jonnybaker

killers of the flower moon

killers of the flower moon is a fantastic film. i really loved it. it is classic scorsese exploring the effects of power and money and the evil that unfolds masquaerading as an angel of light when there is unflinching alleigance to those gods/goals. it is based around a true story told in a book of the same name by david grann. set in the 1920s in oklahoma, on a first nations reservation of the osage tribe. their reservation has oil so they find themselves very wealthy. but of course the racism of white settlers is not far below the veneer of pleasantness. and spearheaded by william hale, played by de niro, and suported by his rather naive nephew ernest burkhart (di caprio), the plot is how they use whatever means necessary to get their hands on the indians wealth. i won't spoil the plot for you by unpacking further but it includes the vices of lies, murder, poison, marrying to get access to money and an ever escalating web of deception. when we first meet di caprio in the film he says 'i love money' - which of course is famously said to be the root of all evil (the bible) and that is pretty much how it goes. 

it was wonderful seeing so many osage actors in the film and getting a bit of a window into their tribe. you get a sense of their values of community, tradition, love of the creator and the natural world. in a painful opening scene they bury a peace pipe - a parable for their traditions being buried. i have been reading quite a bit about first nations spirituality in the last year and my interest was further piqued on manatoulin island in canada recently where there are 9 reserves. i think that indigenous/aboriginal/native worldviews and spirituality have so much to teach westerners especially because of connection to the land.

what is so painful in the film is that by contrast christianity is the religion which william hale espouses. he quotes the bible and hides behind a veneer of niceness - like many mafia bosses presenting as a hero of the community and a good prayerful man. this is a con of course - it's not christianity. it's the religion of empire. the lord prayed to is a tribal god, on the side of white supremacy and the evil embodied in it. it's an idol and idols demand sacrifices and many are made. it's disturbing how the language of religion is presented as christianity. of course that's no different to the sopranos or other gangster films. and it doesn't take much of a leap to think about evangelicals and trump supporters or whatever other links ups there are between faith and dominating powers. i can't help thinking about global captalism and its empire, and the ruses of the super rich who present as pleasant while i suspect all the while sacrificing the planet and who knows what else in pursuit of money and power on the altar the the very same gods. (there is a different tone in the catholic priest who seems to have something more authentic especially when he speaks with molly, an osage woman). 

as a follower of christ i always wince when i bump into these kinds of (his)stories. it is a reminder of the importance of deconstructing the association between faith and empire, exploring what it means to follow in the way of christ in a post colonial world. christ of course was himself executed by the powers of religion and state so perhaps it should be no surprise.

anyway you should go see it!

as an aside finally after getting on for 20 years the cinema that was in ealing broadway is now re-opened as an 8 screen picture house. having had no cinemas close by we now have that one, ealing project and actone - we are spoiled!

grace - the BIG 30!

the next grace marks our 30th birthday. i wasn't there when it started - jenny and i joined in when we moved to london a couple of years after that. but it's been home for us, a wonderful creative christian community in which to work out what it means to follow christ in today's world. i think the creativity joel and harry flow in was really nurtured in the air breathed at grace, alternative worship and greenbelt over those years. during that time we have created and curated some really wonderful worship, music, liturgy, movies. all the while there has never been anyone employed to lead it - it's a collaborative venture. i'd love it if you wanted to come even if you haven't ever been but especially if you have been part of that journey at any point. thanks to st mary's ealing for giving the permission and space for grace to be a congregation over those years and trusting us to get on with it. it would be hlepful to know rough numbers so if you plan to come let me know in a comment or something.

here's the blurb on the web site - 

11th November is Grace's 30th birthday service - to mark the occasion we will be meeting around a table for a service of Communion by Numbers. Meeting around a table has been a large part of the Grace experience and sitting at a table with food and conversation we meet our companions, ourselves and sometimes God.

We'd love to see old friends and new around the table on 11th November - there will be food, drinks and music. It would be great to know if you plan to join us.

the poets revival

proud dad moment - harry baker is performing at the royal albert hall on may 1 next year. pretty amazing eh?! 

it's an evening called the poets revival also featuring kae tempest, george the poet and others. get your tickets and hope to see you there!

come to the edge

jen and i are just back from two weeks holiday in canada. it felt weird to be going away this time of year as we always go in the summer (largely because i am involved in teaching students). friends who we shared a house with back when we lived in bath invited us to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary with them along with a group of around 20 for 4 days. my team at cms kindly said it was fine to go and seeing as we were going that far we made a fortnight of it. it was so good to catch up with aad and jeanette in paris (ontario), and we explored a few other spots in ontario - mainly ottawa and manatoulin island. we visited niagara falls which is completely mesmerising. you can get surprisingly close to where the falls roll over the edge - that's where the photo above is from.

i have added a set of holiday photos to flickr. there are quite a few of them be warned - canada 2023. canada is a beautiful country. i hope i'll find space to blog a few thoughts in the next week or so. but first things first - photos!

i also seem to be making a habit of going to a gig the day i get back from n america (well that's two in a row) and you always fly overnight so i hope i stay awake for the young fathers tonight!

the photo title come to the edge is one i used recently in a team day - it's taken from a 1 giant leap track of that name. the opening words are

Come to the edge we said and they said ‘no it’s too high'
Come to the edge we said and they said ‘no we will fall’
Come to the edge we said and they very reluctantly came
And we pushed and they flew

find the poets

happy national poetry day everyone!

i was thinking about poems i have heard that blew me away. ones by linton kwesi johnson, jean binta breeze, kae tempest, nick cave, les murray, edip cansever, harry baker to name a few. but i settled on find the poets by tishani doshi which i heard a few years back on something borrowed and it floored the presenters and me!

i hope it's ok to post it here, largely so i can come back to it.

Find the Poets
I arrived in a foreign land yesterday,
a land that has seen troubles,
(who hasn’t, you might say?)

This land
with its scrubbed white houses
and blue seas, where everything was born,
and now, everything seems as if it could vanish.
I wanted to find out the truth
about how a great land like this
could allow ancient columns to crumble
and organ grinders to disappear.

Find the poets, my friend said.
If you want to know the truth, find the poets.

But friend, where do I find the poets?
In the soccer fields,
at the sea shore,
in the bars drinking?

Where do the poets live these days,
and what do they sing about?

I looked for them in the streets of Athens,
at the flea market and by the train station,
I thought one of them might have sold me a pair of sandals.

But he did not speak to me of poetry,

only of his struggles, of how his house was taken from him
along with his shiny dreams of the future,
of all the dangers his children must now be brave enough to face.

Find the poets, my friend said.
They will not speak of the things you and I speak about.
They will not speak of economic integration
or fiscal consolidation.

They could not tell you anything about the burden of adjustment.

But they could sit you down
and tell you how poems are born in silence
and sometimes, in moments of great noise,
of how they arrive like the rain,
unexpectedly cracking open the sky.

They will talk of love, of course,
as if it were the only thing that mattered,
about chestnut trees and mountain tops,
and how much they miss their dead fathers.

They will talk as they have been talking
for centuries, about holding the throat of life,
till all the sunsets and lies are choked out,
till only the bones of truth remain.

The poets, my friend, are where they have always been—
living in paper houses without countries,
along rivers and in forests that are disappearing.

And while you and I go on with life
remembering and forgetting,

the poets remain: singing, singing.