there.

YOUR TURN: Have you explored theological categories like justification and sanctification? What experience have you had with these concepts?

That's when my friend Abby leaned over and asked the question no one wants to think about:

Who's ever going to want to watch a superhero movie with just one hero in it anymore?

It's an important question (one also raised by this article well). Avengers is so good. It works on every level. It's got a clear, simple story. (So what if it's aliens? you're watching a comic book movie. Quit complaining.) The heroes are outstanding, and each character really pops. Tony and Bruce really are about 1,000x smarter than everyone else in the room. Black Widow and Hawkeye are crazy-dangerous and feel out of their depth. You really do just want to follow Captain America. Thor's definitely not from around here. Nick Fury will do whatever it takes to get the job done, to save the world. Loki's as angry, pathetic and ultimately sympathetic as ever.

And let's just say… HULK SMASH!

The action is unreal. The stakes are huge. The humor weaves around and supports the action, rather than detracting from it. For what it is, it's pitch-perfect.

The Avengers is what every comic book movie aspires to be and more. And that's a huge problem for all those other comic book movies.

Let's be clear what we're not talking about. As Abby went on to observe:

I'm not worried about Batman. That's totally different. But everything else?

Chris Nolan's Dark Knight epic is a fundamentally different kind of film from The Avengers' blockbuster model. The Avengers (the summer blockbuster model in general) is like a rollercoaster: you're going to be moving fast. You're going to experience all sorts of twists and turns and, if it's good enough, you'll be left breathless.

But rollercoasters don't take you anywhere. You leave the same way you got on. And that's okay! Rollercoasters aren't supposed to take you anywhere. They're just about having a great time, and maybe surprising you little along the way. This is the summer blockbuster model. It's all about big action sequences, impossible scenarios, spectacle.

The Dark Knight saga on the other hand, is more like a road trip. You're going to go fast, sometimes. You'll definitely have some twists and turns, lots of unexpected adventure. But at the end of the trip, you've gone somewhere. You arrive at a very different place than you left. You're changed.

The best scenes in The Dark Knight? Not the huge explosions. Not the adventure. It was Joker in the room with all the mobsters. Batman and Joker in the interrogation room. Harvey and Joker in the hospital. The conversation Batman and Joker have after the huge, action-packed fight sequence.

The Avengers is a fundamentally different film. No matter how awesome the individual character moments are (and they are incredibly good), they can't compete with the knock-down, drag-out, no-holds-barred final battle for Manhattan.

In true, pure Summer Blockbuster form, The Avengers takes us on a wild rollercoaster and leaves us breathless and begging for more.

Green Lantern 2 won't be able to compete with that. Neither will The Wolverine. I'm not even sure Iron Man 3 or Thor 2 has a chance. How could they? If we're expecting spectacle, how could 1 hero (or even 2 or 3) compete with the sheer, unbridled amazingness of The Avengers? They can't.

Thanks to The Avengers, the age of the single-super-hero-spectacle film is over. Most super-hero films simply aren't going to have the budge or talent to create spectacle as huge as The Avengers achieved. Like all things, the genre is going to have to change or it's going to die.

Super-hero movies must become more character- and story-driven if they want to thrive in a post-Avengers world.

Studios would do well to take a page from Christopher Nolan's book. That doesn't mean making all the super-hero movies dark and angsty (I'm looking at you, Green Lantern and Amazing Spider-Man). It does mean that filmmakers take super-hero source material seriously.

There's a reason comics have been selling so well for so long: they're great stories. And you can't simply use a comic as the storyboards for your movie (unless you're Frank Miller, I suppose). But the long, rich comic history of these super-characters is fertile soil for an excellent story.

Batman Begins drew heavily on Batman: Year One by Frank Miller. The Dark Knight's iconic, immortal Joker is the film incarnation of Alan Moore's The Killing Joke, and the larger plot draws on Jeph Loeb's The Long Halloween. And The Dark Knight Rises is straight from the pages of the epic Knightfall storyline from the 90s.

Nolan combined all these excellent, foundational stories with his expertise in film to create pieces of art that will stand the test of time.

Future super-hero films would do well to emulate Nolan's tactics. If the new Spider-man series succeeds, it will be because it draws heavily on Brian-Michael Bendis' reimagining of Spider-man in Marvel's Ultimate universe. If the Green Lantern films have a chance of bouncing back from the first movie, it'll be because the movie-makers realize we don't want to see a whiny, insecure Hal Jordan. We like him because he's a cocky jerk. If any Superman film ever works, it'll be because someone figured out how to tell a story about ideals incarnate in an increasingly cynical world. And so on…

Super-heros are our modern myths. They're the stories we tell to help us understand ourselves. And that means there are still plenty of stories to be told. Stories that we need to be told.

The Avengers is what we've been waiting for. It's time for Hollywood to stop focusing on spectacle and start telling us good stories again instead.

Because if The Avengers proves anything, it's that spectacle isn't the enemy of a good story and strong characters (are you reading, Michael Bay?).

YOUR TURN: What did you think of The Avengers? What do you think is the future of super-hero movies?

The Nativity is the central story of our culture's biggest holiday. Does anyone dare mess with it?

Like Seth Grahame-Smith's previous books, Unholy Night works because he reimagines the story without straying from its essential themes.

Pride and Prejudice

Recasting the magi as bandits lets Seth cut right to the Nativity's truly gruesome heart.

Gaspar and Melchior couldn’t believe their eyes. They were criminals… They’d seen their share of murder and cruelty. God knew they had. But neither of them had ever seen anything like this. Neither of them had ever imagined it possible.

Though we've reduced it to a cute manger scene, the first Christmas story was a tale of the fall of Empires with the Advent of God's King.

Would you have me go and tell Augustus that he should fear a child who may or may not exist? That Rome should recall its mighty armies from Gaul and Germania and lay siege to the town of Bethlehem? Do you have any idea what a fool he would think me? The prophecy is clear, Your Highness. The Messiah shall topple all the kingdoms of the world. Even yours.

These bandit-magi are precisely the kinds of people Jesus came to. They are exactly the right sorts of Christmas guests.

Empathy is vital when the plot is as grand as the birth of the Son of God.

He knows that this is his fault… And he knows that somehow, some unseen power is punishing him for what he’s done with his own life. All of the unforgivable sins he’s committed. He knows that God hates him… What God could do this? Only a God who hates.

God is always working to bring about happy endings, no matter how rough the ride.

Nothing could surprise him anymore, nor could anything discourage his faith that no matter what storms there were ahead, God, or whatever you wanted to call it, would deliver them.

Bottom Line: No matter the time of year, Unholy Night is a Christmas story that tells the old, old story in a fresh, fun way, without compromising its revolutionary core.

YOUR TURN: What did you think of Unholy Night? Did you enjoy Seth's take on the Christmas story?

A culture's Monster Stories tell you a lot about that culture. What we fear, what we consider off-limits or taboo is a window into what we actually value.

So it's fascinating that the horror film genre is so predictable. Even after the first Scream told us the unspoken rules of horror films, few filmmakers have bothered trying to buck the genre conventions.

That's what makes The Cabin in the Woods so fascinating. It's a horror film about horror films, as this review and this review explain very well.

By dissecting our contemporary monster story formula, The Cabin in the Woods tells us five unfortunate truths about ourselves.

Director Joss Whedon uses standard horror film tropes to hold a mirror. If we're brave enough, we can see some interesting truths reflected back at us.

1. Hollywood is more interested in money than good stories.

Whedon fans who still miss Firefly can rage against the two suits who treat the film's ritual sacrifice as just another day at the office. They're just doing a job. There's no heart, no soul in anything they're doing.

We'd like to pretend that network and studio execs love a good story as much as we do, but it's just not true. At the end of the day, they're making stories to sell advertising. If the stories don't appease the fans, they don't get paid. Their livelihoods are in jeopardy.

But then… maybe we don't actually care that much for a good story:

2. We like shallow, one-dimensional characters.

The classic horror story plays out for the first two acts - the kids find the cabin. They proceed to settle in, go swimming in the lake (not quite skinny-dipping yet) and then start drinking and getting high.

The five friends settle easily into the predictable horror film tropes we're used to. There's the jock who is (of course) dating the slut. The slut has a not-as-pretty friend who's a virgin, while the jock has a nerdy friend who wears glasses. And then of course, they bring along their anti-establishment, pot-smoking conspiracy-theory spouting friend to be the comic relief.

We learn that the THEATER AUDIENCES old gods demand the MOVIE sacrifice include the deaths of these characters. That the people have to be subsumed into these roles.

But even as the film introduces these familiar roles, it critiques them. Shortly after their arrival to the Cabin, Marty (the pot-head/Fool) points out that none of them are themselves. Curt (the jock/Athlete) is playing the stereotypical meat-head, but he's actually a bright academic. Jules (the slut/Whore) isn't usually so promiscuous.  And multiple characters make it clear that Dana (the Virgin) isn't a virgin.

But all of these real, well-rounded, multi-layered people must be reduced to Roles for the sake of the PLOT ritual. The STUDIO EXECS guys running the ritual use a whole slew of chemicals and tricks to ensure that the kids play their parts. That rather than be themselves, they act out archetypes.

It's a clever, thinly-veiled critique of what the box-office numbers tell us about ourselves: We don't like well-rounded, well-developed characters in horror. Not to mention…

3. We like formulaic plots.

The sacrifice gets underway when the students "discover" the trap door. The cabin's basement is filled with a huge assortment of weird objects.

It turns out that any one of the objects in the basement will summon some horrific trope to murder the teens. The guys in the office make it clear that it doesn't matter which object they choose. In fact, the office even has a pool going (spoiler alert: the hillbilly zombies win!).

Get it? All horror movies are the same plot, just with different bad guys!

That's funny because it's true. We don't want to think in a horror film. We want a predictable plot peopled with tired tropes instead of real characters. Why? Because…

4. Horror films fill a vouyeristic need we have.

The Cabin in the Woods' most striking achievement is how thoroughly it skewers and subverts our expectations as the audience. Consider, for instance, the brilliant scene where Holden (the Scholar) learns his room connects to Dana's via 2-way mirror:

It's a classic horror film scene: the necessary nude scene before the killing begins. (The mirror is covered by a picture of slaughter… subtle, right?) The audience is Holden, watching women disrobe through the 2-way mirror of the cinema screen.

Holden proves himself to be more noble than we are: he looks away, alerts Dana to the room's secrets.

The Cabin in the Woods demonstrates repeatedly that how we consume horror films strays into voyeurism. We enjoy watching the sex and violence… as long as it's happening to those other people. Why? Because…

5. Our love of horror is a twisted need for a sense of justice.

By the time Cabin in the Woods reaches its third act, the film has crossed into full-blown commentary (somehow without compromising on plot and entertainment - it's one of the most satisfying conclusions I've seen in ages).

The two surviving tropes (Virgin and Fool) break into the film studio ritual facility and learn that they're characters in a horror film sacrificial victims. In order to make a ton of money prevent the end of the world, each of them has to die, except for the Virgin. It doesn't matter whether she lives or dies; the movie sacrifice is successful as long as she suffers. That's an important statement about why we watch horror films:

On some level we need to participate in punishment. Horror films let others suffer in our place.

The Cabin in the Woods' opening credits display human sacrificial rites from human cultures throughout history. Whedon portrays the vicarious violence of horror films as an extension of the human impulse to assuage our corporate and individual guilt through the suffering of others.

The film asks us to examine why we're sitting in the seats. Most of us saw the film without any clear idea that it was anything other than a horror film. So we didn't come to participate in the parody.

What does the enduring popularity of horror films (and, for that matter, all penal models of sacrificial atonement) say about us?

Like most every culture that's ever been around, we understand that our culture, our nature is flawed. That's the same old plot everyone knows, and we're all part of that story (whether we're jocks, sluts, nerds, fools or virgins). We crave justice, but we don't want it for ourselves. We like the idea of someone else suffering in our place. So we watch horror films.

That's got its own problems (more on that in another post). But still… not bad for a horror flick, right?

Bottom Line: In addition to being fun and scary, The Cabin in the Woods asks us to take a long look at WHY we consume horror films.

YOUR TURN: Did you see The Cabin in the Woods? Did you agree with its take on horror films? Why do YOU like horror?

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Jesus' Resurrection opened up the Tree of Life to us once more. But what's all that fruit FOR?

This is good!

'Kind' and 'Good' are used interchangeably throughout the Scriptures, and in both the Hebrew and Greek, they're often translated as Kind, Good, Abundant, Fruitful, Generous.

The reality is that being Kind and Good aren't exclusively Christian qualities. We all know people who don't follow Jesus who are still Kind, who are still helpful, basically Good people.

The answers to those questions has less to do with HOW we're Kind and Good and more to do with WHY we should be kind and good.

Join us Sunday as we discuss Kindness and Goodness!

Amanda makes it impossible not to love her.

In the five years I've known Amanda, I've never known anyone who didn't like her. Here's a case-in-point:

Back in February, Amanda and I visited our friends Faith and LaRue in Tucson, AZ. Faith and LaRue are Catholic, and they spend time most weeks volunteering at the Casa Maria Mission, which is run by a Catholic Worker named Brian.

The Catholic Workers are a lay organization within the Catholic Church that works with the poorest of the poor. They live among the poor and are always very politically active. I've yet to meet a Catholic Worker who's not a little bit crazy, but that comes from their passion and dedication to fighting a seemingly invincible system of poverty and injustice.

In any case, LaRue briefed us on Brian before we went to Casa Maria: Brian doesn't talk to anyone who volunteers for the first time. In fact, Brian doesn't really talk to volunteers until they've been showing up consistently for quite a long time - sometimes as much as a year.

It makes sense to me: here is a man on the frontlines of a war that often seems hopeless. He doesn't show up once a week. This is his life.

Why would we occasional volunteers expect to receive his attention? Frankly, he's got better things to do.

We spent the morning making sandwiches for the homeless Casa Maria serves and, true to form, we didn't even see Brian. No surprises there.

That afternoon, we attended a bilingual Bible study Casa Maria hosts. The group - about 15-20 of us - was mixed. Most of the group was bilingual, but several only spoke Spanish. I'm pretty sure I was the only person there who didn't know at least some Spanish.

Brian attended, and his main concern was clearly to be sure none of the Spanish-speakers were excluded. Any time someone made a comment in English that went untranslated, Brian demanded we pause and remedy that.

Of course, since Amanda speaks fluent Spanish, she quickly became one of the main interpreters.

After the Bible study, Brian came up to Amanda and - as LaRue and Faith assure me - in an unprecedented moment, spent a good five minutes in conversation with her. He was leaning in, excited to hear her story and as warm with her as he was with any of the members of Casa Maria.

Amanda's encounter with Brian confirmed what I'd already suspected: No one is immune to her charms.

The best part, of course, is that Amanda isn't aware that she's charming anyone. She doesn't actively try to convince anyone to like her, but everyone does anyway. She's one of the kindest, most outgoing persons I've ever met.

It goes without saying (but I'm saying it anyway) that I'm proud to be her husband.

I'm not an especially kind person. I tend to be blunt and especially when I'm working on projects, I am more project- than people-oriented.

Amanda reminds me that people always come first. That sometimes people just need to be heard more than they need a problem-solver. (This is why she's such a good bar tender at the Bridge Café!)

Since Amanda's not-so-secret superpower is being impossible not to love, I know I'm not the only person who appreciates something about her.

Since it's her birthday, it's a great excuse to let her know exactly what you love about her.

Head over to her Facebook page, or leave a comment right down there in the comments section.

On your mark. Get set… Go!

YOUR TURN: What's your favorite thing about Amanda?

Over the past several posts, I've explored the story of Suzanne Collins' first Hunger Games novel (and the excellent film adaptation). We've seen that while we identify with Katniss, we have much more in common with the Capitol. That our culture distracts us from injustice with pleasure and entertainment just like the Capitol does. That just like Rome and the Capitol, our culture seeks to control our bodies, to convince us to devalue our bodies. And last time, that Katniss and Jesus both use their bodies as the primary site of resistance against the Empire's evil actions.

So what do we take from Katniss' example in The Hunger Games? How do we imitate Jesus, resist Empire today, using our bodies?

In the New Testament, Worship is how Christians wage war on Empire, and the center of Christian worship is the Communion Meal.

Appropriately, the meal is an embodied act that regularly reinstructs us how we can resist the story our Empire tells us and live in the reality of God's story. Communion teaches us how to resist the Empire's claims on our bodies and souls.

Here's how:

1. Communion affirms that our bodies are essentially who we are.

Our culture would have us treat our bodies as commodities. Like any other product, we can use our bodies to make us happy, to fulfill ourselves. For many of us, that means acquiring the look we're told is best. Or changing our bodies via plastic surgery and other body modification. Treating our bodies and others' bodies as tools for our pleasure.

The Communion Meal, however, is just that: a meal. It reminds us that our bodies are an integral part of who we are. We can't live without food. Go very long without eating and we feel it. Our moods are affected. We get weak. Meals remind us that our bodies are who we are.

Communion is a fundamentally embodied act.

Katniss understood that our body matter, that by affirming their goodness, she resisted the Capitol. So too, when we pause to take communion, when we eat bread and drink wine (or juice), we affirm that our bodies are good. That the physical world - simple pieces of bread, a cup of wine - have profound spiritual implications. We need to remember that what we buy, how we work, how we interact with the world - all of these shape our souls.

2. Communion reminds us where our security comes from.

Terror is a powerful motivator. The easiest way to consolidate power is to give people a common enemy. Fear unites. So long as there's something, someone we need to be protected from, we need a protector. For the Capitol, it was the chaos of War (and hence the Games themselves). For Rome it was the barbarian hordes lurking at the fringes of the Empire.

For us it's terrorism, crime, immigrants. The Other party. Other religions. We believe what the Empire tells us about Them (because honestly - how many of THEM do we actually know ?)

We give our freedom to the Empire because we believe we need its protection.

Katniss understood that the Capitol's promises of security only benefited the few in power. That the rest, the Others were left to fend for themselves, to serve the Capitol's elite.

Katniss learned that the Other Districts weren't her enemies, that such division only served the Capitol. She recognized the fundamental injustice of a system that makes enemies out of Other humans.

So too, Communion reminds us that we were all once enemies of God. That while we were in rebellion, God died for us, to bring us back into God's Peace. Our safety, our security comes not from fighting to protect ourselves against the Other, but from embracing Them as friends. Welcoming them even as we are welcomed by God.

Communion is a fundamentally unifying act.

Communion reminds us that our story is Their story. That the same God who created us created Them. That the only Christian response to the Other is Love, because God makes enemies into friends. Communion teaches us not to be afraid of Them. And if we're not afraid, then we don't need protection. Especially if it comes at the expense of the Other. Our sense of safety and provision come from God, not the Empire's bread and circuses.

3. Communion quiets our fear of Death.

It's in the Empire's interest to keep us afraid. So long as we're afraid, we trust the Empire for protection. We blindly follow the Empire's lead. We'll uncritically support war. We'll willingly subject our bodies to invasive, exploitative scanning in the name of safety. We'll offer up our freedom in the name of safety, security and life.

The Empire promises to protect us from Death. Enforces its rule on pain of Death. But the power of Life and Death don't belong to any Empire.

The Capitol's only real weapon was the fear of Death. Once Katniss had embraced Death - on her own terms, no less - the Capitol had no power over her. Katniss stole the Capitol's power over life and death and so exposed their claims to power as a sham. Even her example became a threat to the Capitol, and she became the first person in 74 years to beat the Hunger Games.

So too, when we take Communion reminds us that no one took Jesus' life. He willingly gave it up for us. And his death became an invitation for us to follow him. To die with him. To share in the promise and power of his resurrection.

God raised Jesus from the dead. That's a sign for us that Death doesn't have the final word in our lives. Jesus' resurrection is how Paul can ask,

O Death, where is your sting?

Communion is a fundamentally death-defying act.

Every time we eat the Communion Meal, we remember that we have died and been buried with Jesus. That the Empire's threats have no power over us. We see the Empire's propaganda, their weapons of Terror for what they are: smoke and mirrors to control us.

4. Communion binds us to those we share the meal with.

The individual is the only sacred thing in our culture. We prize personal liberty above all else. But when everything and everyone - including my own body - is reduced to a product meant to satisfy my desires, we cut ourselves off from the very relationships meant to give us life.

Individualism only serves the Empire. We are most fully human when we are in community.

Katniss understood that fighting against the other tributes served only the Capitol's interests. As much as possible, she reached out to the others in the arena, befriending Rue, caring for Peeta. Katniss owed her life to the people around her - Cinna and Haymitch, Peeta, Rue and Thresh.

So too, we eat the Communion Meal together. In a community. To eat the meal is to share in remembering Jesus' death and waiting for his return with Others all over the world and all throughout time. To eat from Jesus' table is to draw from a deep well of people who've all been wrapped up in God's rescue mission.

The Communion Meal can't be eaten alone. It's a fundamentally communal act.

Every time we eat together, we remember that our bodies matter. Every time we eat together, we remember that our security is found in Jesus, not in our own power. Every time we eat together, we participate in Jesus' death so we have no need to fear our own. And every time we eat together, we deny the lie of individualism that poisons our common body.

Every Empire offers its citizens Bread and Circuses to distract us from the injustices Empires thrive on. Instead, let us come to Jesus. Remember what he offers us instead:

I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. -- John 6:35 (NRS)

YOUR TURN: How does the Communion Meal teach you to resist our cultural scripts?

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Jesus' Resurrection opened up the Tree of Life to us once more. But what's all that fruit FOR?

Peace. This is one of the fruit (and there are several) that the vast majority of us see and nod our heads knowingly. We understand this fruit. We would say Peace is when no one is fighting. No war, no conflict. Peace is a settled world. When we’re stressed out, we even call for "Peace and Quiet", right?

Peace in our day-to-day life? Most of us would agree… not likely.

Our vision, our understanding of Peace is too small. We settle for too little. We need a bigger vision.

Join us Sunday as we explore what a Peaceful life looks like!

Enter Tripp York's delightful, hilarious and thoughtful book The Devil Wears Nada. Tripp teaches Religious Studies, and once during a class debate, a student suggested that we could know for sure that God exists if we can prove Satan exists. Since, as Tripp notes, apologetics has failed to convince anyone who wasn't already convinced, he signs up for the quest.

Having grown up Nazarene, Tripp witnessed all manners of daily evils attributed to Satan. So he begins his quest at his roots, seeking out the Devil in traditionalist, Evangelical circles. Unfortunately, though many of the leaders he interviews frequently cited evidence of Satan working (including, memorably, a CD skipping during a Sunday morning music special), none of them actually point him to the Prince of Darkness. Tripp observes that

Using Satan as an explanation for everything you personally do not like is not only theologically problematic, it is also terribly dangerous. It opens the door to the rampant demonization of other people despite Christianity’s claim that all humans, regardless of creed, race, nationality, gender, or faith tradition (or, lack thereof), are created in the image of God.

What really makes the book work is Tripp's uncanny ability to mix humor with insight, reflection and theology.

He's reminiscent of A. J. Jacobs or Matt Mikalatos. While researching demonic possession, Tripp stumbles across the story of (in)famous exorcist Cindy Jacobs, who once had to cast a demon out of her cat. Because the cat was snarling, scratching and yowling. In one of his many clever asides, Tripp notes

This is not really a theological question, but I wonder if the author has been around many other cats.

After failing to find Satan among the Protestants, Tripp turns to the Scriptures. He problematizes our traditionally reductionist readings of Job and Genesis 3, pointing out that, in the Old Testament, Satan was an angel, an agent of God.

Tripp then moves to a couple of paradigmatic New Testament texts: Jesus and the Legion of demons (Mark 5) and Jesus' wilderness temptation. On Satan's claim to possess the nations, Tripp agrees, channeling John the Revelator and noting that

The empirical evidence behind our history of monarchies, empires, and nation-states is more than enough evidence to suggest that there is a real “beast” behind governmental authorities.

Having struck out in the Church, and not finding much guidance in the Scriptures as to where to locate a personal Satan in all the places Christians say he lives. Tripp visits a Unitarian and a Wiccan. His exchanges with them fail to unearth the Devil, but Tripp problematizes the beliefs and practices of both as deftly as he'd skewered the Evangelical pastors and leaders he'd interviewed.

Finally, Tripp tries out some actual Satanism, but realizes that he can't tell the Satanists from many Christians:

If [Christians] follow a person whose kingdom is not of this world, what are they doing propping up an empire that has more than eight hundred military bases stationed throughout the globe? You simply cannot get any more “worldly” than that… [America] is the epitome of “pride, strength, and force.” When Cavendish claims that Satanists admire these cardinal virtues of nationalism, I just have to wonder how American Christians differ on the subject.

Having failed to find Satan anywhere else, Tripp elects to throw the remnants of his caution to the wind and sell his soul to the Devil.

But a backwoods crossroad at midnight, several Satanic texts, cards, dice and Jack Daniels elicit nary a pitchfork or bifurcated red tail. Not that Tripp was expecting any success:

I do not, and I think I can honestly say this and remain thoroughly orthodox, believe in the existence of the soul—at least not in the sense of it eternally existing, being housed by my flesh, and returning to some heavenly realm after I die. If I have such an eternal soul, and such an account is far more pagan than Christian, then the Devil can have it.

If the book has a flaw, it might lie right there: though Devil Wears Nada is packaged as a memoire, Tripp writes with the air of a person who already knew all the answers before he started. While it's delightful and hilarious to watch him play - ahem - Devil's Advocate to every person both Christian and non- he interviews, there's no sense of discovery.

Not that Tripp is being dishonest. He knows the questions he asks are serious. His problem isn't that he disagrees with those he questions; it's that their positions don't stand up to questions.

What's troubling is not Tripp's search, but how little those he interviewed have thought through the positions they hold.

At every turn, Tripp's honest (and entertaining) questions poke holes in the traditional and popular conceptions of Satan. In the end, Tripp comes round to affirm the orthodox position of Satan as non-Person:

The very concept of “person” requires some sort of relation that is recognizable in each creature of God as one of God’s creatures… Within such a linguistic framework, Satan could only ever be an “un-person,” because with the radical decision against God comes the disintegration of personhood.

Tripp ends reflecting on how easily Christians apply not only Satan, but God too to our everyday circumstances. Whether it's a pro-athlete catching a football or hurricanes striking cities, Christians are quick to assign cosmic responsibility for every little thing. In fact, little of what Christians believe about Satan is actually consistent with a biblical worldview. Coming full-circle to the picture of the Devil he was raised with, Tripp observes that

I fear that any understanding of God and Satan locked in battle over minutiae creates the kind of dualism that is at odds with the Christian canon. It tempts us not only to fall into the realm of superstition, but also into heterodoxy.

Tripp's quest for Satan finally leads him to conclude that we all might do well getting to know God better. And who can argue with that?

Bottom Line: An outstanding read that's at once hilarious, challenging and deeply insightful. Tripp takes on the Devil, and we all reap the refreshing benefits.

YOUR TURN: Where does the Devil fit in your theology? How do you understand the nature of Evil?

In my last post, I argued that The Hunger Games creates a reality in which the Empire - the Capitol of Panem - exerts its power mainly by controlling the bodies of its citizens. Throughout the story, Katniss learns to use her own body to resist the Capitol.

The Hunger Games works as a story because its dystopian world is such a thinly-veiled picture of our own. The Capitol carries on much as any Empire ever has, especially with regards to how it treats bodies. And as Katniss demonstrates, our bodies provide the best means of resisting Empire.

Christians have long know this, since Jesus used his own body to resist the Roman Empire. Katniss' embodied rebellion is an echo of Jesus' defeat of Death.

Learning how Katniss and Jesus resisted Empire with their bodies shows us how to resist Empire today - with our bodies.

Rome was an empire as evil as the Capitol. The Hunger Games themselves explicitly echo Rome's great Coliseum, and Panem is Latin for 'bread'. And like all empires, Rome controlled its citizens by controlling their bodies.

The most graphic, overt display of Roman power over the body was crucifixion. To display Rome's utter control over, well… everything, Rome dealt exceedingly harshly with those who rebelled against Rome's rule.

It wasn't enough for Rome to kill a traitor. The rebel's death had to be an example of what happened to anyone who crossed Rome.

Enter Rome's version of the Hunger Games: crucifixion. The rebel is first stripped naked, exposing his body to everyone. No one has any secrets from Rome. Next he's tortured - beaten and mocked. Then he's paraded through his town, paraded among those in whom he'd been hoping to spark rebellion. And finally, he's hung on a cross, his crime written above his head, and left to die slowly and agonizingly.

Especially if this was attached to a military victory, Rome called these public displays of military might "Triumphs".

The message of these elaborate public spectacles was clear: Behold Rome's awesome power. We have utter control over every aspect of your reality. We rule you utterly. We have power even over life and death.

These are the claims every Empire makes. Rome made them. We make them today. And so the Capitol, as Collins' Every-Empire makes them as well. But the Empires lie. They don't actually have power over life and death. In fact, those claims are nothing short of idolatry.

Only God has power over life and death. Jesus shows us how to resist the Empires' false claims with our bodies.

Jesus was arrested as a rebel, an insurrectionist. When he stood before Pilate, the Roman governor, Pilate was shocked that Jesus didn't acknowledge his authority. He asks:

Don't you realize that I have the power to release you or crucify you?

When Rome crucified Jesus, they thought they were making a spectacle out of a rebel. They thought they were holding a triumph in Jerusalem, rubbing Jerusalem's collective nose in Rome's power.

Jesus' crime was that he aspired to be "King of the Jews", as the sign on his cross read. Rome thought they were sending a message to the always-uneasy population of Jerusalem:

Behold your king. Here's what happens when you try to rebel against us. We have absolute power over you. You have no hope of resisting us.

But Jesus knows the truth: that his life wasn't taken from him. Jesus gave his life, his body to Rome:

You would have no power over me at all unless it were given to you from above. -- John 19:10-11 (NLT)

Pilate - the embodiment of the Empire - has no true power. Pilate thinks that his Empire's power is absolute, but in reality, no one is taking Jesus' life. As he says in John 10, Jesus chooses to give up his life.

Why? Because Jesus is turning the Empire on its head. Jesus is defeating Death with Death.

Jesus' crucifixion made a mockery out of Rome's claims to control Jesus' body.

[Jesus] disarmed the rulers and authorities and made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them. -- Colossians 2:15

What Rome thought they were doing to Jesus - making a public spectacle of this wanna-be ruler, parading him in their Triumph, Jesus did to them.

The Empire's power is fear: fear of death. Fear that life stops at the grave. As long as the Empire has the power of Death, as long as we live in fear that they can stop our bodies, we'll submit to them. We'll follow them. Because we think nothing is worse than death. That's how the Capitol uses the Hunger Games. It's how Rome used the Cross. It's how our own media uses crime and war and terror and car accidents.

When we're afraid to die, we'll follow anyone we think has power over our lives.

That's why Jesus gave his body to Rome: to make a spectacle out of them. His Triumph over them made a mockery out of all their claims to power. He showed how foolish any ruler is who claims to have the power of life and death. No one has that power but God.

It's also why Katniss' rebellion worked so well: she showed the Capitol that there are some things more important than physical life. That living in the shadow of fear isn't really life at all. That Love really does conquer all. Katniss stripped the Empire of its most powerful weapon: our fear of Death.

Anyone who wants to resist Empire must do so here: in the places where the Empire makes claims to our bodies, to the power of Life and Death.

What does that look like in our contemporary setting? How does the American Empire make claims on our bodies? And how do we resist those claims? I'll address that next week, but for now, what do you think?