If there were Oscars for oxymorons, the phrase "Spiritual
Hollywood" would surely win many nominations. But a recent visit to
Tinseltown by your High Spirits correspondent proved full of
surprises on this front. Inspired by a new movie and by a new
church, I can report on an intriguing new spiritual trend in the
world's filmmaking capital that runs counter to the flow of its
traditional hedonism and secularism.
The inspirational movie is Clint Eastwood's Invictus, a
biopic that tells the story of Nelson Mandela's early months as the
first black president of South Africa. Morgan Freeman gives a
sensitive and superlative performance as Mandela struggling to lead
his fractured country toward reconciliation. The unlikely first
test of this aspiration focuses on the efforts of the Springbok
rugby football team (idolized by whites, ostracized by blacks) to
make a comeback from its locust years of apartheid exclusion from
international sports competitions.
The linear story line of Invictus is all about Mandela
subtly mentoring the Springboks' captain (Matt Damon) as the team
overcomes a plethora of off-field and on-field obstacles to become
a serious competitor for the 1995 World Cup. But the deeper message
of the movie is all about forgiveness.
An early scene, on the day after Mandela has taken the oath of
office, is a confrontation between the new black presidential
bodyguards and the old SAS-trained white special branch officers
from the de Klerk era whom Mandela has decreed should be included
in his close protection detail. The black commander of the squad
confronts the president with fierce objections. Morgan Freeman
delivers his response with a blend of magnanimity and magisterial
authority. "Reconciliation and forgiveness begin here," he says.
"Forgiveness liberates the soul."
This new take on liberation theology, a most refreshing contrast
with the unforgiving radicalism of the militant Catholic priests in
South America who annexed this phrase in the 1960s, becomes the
leitmotif of the story. Seen through the prism of the Springboks'
progress toward the final of the World Cup, more and more South
Africans become liberated by the spirit of mutual forgiveness and
reconciliation. The bodyguards bond across racial barriers. White
families take their black maids to the matches. Policemen listen to
the sports broadcasts with street urchins. Hooligans from the
townships are given rugby lessons by the stars of the national
team. A rainbow nation moves from a political slogan to becoming a
human reality.
Invictus comes to a climax that is both sporting and
spiritual. I have never before seen either a rugby football match
or a Hollywood movie that ends with praying. Invictus (a
true story) does both. After
the final whistle of the dramatic New Zealand vs. South Africa
World Cup final, Matt Damon takes his players into a huddle, saying
to the black star of the team, "Chester, lead us in a prayer, will
you?" It turns out to be simply "Thanks, Lord, for the win," a
reminder perhaps that when the unforgiving forgive they achieve
great victories over themselves as well as for the common good.
During my sojourn in Hollywood I saw Invictus twice.
This was partly in preparation for my speaking engagement at an
iconic building in the city, the old Pacific Theater built in
1927-1928 by the Warner brothers at 6433 Hollywood Boulevard, along
the Walk of Fame. On Sunday mornings this disused edifice is
miraculously transformed into a thriving church. Its crumbling
baroque architecture is deceptive because its interior looks much
like any other movie theatre, with soft drinks and popcorn stands
in the foyer, plush red seating, and state-of-the-art sound and
lighting systems operated by youthful techies talking the language
of filmmaking with commands like "strike," "cut," and "wrap" as
they prepare for the presentation of the worship.
Outside the theater the Sunday billboards proclaim, "Welcome to
Ecclesia -- your Hollywood church." Like the
original first-century ecclesia (the gatherings of the early
Christians), this one started small. When I first gave a talk to
its founders five years ago, the entire congregation could be
squeezed into the living room of D. Paul Thomas, a professional
actor blessed with the spiritual gifts to become a church leader.
He pulled together a handful of worshippers who had grown
disenchanted by some complicated feudings at their local
Presbyterian church. This breakaway group was joined by seekers
from all denominations. Their common bond was an enthusiasm for
informal worship buttressed by serious preaching of the word. Bored
by the traditions of established churches yet underwhelmed by the
happy-clappyism of the charismatics, the Ecclesia pioneers
built a church that today has a Sunday attendance of 600 regular
worshippers -- and counting.
In one sense Ecclesia is typical of its neighborhood,
because most of the congregation seemed to be hip, young, cool, and
directly or indirectly involved in the movie industry. But this is
a Hollywood crowd with a difference. Its priority is to worship God
rather than celebrities.
Apparently a handful of A-list names from screen, soaps, and
studios do frequently come to Ecclesia's services, but no
one makes a fuss of them. "We deliberately preserve a space for
anonymity," says D. Paul Thomas. "If anyone does any networking
here it is about our prayer groups and our social action programs.
We are probably the city's most active church in terms of working
on the streets among the lost, the homeless, and the needy."
Beneath the superficial glitz of Tinseltown, a lot of
21st-century Hollywoodians are spiritually needy. These days a
collective noun to describe a group of the local thespians is a
moan of actors. More of them are unemployed than ever before. Even
those fortunate enough to be working are mostly on the minimum
Screen Actors Guild wage rates -- a consequence of two failed union
strikes in recent years. The mounting uncertainty of such pressures
in the world of movies and mammon is one explanation for the
quietly growing interest in the values and virtues of religious
faith.
Fundamental to the success of Ecclesia is the reading
and preaching of the word. The customary 10-minute sermons of
Episcopalian-lite liberalism would not work here. I was asked to
speak for 30 minutes with a theological exegesis of a biblical
text, ending in a personal challenge to the congregation. So I
focused on Psalm 130, which is all about waiting for God in life's
depths, eventually climbing out of them by prayer, patience,
forgiveness, and redemption.
Like many spiritual subjects, such themes are hard to illustrate
visually. But I was rescued from this difficulty by the arrival of
the movie world cavalry in the form of Clint Eastwood, Morgan
Freeman, Matt Damon, and all the other stars and makers of
Invictus. For its portrayal of Nelson Mandela's patient
incarceration for 27 years on Robben Island, his forgiveness of the
apartheid system, and the reconciliation and redemption of his
people could not be a better modern on-screen example of the
Psalmist's rescue from the depths from whence he cries out in the
opening verse of Psalm 130. Ecclesia got the point. To
paraphrase the famous hymn: Hollywood moves in a mysterious way,
its wonders to perform.
