Skip to main content

You Are The Messiah and I Should Know...


The origins of the title of this book by Justin Lewis-Anthony will be known to the film buffs amongst you; it is taken from Monty Python's The Life of Brian and in the long section of the book dealing with film, the author explains why, but more of that later. This profound little book happened across my path, in the way that books do, just when I needed to see it. I have been, quite understandably I think, somewhat exercised of questions of leadership of late and many books, articles,videos, well meaning conversations, and not very well meaning admonitions have splattergunned in my general direction a range of views on the subject. Just this week, for example, someone from the North Island somewhere has written a very long letter to all us bishops helpfully pointing out our joint and several lack of anything resembling leadership and telling us to do something about it. He was not clear on exactly what why or how we were to do this, but that's not something he has on his own.Several years of thinking about leadership have convinced me that it is a jolly important thing, but no-one much seems to have a very clear idea of what exactly it is.

And on this point, Justin Lewis-Anthony and I are in agreement. He opens his book with a brief overview of Christian teaching on leadership and points out the glaring lack of anything like a coherent, shared  idea of what leadership is. Instead he says, books on leadership assume that the author knows what it is, and that the audience both knows and agrees with the author on this point. What is assumed, says Lewis Anthony, is usually not some specifically Christian view of leadership but a model of leadership embedded in the general culture out of which the author is writing. We are, he reminds us, subject to various culturally defined myths of leadership which we assume, as we do with many of our cultural mores, to be unarguable universal truths. These myths are usually unconsciously held and are therefore completely invisible to us. If we wish to see them and examine them, the place where they find their  most coherent expression is the place where all of our culture's myths are most transparently displayed and promulgated: the movies.

So, for a good deal of the book   Lewis-Anthony examines a beguilingly diverse range of movies for their treatment of leadership. As movies in the West are dominated by Hollywood, the leadership myths of America have increasingly become those of the whole of Western Civilisation. His argument is complex enough, but is cogently and entertainingly presented. I don't intend to rehearse his argument here but his conclusion both unnerved and reassured me. He says that the model of leadership embedded in our culture and illustrated time and again in our movies is characterised by individualism and violence and that this is the model uncritically assumed by many writers on Christian leadership. In the church, however, another form of leadership entirely is called for. In the Jesus movement the leader and the community are indissolubly linked and leadership is marked not by rugged John Wayne style individuality but by obedience to God. The path of Jesus is about discipleship and in the closing chapters of the book Lewis-Anthony leans heavily on Dietrich Bonhoeffer as he explains the path of discipleship: a path of death and resurrection taken by all members of the community, including the leader, together. The culturally defined individualistic leadership, exercised through physical, intellectual, emotional or spiritual violence is, in the final analysis a heresy. We are on a different journey and use methods defined by and appropriate to that path.

This is not a large book at about 280 pages including copious footnotes. It began life as a doctoral thesis, and although it has been edited for popular publication its origins show. I read this on my kindle and was constantly ending up lost in the footnotes after I accidentally hit one of the myriad hyperlinks while turning a page. The editing is in places a bit slap dash with some oddly constructed sentences seemingly the result of a none too carefully polished bit of cut and pasting. But those are minor faults. The style is slick and ironically humorous in a dead pan English sort of way.This is a provocative book whose accessibility and sheer entertainment value disguises the intelligence and depth of scholarship which lie behind it. It's well worth spending a few dollars of your book allowance on.

Comments

Anonymous said…
This is good stuff, Kelvin. Have you read his other book, "If You Meet George Herbert in the Road, Kill Him"? Lewis-Anthony leans heavily on Bonhoeffer there, too. Anyway, what the church needs is not "leadership" but ἐπισκοπή, which is precisely a matter of spiritual obedience, on the part of both shepherd and flock. Our models have to come from scripture and tradition, not the thoughtless kitsch we are confronted with every day in the world.
Anonymous said…
Hi Kelvin,
as one who has been foolish enough to write something about leadership, I wholeheartedly agree that there is a danger of allowing hollywood to shape our thinking and assumptions about leadership. Of course in New Zealand, the egalitarian ideal can also skew the way we exercise positions of influence. In Jesus, Peter, Paul et al, we see a fair old range of models.
Stu

Popular posts from this blog

Camino, by David Whyte

This poem captures it perfectly Camino. The way forward, the way between things, the way already walked before you, the path disappearing and re-appearing even as the ground gave way beneath you, the grief apparent only in the moment of forgetting, then the river, the mountain, the lifting song of the Sky Lark inviting you over the rain filled pass when your legs had given up, and after, it would be dusk and the half-lit villages in evening light; other people's homes glimpsed through lighted windows and inside, other people's lives; your own home you had left crowding your memory as you looked to see a child playing or a mother moving from one side of a room to another, your eyes wet with the keen cold wind of Navarre. But your loss brought you here to walk under one name and one name only, and to find the guise under which all loss can live; remember you were given that name every day along the way, remember you were greeted as such, and you neede

Kindle

 Living as I do in a place where most books have to come a long way in an aeroplane, reading is an expensive addiction, and of course there is always the problem of shelf space. I have about 50 metres of shelving in my new study, but it is already full and there is not a lot of wall space left; and although it is great insulation, what is eventually going to happen to all that paper? I doubt my kids will want to fill their homes with old theological works, so most of my library is eventually going to end up as egg cartons. Ebooks are one solution to book cost and storage issues so I have been  using them for a while now, but their big problem has been finding suitable hardware to read them on.  I first read them on the tiny screens of Ipaqs and they were quite satisfactory but the wretchedness of Microsoft Reader and its somewhat arbitrary copyright protection system killed the experience entirely. On Palm devices they were OK except the plethora of competing and incompatible formats

Ko Tangata Tiriti Ahau

    The Christmas before last our kids gave us Ancestry.com kits. You know the deal: you spit into a test tube, send it over to Ireland, and in a month or so you get a wadge of paper in the mail telling you who you are. I've never, previously, been interested in all that stuff. I knew my forbears came to Aotearoa in the 1850's from Britain but I didn't know from where, exactly. Clemency's results, as it turns out, were pretty interesting. She was born in England, but has ancestors from various European places, and some who are Ngāti Raukawa, so she can whakapapa back to a little marae called Kikopiri, near Ōtaki. And me? It turns out I'm more British than most British people. Apart from a smattering of Norse  - probably the result of some Viking raid in the dim distant past - all my tūpuna seem to have come from a little group of villages in Nottinghamshire.  Now I've been to the UK a few times, and I quite like it, but it's not home: my heart and soul belon

En Hakkore

In the hills up behind Ranfurly there used to be a town, Hamilton, which at one stage was home to 5,000 people. All that remains of it now is a graveyard, fenced off and baking in the lonely brown hills. Near it, in the 1930s a large Sanitorium was built for the treatment of tuberculosis and other respiratory ailments. It was a substantial complex of buildings with wards, a nurses hostel, impressive houses for the manager and superintendent and all the utility buildings needed for such a large operation. The treatment offered consisted of isolation, views and weather. Patients were exposed to the air, the tons of it which whistled past, often at great speed, the warmth of the sun and the cold. They were housed in small cubicles opening onto huge glassed verandas where they cooked in the summer and froze in the winter and often, what with the wholesome food and the exercise, got better. When advances in antibiotics rendered the Sanitorium obsolete it was turned into a Borstal and the

Return to Middle Earth

 We had a flood, a couple of weeks back, and had to move all the stuff out of the spare bedroom, including  the contents of two floor to ceiling book cases. Shoving the long unopened copies of Sartor Resartus and An Introduction to Byron into cartons, I came upon my  copy of The Lord of the Rings . Written in the flyleaf are the dates of its many readings, the last one being when I read it aloud to Catherine, when she was about 10 or 11, well over 20 years ago. The journey across Middle Earth took Catherine and me the best part of a year, except for the evening when we followed Frodo and Sam across the last stretches of Mordor and up Mount Doom, when we simply couldn't stop, and sat up reading until 11.00 pm, on a school night.  My old copy is a paperback, the same edition that every card carrying baby boomer has somewhere on their shelves. The glue has dried and hardened. The cover and many of the pages have come loose. I was overcome with the urge to read it again, but this old