Awenydd

I guess I was always going to get around to doing this anyway, so I might as well get it out of my system. What did I think of Twilight and its three sequels? I’ll try to write this review in broad strokes rather than dwelling on details, but there will be spoilers, so if you haven’t read the books and don’t want to know what happens . . . stop reading here.

Writing Style
Stephanie Meyer can paint a scene. She knows just the right details to sprinkle into her descriptions for the scenery to come to life in the reader’s head. The emotions of her characters are thick and tangible, causing the reader to feel the same things in empathy. Sometimes, however, she can stumble over her own prose, awkwardly using the same word twice or even thrice within one paragraph and unintentionally drawing attention to it. A zap-word, we call it. The dialog is generally passable, and often reverberates effectively with tension and emotion. Stephanie Meyer certainly knows how to tell a story. I’d file her along with Terry Goodkind into the category of “not such a great writer, but incredible storyteller.”

Thematic Elements
On the surface, the story is about a human and a vampire falling in love and making things work. Pretty silly, right? I know some people who are put off by the premise alone. But in the case of all fantasy, there are more fundamental issues in play than the surface details. Essentially, the theme that makes the story so compelling is the apparent impossibility of Bella and Edward’s love, made so because of the variance in their personal backgrounds, and the monumental decisions of self-sacrifice both of them make to be together. And that is a very real, very human experience, regardless of whether Edward Cullen has a heartbeat or not.

Characterization
The mystery that is Edward Cullen and his siblings immediately grabs you, stringing you out as you wait to discover the next thing about them. After the deeper mysteries have been revealed, the story keeps you going. Edward is sometimes rather controlling and exhibits some stalker-like behavior at first. Some of his actions are forgivable only because they’re done specifically with Bella’s personal safety in mind. But he later learns how to loosen his grip. Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t perfect, and displays some very human flaws.

Bella . . . well, she’s there. Her awkwardness and her self-deprecating humor are enough to convince the reader that she actually is human. Once in a while she feels the need to remind you of that fact with a panicky emotional overreaction, which can be quite amusing in itself. Usually she’s likable enough, and Meyer’s rendering of her emotions never fails to draw empathy, but overall, I don’t think she’s a very deep character. Her primary redeeming quality is the earnestness and constance of her love for Edward, although that does waver ever so briefly. Her morose reflections in New Moon may get a bit annoying though for some, though they didn’t really bother me.

Jacob, the Native American boy turned werewolf, is a likable and endearing character at first who turns into a self-absorbed vindictive jerk who doesn’t know how to let things be. I did not particularly enjoy his point of view section in Breaking Dawn all that much.

Alice rocks. ‘Nuff said about that.

Worldview
The story of Bella and Edward has some good qualities to it, along with a major, and ultimately fatal fault.

First, I must note that the biggest criticism I’ve seen in general reviews is the fact that Bella is a bad example for young women because she marries and then conceives a child so young, at age 18, before going to college. Scandalously, she accomplishes all this with the first guy she’s ever been in love with! Well, pardon me, but that’s a much better example than the pre-marital, free-love, trial-and-error sexual license that is so much more pervasive in young adult cultural icons. If it weren’t for the story’s fatal fault, I’d applaud it.

First the good:

Twilight gives props to creationism when Edward says there is no way he and Bella could have evolved by chance, and that the same creator who designed her must have designed him as well. Not an issue I expected to come up in a vampire story.

The story is radically pro-life. Bella refuses to give up her unborn baby even though keeping it means certain death. No ordinary baby this, since it’s also Edward’s child, it breaks bones when it kicks and demands human blood for nourishment (acquired from hospital donor banks). The delivery scene is like something out of a horror film.

The story is pro-marriage. Edward refuses to have relations with Bella before marriage, and refuses to turn her into a vampire until they are married. Bella has no such qualms and initially throws a fit about both, but she eventually comes to recognize the beauty of marriage and married life.

The story is pro-family . . . somewhat. Bella initially hides her relationship with Edward from her father, and the story appears to justify it by circumstance. It’s interesting to note that while Bella is the human, her parents are divorced and she’s rather distrusting of them. On the other hand, the Cullens are a model family, with a warmth and closeness between parents and most of the siblings, with respected authority structures and familial care, and little in the way of secrecy. The interior of Carlisle Cullen’s house is decorated by a giant cross . . . and it isn’t upside down.

The fatal fault:

The great sticking point of the Twilight Saga is entirely human in nature, and has nothing to do with it being a vampire story, which, as I said, is almost incidental backdrop for the thematic material. The real problem with the story is that it deifies romantic love. Love without the Triune God? As Admiral Ackbar says in Return of the Jedi, “It’s a trap!”

Certainly, Twilight is not alone. There are hundreds of love stories that do the same. In fact, any non-Christian love story will ultimately deify romantic love. But usually they’re more subtle. When Bella begins to say things like “I’d sacrifice my own soul to be with Edward for eternity,” that sort of brings the issue front and center. This deification displays itself in some weird and ugly ways, particularly in Breaking Dawn, which I won’t go into here.

Interestingly enough, Twilight models itself largely on the story of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, in which the lovers also stumble into the pitfall of deifying romantic love. Bella’s eagerness to offer her soul on the altar of love at all costs merely echoes Juliet’s appeal to Romeo to “swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry.”

The difference between Twilight and Romeo and Juliet is that while Shakespeare’s play is a cautionary tale ending in tragedy, Bella and Edward commit the same offense but get to live happily ever after. While Romeo and Juliet warns young people against the dangers of deifying romantic love, Twilight positively revels in it.

Psychology
I’m adding this section after some discussion with Hannah Roorda and Laura LaPrise. It’s sort of a subset of the Worldview section, but I decided to separate it out.

There is a downfall to Stephanie Meyer’s deftly painted and highly empathetic characters. What they feel, the reader is made to feel as well. Be that love, fear, anxiety, depression, contentment, obsession, or physical desire. There is admittedly a great deal of difference between Twilight’s long passages describing aching physical need for a person of the opposite sex and the interaction between them in Bella’s first person point of view and Shakespeare’s almost comically brief: They kiss.

Of course, Romeo and Juliet was written to be acted out on the stage, and that accounts for the brevity in the text. But prose has a powerful effect on the impressionable mind. Especially for those with vivid imaginations. Meyer avoids being graphic or explicit, but she gives more than enough for a reader to easily fill in the blanks.

Something should be said about the psychology involved in the widespread fan fascination with Edward. Another review observed, and I agree, that his appeal is because he offers to young women something they don’t get from real men.

In some ways, he is more of a man than most real men today. He sacrifices his needs and his very self against his own nature because he loves Bella. He takes control of situations, albeit sometimes with a heavy hand. He is the ultimate protector, disregarding even his own safety. And his love for Bella doesn’t drive him to give in to her every whim. He sets boundaries and sticks to them, more or less. Does this remind us of anything? It should. When a man displays these qualities in any combination and to any extent, young women are “wired” to respond in a certain way. Even if those qualities are displayed imperfectly. There is a theological reason for that.

I think when a cultural phenomenon like Twilight emerges, we should take notice of what exactly the appeal is. It might even shock us into realizing something we’ve been missing. Some will object that there are better materials to teach us that. I don’t doubt there are. The Bible is a good start. But sometimes a cultural phenomenon with its immediacy has more shock value for waking people up than a stack of “good” books.

Men today have forgotten how to be men. The feminist movement and the cry for total equality in roles as well as hierarchy has encouraged them to bend the authority structure and their very behavior to accommodate assertive women. Even those who don’t agree with feminism have been affected by a culture that neuters men and tries to empower women over them. When men won’t act like men, women are forced to step up and take control, whether they want to or not. But that goes against the natural created order. Men are still men, and women are still women. They innately know there’s something wrong with that picture. Men are responsible to lead, and women are created to follow.

Stephanie Meyer comes along and gives women something they are really looking for in a vampire named Edward Cullen. No, he’s not perfect. He has personality flaws. But Meyer has taken an ideal of masculinity and characterized it, exaggerating the virtues along with the faults. Young women everywhere have responded.

It’s interesting to note that the backlash against the series comes largely from two directions. Christians who are understandably and justifiably concerned with the effect that the series’ sensuality will have on young people . . . and feminists who can’t tolerate Bella’s submission of self to Edward.

Conclusion
I enjoyed the Twilight Saga while I was reading it (or rather, while I was listening to it on unabridged audio book). I am a quite a sucker for grand romantic tales of impossible love realized. But objectively, the Twilight Saga has a couple serious problems that would stop me from recommending it to anyone who might be especially susceptible to getting caught up in it all . . . which unfortunately includes most of its target audience of teen girls. I’d probably be more likely to recommend it to guys.

Will I read any additions to the series? Oh . . . probably. After all, it really is quite a rush.

Hoc est corpus meum.

These words have led to possibly the greatest piece of silliness in all of liturgical history. This is what happens when you don’t say the prayers in a language everyone can understand and in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear clearly.

After all, you wouldn’t want them to hear you say “Hoc est corpus meum” and actually think you said hocus pocus, now you would you? Yet that is probably what happened in the medieval church.

The Eucharistic prayer of the medieval church, along with the whole liturgy, was spoken in Latin, and the general populace wasn’t schooled in Latin. To make matters worse, the words were whispered over the bread during the eucharist instead of spoken aloud. Together with a vulgar understanding of transubstantiation, it is no wonder that most people thought the priest was performing some sort of magic trick.

So because of several errors in worship, the words that should have been good news to the people of God—”This is my body”—were transformed into the magic phrase for parlor trick illusionists.

I love these:

(view this first if you’ve never heard the commercials before)

When it is raining, it is because he is sad.

Even his parrot’s advice is insightful.

If there were an interesting gland, his would be larger than most men’s entire lower intestines.

His shirts never wrinkle.

He is left-handed. And right-handed.

Even if he forgets to put postage on his mail, it gets there.

He once knew a call was a wrong number, even though the person on the other end wouldn’t admit it.

You can see his charisma from space.

His beard alone has experienced more than a lesser man’s entire body.

His blood smells like cologne.

On every continent in the world, there is a sandwich named after him.

He doesn’t believe in using oven mitts, nor potholders.

His cereal never gets soggy. It sits there, staying crispy, just for him.

His pillow talk is years ahead of it’s time.

Respected archaeologists fight over his discarded apple cores.

He is The Most Interesting Man In The World.

Quoted sections are from chapters 66 and 67 of
Justin Martyr’s First Apology, c. AD 150

For not as common bread and common drink do we receive these; but in like manner as Jesus Christ our Saviour, having been made flesh by the Word of God, had both flesh and blood for our salvation, so likewise have we been taught that the food which is blessed by the prayer of His word, and from which our blood and flesh by transmutation are nourished, is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who was made flesh. For the apostles, in the memoirs composed by them, which are called Gospels, have thus delivered unto us what was enjoined upon them; that Jesus took bread, and when He had given thanks, said, “This do ye in remembrance of Me, this is My body;” and that, after the same manner, having taken the cup and given thanks, He said, “This is My blood;” and gave it to them alone . . .

I don’t think I’ve ever talked to anyone about this before, and am not sure what prompts me to write about it now. But . . . here it is:

I was not baptized until age 8 when we joined an OPC congregation. Obviously, neither was I welcomed to the Lord’s Table until after that. Since for almost six years after my 12th birthday family attended a church that required confirmation to gain access to the Table, the first time I took communion I was a teenager. Well, at least officially . . .

The practice of Lord’s Supper always fascinated me. Since the age of two I watched my parents participate in it along with the rest of the adults in church. I took it for granted that it was not for kids.

Once, when we brought an African American boy with us to church as part of some evangelical outreach, he became very excited when the elders began to pass around bread and . . . grape juice.

“Hey,” he said aloud, “they’re giving us food!” I hushed him quickly, tersely explaining to him in a whisper that that was for grown-ups. He didn’t quite get it, and I saw the confused and slightly offended look on his face when the elders passed us by without giving us any. Well, duh, I thought (no, I didn’t actually know the word “duh” yet). It’s not for kids.

But even though I knew it was a grown-up thing, I imagined having a part in it, similar to the way that at the age of 3 I packed a little briefcase (actually the case to a toy medical kit) and pretended I was going to the office with my father one morning. I knew what communion was and what it meant, as much as a three-year-old can understand. The grape juice represented Jesus’ blood and the bread his body. I didn’t really know what that meant (who really does, fully?), but it was something Jesus did, and that meant it was a good thing. To me, a piece of bread together with a cup has been iconic of the Lord’s Supper for as long as I can remember.

Whenever I had grape juice at home, I’d ask for bread too, secretly pretending I was having communion. I remember unsuccessfully trying to pretend once with bread and orange juice, since grape juice was unavailable at that moment. I glibly told my mother that I was having communion, but she told me I shouldn’t pretend that. I conceded, yeah, orange juice was not very authentic.

Our church, Cornerstone Bible Church, where my father was an elder, met in a college classroom. After church service I’d drag my friends into some adjoining classroom and pretend to have another service, pushing a chair to the front of the room so I could climb up onto it and stand behind the podium to speak. Sometimes they humored me.

Early on at Cornerstone, after service my mother would let me have the bread that was left over from communion. Yep, that’s right. The actual bread that had sat in the communion tray and had been consecrated for holy use, as much as that meant to us back then. For my part, I never considered that a normal afternoon snack. There was something special about that bread, even if I couldn’t express exactly what it was. After all, as one can see from the examples above, even though my family had a more or less baptist understanding of the sacraments at the time, I’d been raised with a healthy respect and a deep appreciation for the Lord’s Table, and it sure took. As much as I liked to pretend when I could with bread and grape juice, this was different. This was the real thing.

For whatever reason, I stopped getting the “leftovers” fairly early on, much to my disappointment. But I’ve remembered it to this day, and, at least as far as the church fathers would have seen it, that would have been my first conscious participation in the Eucharistic elements, even if there never seemed to be any leftover grape juice.

And on the day called Sunday, all who live in cities or in the country gather together to one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits; then, when the reader has ceased, the president verbally instructs, and exhorts to the imitation of these good things. Then we all rise together and pray, and, as we before said, when our prayer is ended, bread and wine and water are brought, and the president in like manner offers prayers and thanksgivings, according to his ability, and the people assent, saying Amen; and there is a distribution to each, and a participation of that over which thanks have been given, and to those who are absent a portion is sent by the deacons.

At that age, somewhere between 2 and 4, I was like one who had been absent from the table (though I was never absent from the worship service) and was given the elements after the dismissal. Though there certainly was an amount of impropriety about my taking the elements then, since I hadn’t yet been baptized, I took them (or one of them, at least) nonetheless.

It made me feel a part of something bigger. It gave a sense of belonging along with the grown-ups of the church. I suppose if I can put words to the exact feeling it gave me, I’d say it made me feel special. But isn’t that one of the central points of Communion? It’s an expression of unity among and within the body. A meal reserved for the called-out ones.

Can I say that I derived any real spiritual benefit from it? Perhaps, if we acknowledge the objectivity of the sacraments and the real presence of Christ in the Supper when it is presented beside the preaching of the Word.

Even as Eucharist means to give thanks, that is what I do. I’m thankful every day that I was raised in a Christian home where I was always aware of the goodness of God. Where Christ was presented to me in Word and sacrament every single Lord’s Day (well, sacrament was once a month), even if I was not officially welcome to partake of the latter.

The lesson to be learned is simple: Never underestimate how much your little children understand or how even the slightest bit of inclusion in the life of the Church will benefit them, both now and in the future. And don’t discount the messages that exclusion sends them either.

It is said that a child’s most formative time is at about age 3. For the rest of their lives, long after they may have forgotten details or even whole events, that period of growth remains etched in their subconscious.

Children are born to instinctively imitate their parents unless and until they are taught otherwise. If we really want them to imitate us in faith, then why should we, by our actions, teach them not to during their most formative years? If you want your children to follow you in faith, then teach them how to by including them in it. And teach them early.

Psalm 22:9-10
Yet you are he who took me from the womb;
you made me trust you at my mother’s breasts.
On you was I cast from my birth,
and from my mother’s womb you have been my God.

I’m laying out the structure of the Book of Revelation as part of my study of liturgy. This is just the structure from my initial observations. I need to compare notes with commentaries particularly in chapters 5-18 to see how these sections have been read historically. I also need to develop the implications such a structure has for Christian worship. Comments are welcome.

Chapter 1:1-3
Introduction and Authorship

1:4-8
Salutation and doxology

1:10-19
The liturgical setting. “I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s Day.” Meeting with God. Note John meets an angel (messenger) first.

Chapter 2-3
To the seven churches, a call to repentance.

Chapter 4
Ascension. Having dealt with sin, the door is opened, and John is caught up to the throne room of God. Creatures of heaven say sanctus. “Holy, Holy, Holy . . . .” The elders reply, “Worthy are you, our Lord and God . . . for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created.” It’s a hymn celebrating God’s work as creator.

Chapter 5-18
The Word of the Lord. These chapters recount the entire history of redemption, from the sealing of the elect (Chapter 7), to the fall of the false Bride (Chapter 18).

Chapter 19:1-10
The fall of the Harlot is cause for rejoicing because it results in the exaltation of the true Bride, Christ’s Church. The multitude sings “Hallelujah” because salvation is complete. The Bride is revealed and she adorns herself for the Marriage Supper of the Lamb.

19:11-21; 20:1-5
The commission of the Church for the rest of history.

Chapter 20:6-14; Chapter 21-22
The eschatological hope of Christ’s return in glory.