I barely know the five people I’ll be traveling with to Dominican Republic in November. Right now. We’ve only exchanged a handful of e-mails and talked for a few minutes by phone so far. But give us time and there may be a sleepover.
I didn’t know Shannon before we traveled to Uganda together to fend off monkeys and play with kids. But now? Well, when Shannon heard I was coming to Tulsa, her stomping grounds, she e-mailed immediately asking telling me she’d be picking Ben and I up from the airport and that we’d be staying at her house for the weekend. So she did. And we did.
Saturday night, after plopping down tired at her kitchen table, in an unforgettable act of true friendship, Shannon allowed me to partake of a few Snickers bars and some wow-these-actually-aren’t-as-nasty-as-you’d-expect caramel apple Hershey’s kisses. By a “few” and “some,” I mean a quantity approximating the weight of a middle schooler. Approximately. Give or take a pair of shoes.
Then she and her wow-he’s-actually-not-as-boring-as-you’d-expect-a-finance-major-to-be husband hung out with us while we geeked out about blogging stuff for a couple hours. Then we painted each other’s nails and curled each other’s bangs and watched High School Musical (Zack Efron is so dreamy) and...OK, we didn’t do any of that stuff. But Shannon and Ben really wanted to. But I was tired.
Shannon let Ben and I crash in her kids’ rooms sans kids. I’m a good friend so I took the smaller bed. And I let Ben have the bigger one. With flowerdy sheets. In the room with pink walls and lots of dolls. He gets lonely.
Then Sunday afternoon, after I played and spoke at Cedar Ridge Christian Church, we hung out some more at Shannon’s house. I just did a bunch of nothing. Shannon probably had no idea what a gift that was. Through no fault of anyone else, I rarely feel completely relaxed on the road, able to turn totally “off”, unless it’s just me and Ben. I don’t mind it, but almost everyone on the road calls me “Shaun Groves,” a reminder that to them I’m an artist and not completely human and and they as me lots of questions: about how I got started in music, about whether I know this artist or that, about politics or theology, about whether I sing the word “toast” in After The Music Fades. Again, I don’t mind it. I’m thankful anyone wants to talk to me at all. And I know that the beginning of every relationship is a lot of get-to-know-you questions. But the greatest gift Shannon gave me this weekend was a Sunday afternoon of being “off.” Of being called “Shaun.” I tickled her daughter. Talked guitars a little with one of her boys. Crumpled into a couch. Took a nap. Totally relaxed.
Then Shannon and her twin/mom and her dad volunteered at the Compassion table Sunday night during my concert. Now, look, I’m not the manliest of men, OK, admittedly, but I teared up a little when I left the stage and walked out into the lobby of that church and saw Shannon explaining Compassion’s ministry to the crowd gathered around the table, taking child sponsorship forms from people, thanking them for releasing a child from poverty, wearing her Compassion t-shirt - the uniform of Compassion volunteers.
Here’s a woman, I thought, once a total stranger to me and Compassion. That was only nine months ago. And today she’s a friend to both of us. Together, my friend Shannon and I, we introduced 88 people to children in the developing world Sunday. Thanks, Shannon. For everything.
Traveling home today after a great Sunday in Tulsa. Expect nothing but silence from me the rest of the day. But I’ll get back to blogging tomorrow.
In the mean time, a quote from George Bernard Shaw on my mind this morning: “The power of accurate observation is commonly called cynicism by those who have not got it.”
True or false? What is the difference between an accurate but unpleasant observation and cynicism?
Paul Mitchell wins the ”Name That Photo” contest with his entry “Redneck Day Spa.” I confess, Redneck Neighbor did influence the decision this time around.
You’re Your iTunes gift card is coming, Paul. Thanks for playin’.
Ted Slater has a very clever and thought-provoking post up about the movie Fireproof. (HT: TC) But I don’t agree with it.
Ted argues that despite the film’s production shortcomings, we Christians should still cheer this film because of its transforming message. I disagree.
The way the message is conveyed is less effective at accomplishing the goals of its makers than it could be, I think. So I’m not bashing Fireproof, but I’m not cheering either.
The thinking of Fireproof‘s makers may go something like this: More people go to movies every year than go to church or to sporting events. People currently watch movies about sex and violence and are influenced to be promiscuous and violent. So let’s make a movie about Jesus-y stuff and those same people will come see it and act more Jesus-y.
Putting theological, historical and sociological problems with this kind of Constantinian thinking aside for a moment, let’s think about the efficacy of these films as it relates to their makers’ expressed intent to influence audiences.
Have you ever seen a movie that came right out and said, “The solution to your problem, everybody, is to hate your neighbor?” Ever seen that? Heck no.
Have you ever seen the movie gang member or the mafia guy or the serial killer go to his son and explain his philosophical and moral position on violence in a long chunk of dialogue? Again, heck no.
This is because nowadays a movie’s message (and every movie has one right?) is shown, not told. Because it works.
What we’re likely to see in a movie advocating violence is a sympathetic character in a situation that motivates him to commit a violent act. Then we see the favorable or ambivalent reaction of other characters to that violence. If the protagonists commit the violent acts and approve of them, the message is stated clearly enough to the audience. Indirectly. Every movie goer is shown, not told, that violence is acceptable in the situation depicted. Then each individual chooses whether what they’ve been shown is applicable to their life outside the movie theatre. And Christians boycott and criticize these violent films (or used to) because they’re convinced this method of communication works.
But when Christians go to make movies/music of their own for the purpose of communicating a message, they don’t always adopt the same method. Instead, what Christian movie and music makers often do is tell more than show. In Fireproof, in just the few scenes I’ve watched, there is an awful lot of telling. No doubt there is some showing too. But Fireproof’s makers try to connect the dots for the audience with sermonettes.
I don’t know why this was done. I know why I’m so tempted to do the same thing (and have done it) in my own music. I’m afraid of two things (at least): 1)Not being Christian enough to please my Christian audience. If Christians aren’t happy with what I’ve made, I won’t make money or get to make anything else for the Christian media subculture. And, I fear (know) any subtlety in my lyrics will be scorned as “shame of the gospel.” 2)My audience might not get the point I’m making unless I spell it out in big bold letters. And that last sentence, by the way, contained a metaphor and I fear (know) many Christians on a diet of Christian media don’t get those these days. (How many people still think “Welcome Home” is about heaven and stare blankly at me while I sing about being a hummingbird?)
Still, I prefer showing over telling simply because it works - it’s an effective memorable way to communicate a message. Popular movies, books and music do influence, to varying degrees, the way we perceive ourselves, God and each other. And, like olympic figure skaters, they do this without looking like they’re trying - without preaching, using mostly story. And more than one camera, a multi-million dollar budget, and a household-name director. But is that any excuse for making yet another Christian flick that tells us to do the right thing?
Becky’s big eyes and blonde hair. My father-in-law’s booming voice, charisma and athleticism. My dad’s brute strength and the muscles that go with it. Energy that came from I don’t know where. And Ken Lay’s, um, appetite. That’s Gresham.
Today he turned six and all he wanted to do was eat out. He planned the day accordingly. First, we would have breakfast at Cracker Barrel. Then, lunch at Logan’s Roadhouse. Last, dinner at Chick-fil-A. It struck me as an odd agenda for a little boy’s birthday, of course, but just seconds after walking through Cracker Barrel’s doors this morning it all became clear.
“Tell them it’s my birthday so I can have ice cream,” he said.
At lunch: “Tell them it’s my birthday so I can have ice cream.”
And dinner: “If we take it home can I still have ice cream?”
That, my friends, is learning the rules and playing the game with strategery. Use your skills for good, boy.
Happy Birthday, Gresham.
