On September 15, 2018 By Kuyperian In Culture, Film Like

We Don’t Need Another Type of Hero, II

Why We Should Jettison the “Strong Female Character,” Part II

The Rise of the Action Heroine

Click HERE for part 1 of this series.

Partly as a result of this everywoman heroine trend, partly in order to be more inclusive in traditionally male dominated genres, partly in order to push back against stereotypes, partly in order to legitimate eye candy for male audiences, partly in response to powerful lobby groups behind the scenes, and perhaps mostly in order to increase sales, the last couple of decades have seen a meteoric rise in the number of action heroines—Xena, Buffy Summers, Trinity, Sydney Bristow, River Tam, Lara Croft, Kara Thrace, Katniss Everdeen, Michonne, Black Widow, Daisy Johnson, Peggy Carter, Imperator Furiosa, Jessica Jones, Rey, etc., etc. Women, we are assured, can fight just like men. These characters are highly confident characters who routinely outclass men in combat, despite their typically short, thin, and conventionally attractive frames (Brienne of Tarth is a marked exception here, who approaches somewhat closer to realism). Even the modern princess can be a martial artist who can prove her strength and equality to men through violence, whether physical or magical.

There is no shortage of well-rounded characters within this category, although others are lazy ‘Mary Sue’ tropes. What is perhaps most noteworthy about most of them is how much their supposed ‘strength’ and independence and their narrative importance often depends upon their capacity to match up to men in combat, requires the foil of male incompetence, villainy, and weakness, or involves the exhibition of traits and behaviors that are far more pronounced in men. Cathartic though it may be for many women to see such female characters demonstrating their equality of agency and personhood on their screens, the ways in which they typically have to do this reveal deep problems with prevailing egalitarian visions of female identity and of relations between the sexes. (more…)

On September 8, 2018 By Kuyperian In Film Like

We Don’t Need Another Type of Hero, I

Why We Should Jettison the “Strong Female Character”: Part 1

A guest post by Alastair Roberts

The trailer for the latest Star Wars movie, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, was released (at the end of April 2018). Following the success of the revival of the franchise in last year’s Star Wars: The Force Awakens, anticipation is unsurprisingly at a fever pitch. As in the case of The Force Awakens, much of the pre-release speculation and comment has been preoccupied with the question of the representation of women and minorities within it. Despite concerns about a male-heavy cast early in the film’s development, the character of Rey in The Force Awakens met with a rapturous reception when it hit the cinemas. Along with the characters of Finn and Poe Dameron, many believe that her character marks a decisive movement towards a more egalitarian and inclusive vision of Star Wars, one no longer so dominated by white male protagonists.

Jyn Erso, the heroine of Rogue One, promises more of the same. Aggressive, rebellious, reckless, and gifted in combat, she seems to be another stereotype-breaking character, destined to be welcomed as a feminist-approved role model for young girls and a welcome lesson for young Star Wars-obsessed boys about the power of women and their rightful place and prominence in a world they once considered theirs. The scattered grumblings among unreconstructed fanboys have been met with derision and dismissive pooh-poohing. The only minor disappointment is that she is not a woman of color, but people are increasingly confident that the franchise will get around to rectifying that failure of representation, much as J.J. Abrams has said that there will be openly LGBTQ characters in future installments.

Popular culture is the focus of some of the most determined attempts to shift attitudes on a host of issues within society at large, and such forms of representation are an important dimension of this. While popular media and the various ‘messages’ within it may often appear innocuous, they are frequently anything but. Behind them lie concerted efforts to change the public’s thinking and perception on key matters and some carefully calculated agendas. (more…)

On August 25, 2018 By Kuyperian In Art, Books, Culture, Scribblings Like

The Stone Upon the Well

A short story by Remy Wilkins

Sunday morning found me kneeling at the foot of my bed, trembling, pebbles of sweat leaping off the edge of my brow and nose, and hitting the floor in front of me, but not from piety was I procumbent; though as a minister for over a decade, I had made threadbare the knees of my pants from petitionings. No, I was crouched and quivering, begging in half-measures, because of a shooting pain in my side, caused by kidney stones. Doc Thomas said my trouble breathing was purely in my head, but he had given me ample painkillers to make it through the weekend. The new church building was being dedicated today and he’d midwife my suffering on Monday.

I swallowed my medication. The pill a seed from which, I pray, nothing will grow. I dressed and walked across the expanse of grass, spendthrifting the morning glories, to stand beneath the shade of the pecan tree. The white of the slat wood chapel bounced the brightness of dawn to high heaven and the heat was rising, so I staggered back to my study in the little manse across the field.

My study was inviolable, a sanctuary, and only one person was allowed to ascend the mount to meet with me. My father-in-law, my ex-father-in-law, practically my father, an elder, the elder, my only elder in the church, Doc Thomas would knock on the door fifteen minutes before the service and we would pray together; for the church, for the city, for the sick by name, for the lost by the inward groaning of the spirit, for all the burdens of his heart and mine that we dare mention aloud.

After the loss of our building fund, he came through, funded the rest of it from his own pocket. Having given so much, I was ashamed to take more, prodigal of his gifts, but he felt the betrayal in our marriage more intently than I did, for I knew my faults and knew what I deserved far better than he. She left me and I could hardly blame her. She had so much to give and I was fearful of how much I wanted. I took too little, too little notice, too little care, belittling and of little faith.

There was a soft knock and Thomas entered. I was crouched over in my chair, sweat crowning my forehead. “Good morning, Doc,” I said softly. He thought I was weeping.

He was silent as he took a seat at my side, his hand resting on my shoulder, and then prayed. I had not realized until then that it was the anniversary of her leaving. Doc Thomas was aware and his words invoked an unspoken sorrow, a burden I had not been aware of until now. I remembered the last time I saw her.

When I found them I was too stunned to talk. Joe stood up, as guilty as Adam and as nude, and told me he was invited. My wife was too shocked to speak. Joe wrapped himself in a linen sheet and left. I followed him, wanting to ask a question, but all I could think to ask was how soon would the roof would be finished.

I stood at the front door and watched him walk across the field. I could think of only one thing to say, so finally I called, “That’s mine!”

He thought I was talking about his makeshift loincloth and he paused. Then he let fall the linen sheet and ran away naked. His truck was parked at the far end of the construction site, and as the great vehicle revved and wheeled about, my wife pushed past me with a suitcase and an abrupt goodbye. He waited for her and then they were gone. Over the next several weeks, I let the rain ruin the unshingled roof. The tarps were windtorn and rot set in. Plywood had to be replaced and a new crew had to be found to shingle it. And then the money was gone.

I could’ve tracked down Joe and gotten the rest of it back, but forgiveness is more needful than money and I owed my wife a great debt in that department. But I couldn’t bring myself to speak to her.

I amen’d at the end of Thomas’s prayer. We shook hands, then we hugged, and he said something about it being a happy day for the church. We walked over and I was feeling better. The stitch in my side and the thunder and lightning of pain was gone.

The congregation was gathering on the grass. I offered a prayer, a ribbon was snipped, and we trickled inside to the cool of the sanctuary. Pews were selected. A row of children jumped in place until they got their chance to pull the bell’s fat rope. Every soul got its ring. Miss Mattie could not play the piano loud enough, our voices outdid her hands for once. She was glad to be back at the upright, hammering away like a smith at his anvil.

I read the text and prayed to the Spirit for illumination. The passage was the woman at the well. She’d had five husbands when Jesus found her there.

When I looked up, I saw her. Maggie still talked to her father once a week. She knew what today was. She’d think I did it on purpose, dedicate a church on the anniversary of the dissolution of my marriage. I was of a mind to believe it myself. I’m that sort of fool. Married to the church, she’d say with vinegar under her tongue. She knew I measured poorly as a bridegroom. She’d slipped in for the sermon and stood in the back.

And Jesus said, “And the one you are with is not your husband.” Jesus said it, but I could not. I felt her eyes on me. The woman at the well switched topics to the question of where to worship and I did the same.

“‘Our fathers worshipped on this mount, but ye say in Jerusalem,’ the woman said.” I told them how Christ replied, and I told them about mountains, and about the faith that could move mountains.

“Every valley shall be exalted,” I said. “And every mountain laid low, saith the prophet Isaiah. Jesus quotes this too and I’ve always found it a curious thing.”

I was off script and wandering in the wilderness of the Word of the Lord. “We hear about the faith that can casts mountains into the sea and we think that means faith can be strong. And maybe that’s true.”

I felt a gonging in my stomach. The pain returning. And I felt bad, nobody likes to hear about a faith that might not be strong, but I pressed on. “Why would mountains need to be moved? Or really, the question is what are mountains for and why would we not need them in the new covenant?”

Maggie started to walk to the exit and pain whited out my sight. I clung to the pulpit to steady myself. “We have to understand, in the old covenant, mountains were meeting places, ladders to heaven. You could think of mountains as full sized altars.”

I was losing my breath. All other faces grew cloudy, a cloud of witnesses.

“The reason why mountains will be laid low or cast into the sea is because,” I nodded at Miss Mattie so she could get to the piano. She liked to play through the final prayer, which would have to come soon. I gripped my side. “Now, we no longer need to ascend the mountain to meet with the Lord. Where two or three are gathered together in his name—”

A man entered, I couldn’t see who, and he whispered something into the ear of someone in the back row. I tried to continue, but there was a ripple of talk and Doc Thomas stood, raising his hand. I ceded the service to him.

Doc had a voice I envied. A tremulous tone with a lilt that could break anger like a dry twig. “Brothers and sisters,” he said and all heads rotated his direction. “The house across the street, the Peterson house, is on fire.”

The commotion was instant. A pastor has never seen such a response to his own words. Every man stood and rushed out the door, the children followed with their mothers in tow.

I slowly made my way to the door, a hand to every pew, and looked across the street as the flames broke through the roof of the Peterson’s. The fire formed a steeple and a siren sounded far off. The Petersons weren’t members and weren’t home. I tried to pray, but the roar of pain inside me swallowed it. I think I saw my wife, my ex-wife, my sister-in-law and once bride, she hugged her father. He knelt before her and clung to her waist, laying his head against her stomach.

The engine arrived and two men jumped out, one of them slung some extra gear at the foot of Paul Milligan, our deacon, who was a volunteer. He had already stripped off his tie and shoes and went about frantically stuffing himself into the flame retardant pants, boots, and jacket.

The hose was hooked up to the hydrant at the corner and water was shot into the fire. A long black pillar rose into the sky. Another couple of volunteers showed up later, but the fire was too far gone. They only sought to control the burn and save the houses on either side.

The Petersons came back and their son sobbed while the mother and father took turns swearing into the cell-phones or under their breath. The crowd had thinned out and as the fire worked its way to the ground, the sun did the same.

In the dark, I had only made it to the pecan tree before I was stricken with a pain too great to move. Leaning against its the scaley bark, I could feel a ring where a sap-sucker had drilled holes. I labored to breathe.

Heat rose up in me and I unbuttoned my shirt. I’d not worn an undershirt and smelled. My cell buzzed in my pants pocket. I fished it out, hunching and resting my head against the tree. “Hello?”

“Mark,” she said and my face screwed up in sadness.

“Forgive me,” I stuttered.

“Was that sermon for me?”

“No,” I gasped. I felt a pressure in my bladder. I grit my teeth and cinched tight my eyes. “It was the doing of the lectionary. I would’ve avoided it if I could.”

I heard her breath crackle in the receiver. I couldn’t tell if it was scoff or sigh. If a scoff, it echoed the scoffing of my heart. If a sigh, it was the breath of my own soul.

“I’m staying at dad’s.” She said softly. “For now.”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. “The sermon—”

“Yes.”

“You never finished. What were you about to say?”

I wanted to scream: “I am the woman at the well, I am the unfaithful bride, I am the faithless husbands.” I felt nauseated and I badly needed to urinate. “I am the mountain that must be cast into the sea.” But I did not say this. I was too weak.

“What was I saying? I don’t remember.”

“Where two or three are gathered…”

“Yes, yes,” I said and the conclusion to my sermon came to me unbidden and full. “But then we shall see face to face.”

I nearly cried out in pain as some dagger of starlight danced upon my kidney. I felt severed. She thanked me, said goodnight, and hung up, instinctively closing with “I love you,” like children ending prayers with “Jesus name amen.” A thoughtless utterance that held all truth and anchored us to the world.

I could no longer wait and fumbled at my belt and let my trousers fall. In the dark, in the dark of the tree, on the tree, I passed the stone. I left a curse on my tongue and let a blessing well up inside me and flow free.

Remy Wilkins teaches at Geneva Academy in Monroe, Louisiana and the author of two middle grade novels, Strays (Canon Press, 2017) and Hush-Hush (forthcoming).

This post appeared originally at Theopolis blog and is reposted here by permission

On August 18, 2018 By Kuyperian In Books, Culture, Family and Children, Interviews, Men, Podcast, Politics, Scribblings Like

The Importance of Earnest Being

A guest post by G. Shane Morris

The digital ink spilled over Canadian clinical psychologist and author Jordan Peterson by now could fill a metaphorical ocean, but I want to venture what I think may be an unexplored cause of his popularity: his lack of guile or pretense.

Anyone who has spent any time in comment box debates or hasn’t been living in an undersea cave since the 2016 presidential election knows the tone of news commentary, opinion writing, and even journalism has taken a nasty turn. Of course, if you had asked someone following the 2012 election whether the partisan rancor in America could get any worse, he might have shrugged and said, “I don’t see how.” That person is probably hiding in a dark place right now, embarrassed by his lack of imagination.

Image result for jordan peterson beard

It’s not enough to disagree with someone, anymore. If a person favors a different policy, has come to a different quotient after dividing the benefits of his or her political party by its drawbacks, or even fails to subscribe to an ascendant gender theory of more recent provenance than my five-year-old daughter, such a person is not merely wrong. He or she is too stupid to be classified as a vertebrate (in which case we mock), or else irredeemably wicked (in which case we call him or her a Nazi or a Cultural Marxist). These mutually exclusive attacks are alternated from day to day, often against the same people.

But what if not just merely wrong, but pitiably wrong–even deceived–were still serviceable categories? What if instead of automatically sorting ourselves into warring ideological or partisan factions hurling insults and abuse at one another, we called a ceasefire, met on neutral ground, and admitted, “Hey, I am just playing the part I thought I was supposed to play, but I don’t really think you are a venomous arthropod. Let’s calm down and figure this out.”?

That’s where Jordan Peterson seems to be coming from. (more…)

On June 16, 2018 By Kuyperian In Politics Like

Paedobaptism as Historical Practice

Guest post by Dr. Timothy LeCroy, lead pastor of Christ Our King Presbyterian Church of Columbia, MO, and Visiting Assistant Professor of Historical Theology at Covenant Theologicial Seminary. This post appeared originally at Theopolis blog and is reposted by permission.

Infant Baptism in the History of the Church

Ancient practice in the Church sets an important precedent for present day practice. This certainly doesn’t mean that Christians are bound to only do things as they have always been done, but the principles of catholicity and unity move us not to break from historic church practice on a particular item unless there is a strong biblical rationale. Where there is not a strong biblical rationale, or, strong cases could be made on either side, the precedent of church tradition should play a factor in making the decision. Such is the case with infant baptism. Credo-baptists and paedo-baptists both present biblical arguments that either side is fully convinced of. Thus, church tradition is often brought into the discussion to lend weight to the support of one side or another.So what does church tradition have to say on the issue of infant baptism? What was the historic practice of the church from the earliest days?

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On May 19, 2018 By Kuyperian In Scribblings, Theology, Wisdom, Worship Like

The Impracticality of Application

Guest post by Remy Wilkins
Remy is a teacher at Geneva Academy.
His first novel Strays is available from Canon Press

I have never heard anyone say that the Bible is impractical, but I have heard people, after an in depth exegesis of a passage, ask for the practical application. Offer a class on childrearing, marriage, finance and the church members flock to it; offer a course on Leviticus, the visions of Elijah, the importance of the periphrastic participle in the writings of St. John, and you get the weird guy and the retired couple. The church tacitly views great swaths of Scripture as tertial; what good does knowing the furniture of the temple have when the children are screaming, dinner needs fixing, and the job runneth overtime? Getting out in the tall grass of the Bible is fine if you’ve got the time, but who has the time? We need our Biblical tips and techniques in easy and digestible portions. At the heart of this complaint is the idea that the Word of God isn’t clear and that it requires esoteric skills and the free time of an eremitic monk in order to understand.

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On May 12, 2018 By Kuyperian In Family and Children, Pro-Life Like

Parents: Honor Life Ended

Naomi is a mother and photographer in Martinsburg, West Virginia, where she and her husband are church planters and founding members of Trinity Reformed Church (CREC).

“But now Christ is risen from the dead, and has become the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since by man came death, by Man also came the resurrection of the dead.For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ all shall be made alive. But each one in his own order: Christ the firstfruits, afterward those who are Christ’s at His coming. Then comes the end, when He delivers the kingdom to God the Father, when He puts an end to all rule and all authority and power. For He must reign till He has put all enemies under His feet. The last enemy that will be destroyed is death.” (1 Corinthians 15:20-26)

Our Bridegroom is a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief. His creation is, after all, tainted throughout by the great grief-giver: death.

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On April 28, 2018 By Kuyperian In Culture, Family and Children, Worship Like

God Is (Not Reckless) Love

Guest post by Rev Sam Murrell of Oak Harbor, Washington

Sam is the pastor of Grace by the Sea Anglican Church. He holds a Bachelors in Music from Covenant College and an MDiv from Covenant Seminary. He is currently a Biblical Worldview Teacher at Little Rock Christian Academy. He and his wife Susan have eleven children and twenty-one grandchildren.

Cory Asbury’s hot new Contemporary Christian Music (CCM) anthem Reckless Love, co-written with Caleb Culver and Ran Jackson, has taken the evangelical church by storm since its release in October of 2017. It may well join the ranks of the most popular CCM songs of all time along such titles as MercyMe‘s I can Only Image (1999), Oceans (Where My Feet May Fail), which appeared from the Australian worship group Hillsong United in 2013, and more recently Chris Tomlin‘s cloying Good Good Father(2013). Both young and old professors of Christ are raising their hands in ecstasy as they sing of the “reckless love” their God has for them. But should the response to this song be one of jubilant enthusiasm? Is this song worthy appropriate of corporate worship?

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On April 14, 2018 By Kuyperian In Books, Culture Like

Gaining Death: A Review of ‘Paul, Apostle of Christ’

We in the West must constantly seek out reminders of what real hardship looks like. Last week I was given a screener for “Paul, Apostle of Christ,” starring Jim Caviezel, who played Jesus in “The Passion of the Christ,” as well as James Faulkner from “Downton Abbey.” This biblical movie was just such a reminder, not only of what it’s like to endure persecution for the name of Christ, but of the fact that the Apostles and early Christians were real people who didn’t know they would become living legends–or even that anyone would remember their stories. (more…)

On April 7, 2018 By Kuyperian In Theology 1

The Olive and the Almond

Guest post by Jacob W Gucker

The secret to a God-pleasing life is to become an almond by being an olive. That sounds cryptic and strange, but Christians possess a treasury of strange sayings. We are the ones who talk about being “born again” and “on fire for God,” after all. The special relationship between the olive and the almond tree illustrates one of the Bible’s most important lessons. It is a lesson that Jesus Himself had to exemplify with a faithful life and a sacrificial death. The olive tree and the almond tree are biblical images that show the pattern of humility and exaltation that runs throughout the Bible.

Olives are an important product of the Mediterranean world. People in the ancient near east used olive oil in lamps to give light. The harvesting process involves beating the trees with rods until the fruit is shaken down. Moses instructed Israel not to beat their olive trees twice so that the poor and sojourner among them could have their own harvest (Deut. 24:20). The olives fell to the ground and the people would pick them up and gather them into bundles. The purest olive oil could be obtained by crushing the olives in a bowl with a mortar. This is the “beaten olive oil” used for lighting the lamp in the tabernacle and temple.

Almond trees are the first to blossom in the winter months and are known for their beauty. The Hebrew word for almond is a noun form of the verb “to watch.” Almonds are “watchers.” In Israel’s Temple, the Menorah was shaped like an almond tree. The flames of the lamp are eyes that watch. God is the ultimate “watcher,” but angels are also called “watchers” as we see in Jeremiah and Daniel.

“And the word of the LORD came to me, saying, “Jeremiah, what do you see?” And I said, “I see an almond branch.” Then the LORD said to me, “You have seen well, for I am watching over my word to perform it.” – Jeremiah 1:11–12.

“I saw in the visions of my head as I lay in bed, and behold, a watcher, a holy one, came down from heaven.” Daniel 4:13

Speaking in Daniel 4:13 is King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon. He had a vision in which an angel came down from heaven and showed him a great tree that served as a place of shade and food for many animals. The tree is cut down to a stump and bound with iron bands. He learned that the tree was him, and God humbled him to make him like a beast of the field for seven periods of time. The lesson that Nebuchadnezzar was to learn came in the form of a judgement by “the watchers.”

“The sentence is by the decree of the watchers, the decision by the word of the holy ones, to the end that the living may know that the Most High rules the kingdom of men and gives it to whom he will and sets over it the lowliest of men.” Daniel 4:17

Nebuchadnezzar gets his reason back and is once against exalted to his kingdom, only this time he gives all glory to the God of heaven, saying:

“Now I, Nebuchadnezzar, praise and extol and honor the King of heaven, for all his works are right and his ways are just; and those who walk in pride he is able to humble.”

The prophet Zechariah saw a vision of a menorah that defies logic and has been hard for commentators to describe (Zech. 4). Flanking the menorah are two olive trees. Olive oil flows from the two olive trees to the menorah. The two olive trees are Zerubabel and Joshua, high priest and ruling governor of Israel. Their oil flows to the lamp so that the seven “eyes of the Lord, which range through the whole earth” can see all the land. This symbolizes God’s omnipresence and omniscience in Israel through His two human witnesses or regents. The oil of the earthly priest and King becomes the rule of heaven. They become “watchers.”

Jesus is the ultimate priest and king of Israel, but His exaltation began with humiliation. Gethsemane means, “wine press of oils.” The garden where Jesus prayed on the night of His betrayal and where He went into great tribulation and suffering was at the mount of olives and was named for an olive press.

The way to true glory is through humility and exaltation by God. This is the relationship between the olive tree and the lamp stand. The olive tree is beaten with rods and its olives are shaken down to the ground. Then, they are harvested and crushed for their oil. The oil is used to light the lamp designed to look like an almond tree that represents the eyes of God. The olive is crushed, but its oil is exalted to become glorious light.

Jesus, though He was God, took the form of a servant olive. He was beaten down from the tree and harvested. He went to Gethsemane and then on to crucifixion. He was crushed on the cross for the forgiveness of our sins, but He rose again to ascend and burn bright in the heavens like the eyes of the almond tree menorah. Jesus Christ is Lord!

Those who follow Him into the olive press will also follow Him in His exaltation. This is what happens to the two witnesses in Revelation 11. They are olive trees and lamp stands who die and ascend to heaven. Those who are crucified with Christ will rise again, their enemies looking on as they become greater in Christ than the angels for:

“After making purification for sins, He sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.” – Hebrews 1:3–4.