Forgiveness in strange places

Good fiction often takes us into worlds completely foreign to us and makes them familiar. It even creates characters we may on first sight think we have nothing in common with and makes them feel human, sympathetic.

 

Hanna Pylväinen’s debut novel is one such work. The subject of We Sinners is a family, two parents and nine children. The Rovaniemis belong to a conservative church—a Lutheran revival movement called Laestadianism—in modern-day Michigan. The church forbids dancing, drinking, TV and other common practices in our culture. But its central belief, repeated several times in the novel, is that believers are forgiven in Jesus’ blood when they repent.

Pylväinen tells the story from the point of view of the various members of the family. We witness the struggle of each person with other family members and with their faith. Some hold onto the faith; others reject it; some fall somewhere in between.

Pylväinen uses telling details to show these struggles. For example, Warren, the father, reflects on the family’s constant struggle with poverty: “It was daily things, it was money, it was when he stopped at a gas station and the kids all chanted, ‘Get a treat, get a treat,’ and when he came out with chips they grabbed for them like starving people.”

Tiina, the second oldest child, is the first in the family to leave the faith, yet “she felt no thrills of liberation.” Her becoming an unbeliever is like a conversion, yet she can’t quite fill the emptiness. After she cheats on her boyfriend, she feels “she was no good in both the church’s world and in the world she had chosen.” For her, “it wasn’t about the sinning at all, it was what you did about the sinning, and she had no means of forgiveness about her.”

In spite of how oppressive the church feels to many of the children, it’s difficult to leave it behind. When Julia, the fourth youngest, who has left, returns for a visit, she sleeps in a bed with her younger sister and experiences “the old childhood security of many people asleep in one place, the uncomplicated comfort of someone in her bed who was not her lover.”

Not everyone leaves. Brita, the oldest, marries a man in the church and has numerous children (four and counting). Nels, the oldest boy, goes to college and takes up drinking and going to parties in pursuit of Bernie, a girl outside the faith. But no matter how often he breaks the rules, forgiveness is available at church, and eventually he marries a girl in the church and settles down.

Pylväinen uses irony in this interplay of belief and unbelief. Nels’ roommate, Clayton, is his conscience as Nels breaks the rules. But later, Clayton takes up drinking and ends up with Bernie.

Uppu, the youngest, befriends a new student, Jonas Chan, a shy Asian-American, at her high school. Jonas goes to her church out of courtesy and discovers a faith different from the one his parents had left. “Unlike his family’s old church, no one said they loved Jesus, no one was overemotional, and God was less a personal friend than someone spoken of quietly, as if in fear of disturbing Him.” As Jonas becomes more and more interested in the church and then becomes a believer, Uppu can’t stand it and leaves.

The final chapter goes back to 1847, to Finland, where we encounter Laestadius, the founder of the church. What became in many ways a group that imprisons people in its conservative, sometimes harsh ways began as a revival that liberated people from some harsh cultural practices that were particularly oppressive to women.

In We Sinners, Pylväinen deftly explores this dance between between oppression and liberation, between belief and unbelief, and shows the gray areas. These are not polarities but gradations of human experience. We all move in and out of various communities and belief systems, searching for love and acceptance. Often we search for forgiveness. This novel shows that sometimes it’s found in strange places.

When the powers drag their feet

In Kansas, where I live, we have experienced a second consecutive summer of extreme heat and drought. We are not alone. People I talk to keep hoping this is an anomaly, a simple weather pattern that will change and bring cooler, wetter weather next summer.

Would that it were true. But the overwhelming evidence from climate scientists around the world is that climate change is happening. And “an increasing body of science points to rising dangers from the ongoing buildup of human-related greenhouse gases—produced mainly by the burning of fossil fuels and forests,” according to a report in the New York Times.

Furthermore, “global emissions of carbon dioxide jumped by the largest amount on record in 2010” (5.9 percent). This trend, scientists fear, “will make it difficult, if not impossible, to forestall severe climate change in coming decades.” 

Meanwhile, political powers have generally put the brakes on taking any kind of concerted action to address this problem. The United Nations can’t agree on a plan, and the U.S. Congress is influenced by money from fossil fuel companies and ideological foes to the idea that humans contribute to climate change.

A growing number of businesses recognize that short-term profits aren’t too helpful when long-term survival is in question, and there are some hopeful changes being made. But unless the majority of political powers get on board and make significant changes in the production of greenhouse gases, the heat and droughts and storms will likely continue.

I say likely because science deals in probabilities, not certainties. Many people seem to think that if something isn’t certain they don’t have to worry about it, especially if it means they’ll have to change how they live.

There has been an established scientific consensus about the role of climate change in causing weather extremes, but a recent paper by James D. Hansen, a prominent NASA climate scientist, and two co-authors has gone further in tying specific weather events to climate change.

According to the paper, published online on Aug. 6, “scientists can claim with near certainty that events like the Texas heat wave last year (see photo above), the Russian heat wave of 2010 and the European heat wave of 2003 would not have happened without the planetary warming caused by the human release of greenhouse gases,” writes Justin Gillis the New York Times.

The paper argues that “the percentage of the earth’s land surface covered by extreme heat in the summer has soared in recent decades, from less than 1 percent in the years before 1980 to as much as 13 percent in recent years.”

In an interview, Hansen says that “the change is too large to be natural,” and adds, “It’s just going to get worse.”

The response of his scientific colleagues, however, was split. Some experts agreed with the paper’s findings, while others were not persuaded that specific heat waves could be tied to global warming.

One climate scientist, Andrew J. Weaver, “compared the warming of recent years to a measles outbreak popping up in different places. As with a measles epidemic, he said, it makes sense to suspect a common cause,” writes Gillis.

While the powers drag their feet, what do we do? Ignore the evidence and hope for the best? Let the next generation take care of it?

Perhaps what we do individually seems small, insignificant. But Mennonites and others have claimed we are called to be faithful, not just effective. Let’s be faithful.

A refreshing change

Toward the end of a summer with its share of blockbuster movies geared toward teenaged boys comes Hope Springs (PG-13), a movie for and about adults. It is a refreshing change in several ways.

First, despite some over-the-top elements, it presents a realistic situation—a couple married for 31 years who has fallen into a dull routine and lost any sparkle in their relationship. We witness no superheroes, no car chases or fist fights, no political conspiracies or bombs, no F-words.

Second, the movie offers frank discussion of sexuality in the context of a long-lasting marriage without depicting domestic violence or infidelity. By frank, I mean frank, though it is used not to titillate but to communicate, often with humor.

Third, rather than take viewers away from their current reality to some other world or fantastic situation, Hope Springs holds up a mirror to couples and nudges them look at their own marriages. In this way, the movie goes beyond entertainment and becomes an opportunity to reflect on one’s life. I should add that it does this without being didactic; it simply tells a story of one couple.

Kay (Meryl Streep) and Arnold (Tommy Lee Jones) Soames sleep in separate rooms, share little physical contact and go through the same routines at breakfast before going to work and in the evenings at home, where Arnold falls asleep watching golf lessons on cable. But Kay is unhappy and signs them up for a week of intensive marriage counseling with Dr. Bernie Feld (Steve Carell) in a coastal town in Maine called Hope Springs.

Arnold refuses to go, but Kay tells him she’ll go without him, and besides, she has paid for it. He ends up going but is grumpy, complaining about the cost of everything and how worthless this endeavor is. But they meet with Dr. Feld, and in daily sessions he asks them increasingly frank questions about their relationship, including their sexual fantasies.

Though it improves in the second half, the film’s weakness is its screenplay, particularly its depiction of Arnold. His constant negativity and his aversion to touch seem extreme. And Kay’s obsequious behavior toward him at first also seems a bit much. But these two great actors overcome such flaws in the script and use their skills to make their characters believable. Carell, too, is good, playing against type as a calm, gentle counselor.

While the movie includes laugh-out-loud moments, it’s a serious drama that shows a couple going through the difficult exercise of reviewing their life together and having to decide if they want to do the hard thing and change or continue to drift apart.

Jeanne and I, who have been married 32 years, watched the movie with some recognition that certain ruts are easy to fall into. I laughed at moments and cringed at others. We came away talking about what changes we want to make in our relationship.

While Hope Springs can be seen as a cautionary tale or lesson, it’s basically a story of one couple’s relationship and can be enjoyed on that level. Even younger folks—and there were some in the audience—will enjoy this honest, heart-filled film. 

Are art and violence connected?

This summer’s tragic shootings in Aurora, Colo., and Madison, Wis., raise a question that often comes up with such events: the relationship of art and violence.

The July 19 shooting by James E. Holmes in Aurora happened in a cineplex at a midnight showing of The Dark Knight Rises, killing 12 people and injuring 58 others. 

The shooting  on Aug. 5 at a Sikh temple in Madison killed six people and wounded three others. The shooter, Wade M. Page, had performed in notorious white power bands, such as Youngland, Intimidation One, End Apathy and Definite Hate.

Did the movie or the music contribute to the killings? Or do they reflect the violence in our culture? Or are the relationship of art to violence different in the two incidents?

In a July 26 New York Times article, “Don’t Blame the Movie, but Don’t Ignore It Either,” Stephen Marche claims the answers aren’t so simple.

He writes that while we have largely passed the point where we ask whether art causes such disasters, a new cliché has taken hold “that insists on an absolute separation between violent art and real violence.”

He claims that real violence and violent art have been connected historically. “Some of the most violent scenes in American history have emerged from theatrical spaces,” he writes.

One example was the Astor Place riot in 1849, which started in competing performances of “Macbeth,” one by the Englishman William Charles Macready and the other by the American Edwin Forrest. “The theater in that case brought to the surface underlying tensions that were rampant in New York at the time,” he writes, “between immigrants and nativists, between the lower classes and the police. More than 20 people died in the ensuing struggle.”

Further, he notes that John Wilkes Booth shot Lincoln during the play “Our American Cousin.” Booth was an actor and was imitating Brutus from Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar.”

Holmes allegedly said, “I am the Joker” before opening fire, and an employee at the jail where he was arraigned told a reporter, “He thinks he’s acting in a movie.”

This does not show that the Batman movie caused the shooting, but it does point to the power of art to affect individuals prone to violence.

In an Aug. 8 New York Times article, “The Sound of Hate,” Robert Futrell and Pete Simi write about “hidden spaces of hate” where Neo-Nazis, who often straddle the worlds of white power and mainstream society, thrive.

One of the most important of these hidden spaces is the white power music scene. “Neo-Nazis are particularly adept at incorporating music into just about every aspect of the movement,” Futrell and Simi write, “having grasped the medium’s capacity to bring adherents together into shared experiences and sustain communities anchored in Aryan ideology.”

This music scene drew Page to the movement. While the music conveyed anger, hatred and outrage toward racial enemies, it also created “a collective bond that strengthens members’ commitment to the cause,” they write.

Isn’t this what churches do? We use music as well as sermons and prayers in our worship to help bind us together as followers of Jesus Christ.

The obvious difference is that our hymns (we hope) do not promote hatred and violence but love and peace.

Art has power we should not ignore, but in itself it does not produce violence. That requires an already fertile field.

The power of yes

I've always leaned toward routine, finding comfort in the rhythm of operating each day much like the previous one. Change is OK, as long as I have some control over it.
Unfortunately, life doesn't usually cooperate with my plans, and change happens.
But when an opportunity comes along that may take me out of my comfort zone and ask me to do something unfamiliar, I usually hesitate, and my first inclination is to say no. Turns out, saying no consistently actually shuts down part of my brain.
Recently I read an article that gave me pause. It's called "Just Say Yes" by Jamie Stringfellow in the July/August issue of Spirituality & Health, a magazine I receive at work that often reports on scientific research about the benefits of spiritual practices.

Stringfellow writes: "When you say no a lot, your brain gets in the habit, literally paving more neural pathways and raising the speed limit on your knee-jerk 'No!' response. Luckily, as brain scientists have realized, we can rewire our brains." 

The brain likes efficiency, so if you say no a lot, it starts assuming you're going to say no and starts responding that way automatically. It reminds me of typing something on Google that I've searched before, and it remembers and goes there right away.

So how do we rewire our brains, and why should we? The no response often comes out of fear--fear of failing, fear of falling, fear of rejection. However, Stringfellow writes, "neuroscientists know that when you expose yourself to new experiences … your brain releases noradrenaline and dopamine, and the exertion brings on endorphins. This makes you feel alert and better able to enjoy that moment and the ones that follow."

I should know better. The times I've said yes have usually turned out well, and I've been glad I did so. In 2009, I traveled to Paraguay in July and to Jordan in September, and both experiences were rewarding, despite some difficulties, such as being stuck in Argentina (during its winter) in an unheated house for two days waiting for a flight. In late June I attended a conference and led a workshop on spiritual practices (based on my book Present Tense). It went better than I'd hoped, largely because of people's wonderful participation. I was glad I said yes to doing that. And recently I've faced another decision that required me to take a risk. And after reading this article and talking with my spiritual director, I decided to say yes and see where it led. I still don't know where it will lead.

Saying yes is also important for building relationships. Stringfellow writes that Dr. John Gottman, a leading marriage researcher, says that the simplest way to make relationships work is "to say yes as often as you can without sacrificing an important part of yourself in the process." He even suggests saying something positive five times for every negative thing you say.

Does this mean you say yes to everything? No, you don't simply comply with someone who intends you harm. And we all need to set limits for our own health. But, says Dawna Markova, "what's important is not so much the yes as the willingness to say it. It's the pause."

Stringfellow writes: "Just being willing to say yes means you've removed the barriers to new people, experiences and feelings." And it gets you out of that knee-jerk no response so that new possibilities arise. 

This may be easy for you, but I've been a pessimist all my life, and saying yes, or even pausing to consider saying yes, means I believe something positive may happen. So this really is a spiritual practice.

Saying yes takes courage. It is also an act of love when you say yes to another. Maybe it's something worth practicing. Yes, it is.