Born Into Brothels

I just got back home a little while ago from watching Born Into Brothels at the Belcourt Theatre. My wife and I saw this film a year ago at the Nashville Film Festival, and briefly met the filmmaker, Zana Briski. It has since gone on to win "Best Documentary" at this year's Oscars. Born Into Brothels is a documentary chronicling Zana's efforts to teach photography to the children of prostitutes in the red light district of Calcutta, India. By getting involved in these kids' lives, she is then able to try and get them into boarding schools, away from an environment where the girls would almost certainly "join the line" (become sex workers) and the boys would fall into similarly hopeless lifestyles.

It sounds like a dark and dreary film, but in actuality it is incredibly uplifting. It's true that sometimes the awful realities of the red light district seem to overwhelm the viewer: the drug abuse, the violence, the self-hatred that causes mothers to scream terrible curses at their children. Yet the kids are so filled with life despite their circumstances, and the pictures they take are so beautiful, that you can't help but be in awe of the redemption you see taking place. In fact, when I met Zana, I simply said, "Thank you doing this work of redemption."

I reflected on this more tonight. Art is creative work, and we emulate our Creator whenever we engage in it. The folks involved in the making of this movie aren't Christians, yet they unknowingly are not only taking part in God's work of redemption, but do so in a way that is specially connected to his creative heart.

After the screening, there was a panel discussion which featured a woman from Kids With Cameras (the organization started by Zana to help kids worldwide), a couple of Vanderbilt folks to talk about India, and a woman named Sheila from Magdalene House. Magdalene House is a Nashville-based outreach that helps prostitutes leave behind that lifestyle and recover from alcohol and drug addiction, and Sheila is a graduate from their program.

The audience had an opportunity to address the panel with questions and comments, and one woman approached the microphone to commend Kids With Cameras for not being a religious organization. Her remarks had an element of hostility to them, and she implied that religious groups only offer help after they've forced others to subscribe to their beliefs. A decent smattering of applause in response suggested that many others in the audience agreed with what she was saying. I found this to be tremendously odd in light of the comments Sheila was making. While I know that there are religious groups that force conversions in exchange for aid, I would venture to say that most do not. Sheila, in fact, seemed unable to say anything related to her experience without mentioning God's hand in it, and in no way did it seem like beliefs had been forced upon her. She seemed to have encountered a real person, not just a system of beliefs. She spoke of how she had been caught in a lifestyle that she didn't want, but was helpless to be free of until God used Magdalene House to intervene. She concluded by stating that she doesn't say "Hi, I'm Sheila, and I'm a recovering drug addict." Instead, she says "Hi, I'm Sheila, and I'm a miracle."

These weren't glib words. There was a force behind the word miracle that resonated in the room. It implied that Sheila didn't see her experience as a self-help exercise, but as a rescue mission: a person airlifted out of the desert even while the vultures pecked at her flesh.

I wondered what the anti-religion lady thought about Sheila. Did she think Sheila was simply an uneducated, unenlightened person who had bought into a nice little fantasy to keep her life from self-destruction? Or could she see the quiet yet relentless person that had redeemed Sheila from the pit? Could she see that this person who had rescued Sheila also bore a striking resemblance to the creative force that whispered don't give up, these kids are worth rescuing, tell their stories to Zana in Calcutta?

In seeing the film, in hearing Sheila's words, in viewing the breathtaking photography, I could feel the coming kingdom pressing in around me. I had the distinct sense that, despite the wickedness that so often crowds out the good, something was afoot. In an almost palpable way, I knew in that moment that Jesus is intensely real, and working his redemption in quiet, whispered ways around the globe, and that one day, finally, it will burst onto the scene in full and everything sad is going to come untrue.

Visit the Kids With Cameras site to find information about their work, to see some of the pictures the children have taken, and to find a showing of the film in your area.

Come Ye Sinners (or "Hart, The Herald Angels Sing The Wrong Lyrics")

Tonight I posted a response to a thread on the Indelible Grace discussion board about the song "Come Ye Sinners," and the two drastically different lyrical versions that exist. It has been one of my favorite hymns since I recorded new music to it on the original Indelible Grace CD five years ago, and I recently re-recorded it for my EP.

I hate to be a stickler about things, but the history of this hymn gets me more worked up than almost any other topic (yes, I know, that is very sad). You can follow the whole thread here.
I've copied what I posted here below. Please feel free to add your comments here on the blog and on the thread itself (particularly if you have some historical insight that I'm not privy to). Also, please ask any clarifying questions in case my explanation was muddled. Soon I will return with a post that is hopefully not so nerdy (yes, this from a guy who titled his previous post "Conferences, Pt. 1"). I hope this gives you some insight into not only this hymn, but even shows a little of why I'm drawn to certain hymn texts and, uh, un-drawn to others.

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The text that I used for "Come Ye Sinners" is the original, where Joseph Hart presents both our need for salvation and our utter inability to do anything to save ourselves. Here's his text:

Come, ye sinners, poor and wretched,
Weak and wounded, sick and sore;
Jesus, ready, stands to save you,
Full of pity, joined with power.
He is able, He is able;
He is willing; doubt no more.

Now, compare this to the popular truncated version. By deleting those last two lines and adding the refrain, the meaning of the song is changed quite a bit. Here are the refrain lyrics, which were added later and were not written by Hart:

I will arise and go to Jesus
He will embrace me in His arms
In the arms of my dear Savior
Oh, there are ten thousand charms

The original lyrics maintain that it is not only Christ's willingness and availability, but also his active obedience and pursuit, which gives us the hope of salvation. By taking out two lines and adding this refrain, it now sounds like Jesus is somewhat passively waiting for me to arise and go to Him. I believe this is emphasized with the modern change to "Full of pity, love and power" which I feel weakens Hart's image of Christ, who feels the depth of our hurt, yet joins that with his power to redeem (read John 11 for my favorite example of this truth, where Jesus weeps and rages against death even though he knows that he will exercise his power to raise Lazarus only moments later).

Every verse is severely weakened in this way. Here’s another example, verse 4:

Let not conscience make you linger,
Nor of fitness fondly dream;
All the fitness He requires
Is to feel your need of Him.
This He gives you, this He gives you,
'Tis the Spirit's rising beam

Removing the last two lines and replacing them with that refrain absolutely wrecks the intended meaning. Hart strongly believed (based on this and his other hymns) that it is God who changes the sinner’s heart, and without this move of the Spirit, the sinner is completely unable to even feel his need for Christ.

This is not saying anything against Ashley Cleveland or anyone else who has recorded this (and, for the record, she is a tremendous talent). I’m not lobbying for everyone to sing the music I wrote (the RUF Hymnbook also includes Darwin Jordan’s music to this text), but I will say that I wish folks would take a closer look at the history of this hymn. I think that whoever originally gutted it of its meaning did so because he or she was offended by the truths Hart presented and wanted to put forth a more man-centered, pseudoromantic version instead. (Doesn’t anyone else think that the “ten thousand charms” line is sort of meaningless, and, from a songwriting perspective, weak?) Whenever I am present when this truncated version is sung, I do not sing along, partially because of theological conviction, but mostly as an act of artistic solidarity for a man who’s not around to say “Hey! Don’t change the meaning of my song!”

Conferences, pt. 1

Sorry for not blogging more; it seems that I had nothing to write about and now all of a sudden I have too much.

I was able to attend two conferences this past month, both of which afforded me the opportunity to not only learn, but have time to reflect. It’s as if someone handed me a pass at the door that said “permission to think.” It’s so easy to let months pass without much reflection because of life’s responsibilities.

The first was called the Sacrifice of Praise conference, which is the PCA’s worship conference. Speakers included Reggie Kidd, Hughes Oliphant Olds, Scotty Smith, and Bryan Chapell. Here are a few thoughts:

Dr. Chapell’s talk helped me understand the history of how worship services are structured. It’s amazing to see how every generation/movement has included or excluded something from the service simply because they were reacting against what had come before. It should give us pause and cause us to examine what we do now.

Scotty made a comment in his talk that stuck with me. He told us that if Jesus were to come back right then, we would all look at each other from across the aisle (of the church we were meeting in) and exclaim “So it really was true!” It made me think of how the life of faith, even in the seasons when it is strong and constant, has an element of doubt that only the coming kingdom will eradicate.

I had the opportunity to go to dinner at St. Louis Bread Company (which is called Panera elsewhere in the country) with Dr. Olds and others. In response to a question about the use of art, dance, etc in worship, he simply said that worship services should focus on three things: the Word, the sacraments, and prayer. He also (unknowingly) taught me three other things by example: When I’m old (as he is, in his seventies), I need to

1) Grow a cool beard
2) Wear a cool hat
3) Order a second helping of soup.

He also (and I’m not making this up) danced the Charleston while seated at the table with us. Don’t ask.

In hearing seminar discussions of issues that worship leaders and pastors struggle with, Dr. Olds’ comments about the Word, sacraments and prayer kept coming back to me. One man talked about how his church would like to begin taking communion weekly. There were a few obstacles to this happening. First, they have recently begun a third service to cater to their older members, who have felt musically excluded from services as of late. Because of this, time in all services is rather tight. Secondly, the worship team has expanded so much that its members are spilling off the front of the platform, making it hard for communion traffic to flow quickly.

Whew. I don’t want to oversimplify what I’m sure is a complex and nuanced situation, but what steps could be taken to include elder members in the regular services? How does the solution to that problem tie in to the “not enough space for our band” problem? And how could the solutions to both problems pave the way to weekly communion?

Word, sacraments, prayer.

I drove to the conference with Kevin Twit, Cason Cooley, and Russell Hardeman. Kevin and Cason have been two of my closest friends for years, and Russell is a new friend who is on staff at church. It was so good to spend time talking with those guys, and I feel so privileged to be in community with them. We were also able to spend some time with a few other folks, including the Red Mountain guys (Brian Murphy and Clint Wells). If you weren’t aware, they’ve just released a third CD, The Gadsby Project. (I haven’t heard it yet, but I’m sure it’s worth getting.) Clint will also be joining me this April on tour as the guitar player for the Indelible Grace band, so be sure to come out to see his fret antics. He’s a great guy, though he has a tendency to insult Italian waiters for some reason. Don’t ask.

I’ll have to finish writing about the other conference I went to, and other happenings, at a later date. Thanks for reading my confused ramblings.

What I’m listening to:
David Crowder Band – Sunsets & Sushi. I’ve never been that big of a DCB fan, but this is an excellent EP. It’s a remix project that maintains the integrity (i.e. structure) of the songs, while reimagining what they can be (it ends up sounding a bit like The Postal Service, but better). I would absolutely love to do something like this in the future with my music.

U2 – Live From Under The Brooklyn Bridge. iTunes-exclusive EP from the greatest band in the world. Who knew that “I Will Follow” would sound better in 2005 than it did in 1980?

What I’m reading:
I just bought a slew (yes, a slew) of books to add to my stack. I’m still working on Rodney Clapp’s Tortured Wonders, and hope to start on David Dark’s The Gospel According To America soon.