Article
Belief
Culture
Film & TV
4 min read

Hollywood’s streaming hope, here’s why

Today’s darker world of turmoil has viewers seeking solace.

Nathan is a speaker and writer on topics related to faith, life and God. He lives near Seattle, Washington. His writing is featured frequently in The Seattle Times. nathanbetts.com

An actor dressed in an ancient Middle Eastern way is filmed by a large camera.
Filming The Chosen.
Angel Studios.

Whatever you think of Christianity, just skimming the streaming options on Amazon or Netflix tells you that Christianity is by no means in decline; if anything, as one recent article in The Economist reads, it “is having a moment.” 

Amazon Prime’s House of David, Netflix’s Mary, and the series The Chosen are a few of the streaming options mentioned in The Economist article titled “Christian entertainment has risen”, which also notes the approximate 280 million people viewership worldwide of The Chosen

Sure, not all of these shows are the highest in production quality and they don’t necessarily garner great reviews across the board. House of David, the article cites, has been described as “wooden and cheap-looking, humourless and dull.” Negative comments have been shared about other Christian films as well ranging back to Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ

Yet, with all the mixed reviews of the various Christian streaming options available today, I could not help but wonder exactly why has there been such an uptick in Christian films and shows.  

There are two reasons hinted at in the article that stood out to me. The first thought revolves around the need for faith. The second is hope.  

At one point, the writer observes that the surge in biblical films is not necessarily a sign that Hollywood has now seen the light as much as it is indicative of the fact “that the world right now feels very dark.” People are searching for some light. The head of the Wonder Project, the independent studio that made House of David, adds: “Today people want to watch things that ‘restore faith’”. 

Personally speaking, I have lowered my intake of news over the last year primarily because I found that it either gets me down or increases my anxiety levels. The decision to tune out news outlets felt like the wise choice in limiting the ambient angst in my life. As I have shared this with friends, I have found that I am not alone in this; not by a long shot. 

Yet, with all the gloomy news we see around us, I’ve come to believe that even in our age of cynicism and scepticism, we still want to trust in others, our friends, our spouse, our leaders, and dare I say, God. 

The common thread among the surge of Christian television shows and films is that they present a world we want to live in. They are telling stories that involve redemptive endings; massive themes are covered, ranging from temptation and forgiveness, humility over pride, healing of wounds, and perhaps greatest of all, life after death. I wonder if one of the reasons we are attracted to these shows is the fact that they carry narratives that speak to the very core of who we are, who we struggle to be, yet who we want to become. They present a world of pain, struggle, turmoil, and darkness that also includes healing, strength, peace, and light. In a word, they fill us with faith. 

The Economist writer adds that “in a saturated streaming market, these films and shows are offering that most of Christian values—hope—to their makers.” Speaking now as a person living in America where the daily news cycle consistently offers us some type of disaster to digest, I find myself paying close attention to any possible signs of hope, and that includes the shows I stream.   

The more I live, the more I realize that every one of us is trying to figure out how to live in a battlefield of different pressures and struggles presented to us in life 

Not too long ago, I got into an unexpected conversation involving faith with the person who cuts my hair. Midway through the haircut, she told me that she and her husband were going to church that weekend. From our conversation, I had gathered that she was not religious at all so I gently asked her why they were going to church. Her voice slowed down and got shaky. She moved the scissors away from me. She then looked at me through the mirror and said, “My husband and I just had a baby and life has been very stressful. We are not sure we are going to make it. We are going to church because we need something to hope in.” 

The more I live, the more I realize that every one of us is trying to figure out how to live in a battlefield of different pressures and struggles presented to us in life. The question has always been, “How is it possible for us to live and perhaps even flourish in this type of world?” The ubiquitous nature of entertainment options available to us in our technological age might be unique to us, perhaps. But what is not new is our desperate need for faith and hope to sustain us. The rise in Christian entertainment reminds us of this truth.  

We might not need Amazon Prime video or Netflix to survive in this world, but the offering of faith and hope found in the films and storytelling within those streaming services are the exact ingredients we need to live. When you think about it like that, it’s easy to understand why Christian entertainment is indeed having a moment. 

Article
Art
Awe and wonder
Belief
Creed
4 min read

The art of astonishment

Why I am still bowled over by Easter’s implications.

Jamie is Vicar of St Michael's Chester Square, London.

A painting depicts Jesus talking to disciples at a meal.
Caravaggio's The Supper at Emmaus.
The National Gallery.

Recently I wrote about how it would be helpful for those of us in the church to be honest about what we don't know.  

Mary Oliver wrote: 

'Truly, we live with mysteries too marvellous 

to be understood… 

 

Let me keep my distance, always, from those 

who think they have the answers. 

Let me keep company always with those who say 

"Look!" and laugh in astonishment, 

and bow their heads.' 

We begin life by thinking we know everything, and we end it by thinking we know nothing at all, or, very little. Easter confronts us with what we don't know, and what is too marvellous to be understood comprehensively. Sure, the evidence for the resurrection of Jesus is surprisingly staggering. Take Francis Collins, who was Director of the Human Genome project and led the US government's COVID-19 pandemic. He said that he grew up thinking faith was the result of emotionalism or indoctrination. Although his job was saturated in evidence-proving hypotheses, he hadn't taken the trouble to look at the evidence in arriving at his conclusion that God didn't exist, before doing so and giving his life to Christ. 

But even when you've surveyed the wondrous cross and its aftermath, the implications of Easter are unscientific and unsettling, as well as documented and liberating. Try as we might, we can't pin down Jesus. Rowan Williams offers that: 

 "One of the strangest features of the resurrection narratives is precisely this theme of otherness, the unrecognisability of the risen Jesus… For some at least, the encounter with the risen Jesus began as an encounter with a stranger".  

We see this as Mary Magdalene mistakes Jesus for the gardener at the tomb, and similarly with those on the road to Emmaus on the day of the resurrection. They had known Jesus up close, and yet here they travelled quite some way with him before realising it was him. 

This is most beautifully depicted by Caravaggio in his 'The Supper at Emmaus', hanging in the National Gallery in London. As Jesus breaks the bread, their eyes are opened to see what the breaking of his body meant for them. Jesus was hidden in plain sight all along. With the echoes of Christendom, or the Christ-haunted cultures many of us live in, Jesus is hidden in plain sight for us too. We hear echoes, but do not hear his voice. We see fingerprints, but do not see the scarred hands of the Almighty. And in the renaissance master's painting, we see dramatic light and shade, the freeze-frame burst of astonishment of the disciples. As the National Gallery description offers, 

 'he has shown the disciples as ordinary working men, with bearded, lined faces and ragged clothes, in contrast to the youthful beardless Christ, who seems to have come from a different world.’ 

Amidst the mystery, this revelation comes in relation to us. And this is what Caravaggio depicts: that which we find difficult to understand is the joy of a risen saviour who chooses to walk, talk, eat with fellow humans on the day of his resurrection. But, as Williams writes,  

'He eludes and questions our predictions and projections, recedes and hides before our attempts to arrive at adequate, definitive statements... A theology of the risen Jesus will always be, to a greater or lesser extent, a negative theology, obliged to confess its conceptual and imaginative poverty.'  

Perhaps Caravaggio's imagination is less impoverished than most of us!  

Intriguingly, Williams has also written a poem about how the resurrection changes the way those on the road to Emmaus viewed each other. Maybe the anonymity of one of them (the gospel writer, Luke, only names one) helps us to place ourselves in the middle of this mystery. And that is a good place to find ourselves, if we answer the invitation of the risen Jesus and the God who spoke to a captive people through the prophet Jeremiah  

'Call to me, and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.’ 

For the disciples, the penny drops, but there is still so much they don't know. This is not to say that they know nothing. Jesus is, in many ways, what Donald Rumsfeld would categorise as a 'known unknown'. Christians believe that Jesus revealed himself in the scriptures, but enough for us to know that there's a lot more to know that we don't know. For those with Christian faith, we don’t exchange the certainty of what we know for mystery, but one of the invitations of the resurrection is to incorporate mystery into faith. And this in itself is not difficult: for to encounter Jesus is to be met with wonder. Those on the road to Emmaus didn’t recognise Jesus at first but their hearts burned within them. For John Wesley, his 'heart was strangely warmed', which strikes me as a very British way of saying his heart was burning within him! 

But many of us will attest that to encounter the risen to Jesus is to shout 'look!' and laugh in astonishment, and to bow our heads. 

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