Unprayed

I don't go to church to be disappointed in myself but it happens from time to time. Usually it is when I am reminded of the tenets of my faith and missed opportunities to apply them better, and during this past Sunday's service, that is what happened.

Most of the service was as one might expect: scriptures were read, songs were sung, and prayers were delivered. During our service, there is an opportunity to light candles of concern or celebration. Two were lit for congregations in our regions, one was lit for the death of a friend, and another was lit for the birth of a great-grandson. Of course someone lit one for the dead in Tumbler Ridge and that whole community, wishing them swift healing from the trauma their community endured. I thought about going up, but wrestled with the idea for too long and the moment was lost. 

I had first had the notion when we passed the peace at the start of the service, shaking hands with other people in the congregation and asking that the peace of Christ be with them. I shook hands with Madeline, a trans woman who started attending last fall with her partner Diamond. I know people in that community have experienced even more expressions of hatred since it was revealed that the Tumbler Ridge shooter was a trans individual, and I told Madeline I was glad to see them.

Then I shook hands with Nicole and Danielle, the couple who joined us as full members about a year ago through profession of faith, and who now look after the supplies for the post-service-fellowship. They are sweethearts and I am always delighted to see them.

But it got me thinking about the communities of faith where the four of them might not be welcome, and the unspoken prayer began to form.

A little while later we got to our reflection, which was not a sermon per se, but a brief talk by the guest invited by our Outreach Committee: Samuel Juru, the executive director of the Newcomer Centre (which was formerly called the Mennonite Center for Newcomers).

He spoke about his experiences growing up in Zimbabwe and being visited by armed government agents there after questioning those in power in a televised Q&A while a student. About coming to Canada as a political refugee, and how his first job here, despite having a degree in international relations, was unloading trucks on the nightshift.

Despite the fact that many other immigrants and refugees in his circle felt having a decent paying job and an apartment meant he had "made it", he reflected on what he wanted to do with his life, returned to school and started two decades of public service helping those trying to come to Canada to make it a better place.

It was a wonderfully personal and inspirational story, that had less to do with faith (although he related praying to God to give him Samson's strength on his first night of unloading heavy, tube-style televisions) and more to do with values, and maybe that is when it hit me:

How many of my fellow Albertans would have been indignat or even angered by the things that brought me joy that morning?

Shaking hands with a transgender woman? Greeting a lesbian couple? Listening to a black immigrant share his story about not only making a successful life with a family here in Canada but helping others to do the same?

It feels like I am continually reading the amplified grievances of people lamenting the way things "used to be," which, let's face it, were probably a pretty good time for white Christian males...but not a lot of others. 

This seems to be the banner that the Alberta separacists (no, I believe that is spelled correctly) are trying to draw people to, and in that moment of realization, a few things came into sharp focus to me:

1) sometimes, the simple act of being a wholly inclusive community of faith and providing a safe space for people is enough in itself, and

2) that being a welcoming and justice-oriented organization is going to feel threatening to some people, and

3) that impasse will be difficult, if not impossible to bridge in our current environment, and we should ask for help.

As people lined up to ask for prayers of both joy and concern, I recognized that what I should do, what I ought to say, is to go up, and highlight that impasse, and then pray - not for us but for the haters.

Pray that the Divine opens their eyes, or their minds, or their hearts, whatever requires broaching. Ask them to see a world that celebrates differences instead of fearing it, to imagine one that embraces diversity as a source of strength and not dilution. Because as entrenched as our positions might seem to be, we won't be able to move forward effectively without some of those on the other side changing their minds.

And with corporate-owned news media and billionaire-owned social media so intent on keeping us divided and antagonistic for eyes and subscriptions and likes and clicks and advertising dollars , the oligarchs and the rest of them can sit back and watch us divide ourselves, and then roll up to conquer later on.

All of this ran through my head as I struggled to pay attention to the other candle-lighters asking for prayers, but when the last one spoke, I was still there, in my seat. Unwilling to stand and make this ridiculous ask that we, as followers of not just the 'brand' but the actual teachings of Jesus, try to find it in ourselves to recognize the intolerant as fellow children of God.

And what has gnawed at my soul since then is not so much the fact that I was unable to do it; the real pain is the lack of regret I feel for not having done it.

Perhaps next Sunday...

You-Know-Who Off the Starboard Bow

I am willing to wager that, in 1985, the nerdiest group at Leduc Composite High School was probably our Star Trek game club.

Sure, we would get together over lunch to play the excellent Star Trek role-playing game FASA produced, similar to the D&D club. But one of the best parts of the deluxe boxed set I had splurged on was that it not only came with all the RPG rules, character sheets and a book of scenarios, oh no. It also came with their Starship Tactical Combat system, a good-sized hex map and a set of counters.

This was my favourite space combat system for years; fast, elegant, and fun to play, with a dizzying array of spaceships to choose from in a great cllection of sourcebooks. 

Best of all though, in addition to allowing players to command individual or groups of ships, it came with a set of helm displays so that each RPG character could control their own bridge station: the captain would give their orders and general plan, the engineer would allocate power to movement, weapons and shields, and three different crew would then execute the orders as best they could, based on energy allotment, dice rolls and enemy action.

Before beginning our campaign in earnest, we thought it a good idea to try a simulator session to familiarize ourselves with the system, a la Kobayashi Maru. The Constitution class was a bit overgunned for the classic Klingon D7, so as the gamemaster I ran a D10 heavy battlecruiser as OpFor and we set the two vessels up facing each other a good ways apart. 

In space games there is not a lot of terrain to contend with, so most engagements start out looking like a game of chicken. As I recall, the turns were broken into segments, and the more energy you had allocated to movement, the more segments you would move on. Once per turn, you could choose to fire any powered-up weapons in the correct firing arc (such as port, forward, aft, etc.).

I did my best not to listen in on their plans, as that would be both unfair and unrealistic - after all, how would the Klingons overhear enemy bridge chatter which was such a key part of the Trek canon? And besides that, I already had a fairly significant advantage.

What? Gawd, no, not any sort of tactical genius (snort) - ask anyone who's played me. No, my advantage was made crystal clear as Capt. Earl asked his crew for tactical input and they made a variety of cases for him to consider. My Klingons, meanwhile, had perfect communication and execution as their entire bridge complement (and everyone else for that matter) were all controlled by a single player - me.

After taking some ineffectual long range shots at one another, the Federation ship (whose name Earl and I believe was the USS Excalibur) and Riska

dh class battlecruiser closed to knife-fighting range. The Excalibur had reduced movement to intensify their forward firepower and shields, while I...had not.

"Helm, bring us straight in. Weapons, hold fire until point blank range," Capt. Earl ordered as he leaned forward in his desk. Each segment, the two warships moved closer and closer to each other. "Almost there..." he murmured - just before the segment arrived for my double-move and I skipped the D10 directly over the Excalibur and into the hex directly behind it.

Now, at that time, in that system, the Constitution class had absolutely no aft-firing weapons.

The D10 did, though. 

Not big ones, just two small disruptor batteries. However, if one had not allocated any real power to the aft shields because they'd reinforced the front, any disruptors at all are bad news, particularly at point blank range.

The Excalibur was rocked with structural and systems damage, but nowhere near out of the fight - a wounded and cornered animal, more than capable of evening the odds.

Frustrated and disappointed but his composure uncracked, Capt. Earl gave his orders: "Damage control parties to all decks. Arm photon torpedoes! Bring us around and let them have both barrels before they can pull out of range and make another pass."

The Excalibur's damaged state did not give them any spare energy to speak of, so movement would need to be slow in order to allow sufficient power to the weapons and forward shields. AS the segments counted down, they finally and painstakingly turned a single hex face, while the D10 had not yet moved. 

A few more segments and then another turn in place...one more turn and the photon torpedoes would have a bead on the Klingon ship! Even if I had reinforced my rear shields, they could not possibly withstand such an onslaught. 

As it happened though, I had not allocated any power to my rear shields at all.

Finally, they used their last remaining movement point to turn the final hex face and point their incredibly dangerous nose towards my Klingon's exposed backside. 

But in that final segment I also got to move, and having remained still for an entire turn, was now permitted to move straight backwards two hexes. Which I did! And which brought my own panoply of now-overcharged weapons directly to bear on the familiar and still unshielded aft facing of the Excalibur.

There was a low moan from several of the crew as I collected all the dice I needed and let fly. With no shields to blunt the disruptors' assailment the Excalibur's systems were demolished and the superstructure was irreparably damaged. 

Crestfallen, the crew looked to Captain Earl, who gave the only orders he still could: "All hands - abandon ship. I say again abandon ship. All crew to the escape pods. Comms, launch a signal buoy with our position and distress beacon..."

After a moment, I said, "well, good thing this was a simulation, right? There is no way you will let me get away with that nonsense next time!"

In fact, as I recall it, there was enough time to get a rematch in during that same lunch period, and the Excalibur's now-seasoned crew made a much better showing.

Still, the look on their faces when I moved backwards to attack them from behind a second time still makes me smile four decades later.

The Revolution *Will* Be Dramatised - One Battle After Another, Reviewed

Prior to the Oscars, our household always tries to scarf down as many films with as many nominees as we can. Sometimes we encounter a delight we might not have come across otherwise, and other times these viewings feel obligatory or perfunctory, even after the fact. When we started watching Paul Thomas Anderson's One Battle After Another tonight I approached it like the latter, but was pleasantly surprised to discover the former.

I knew from the trailer that I was in for something conspiratorial and paranoid, but there is an almost hallucinatory or dreamlike element to much of it as well that reminded me of The Illuminatus Trilogy. The compartmentalized secrecy of the French 75 revolutionary group, while hearkening back to the Weather Underground of the 60s and 70s, felt chronologically displaced among modern autos and cell phones. It was even filmed in 35mm VistaVision for a more period feel.

The majority of the film follows a former revolutionary (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his teenaged daughter (Chase Infiniti) who go on the run after 16 years in hiding when a vengeful Col. Lockjaw (Sean Penn) discovers their whereabouts. This partially follows the plot of Thomas Pynchon's novel Vineland but is only a loose adaptation (with the author's blessing, which is cool).

The writing is tight and the pacing tighter than most of the other Anderson movie's I've watched (I appreciated There Will be Blood but actively disliked Phantom Thread), but like those movies there are some fantastic performances to be had here, running the gamut from broad satire to intensely personal. Benicio Del Toro joins the other two male leads for Oscar nominations and I adored his portrayal of a karate school teacher who maintains an unbreakable coolness despite the plot's impacts on his own, separate, clandestine objectives.

The lack of female nominations strikes me as tragic, given the caliber of performances, but 13 nominations for the film in total is no small achievement.

In terms of impact, it is one thing for a present day movie to echo the sentiments of a more subversive era, with its callbacks to Gil Scott Heron's The Revolution Will Not Be Televised and the film The Battle of Algiers (mandatory viewing for both the Black Panthers and the FBI's Hostage Rescue Unit) while people are weariung present day clothing. It is entirely another to watch Federal agents kitted out in full tactical gear storming a frozen food factory and high school dance as cover for their manhunt, using agents provocateur to escalate street confrontations while similar scenes are playing out IRL in Minneapolis. 

The introduction of an even more secretive faction of rich white racists brings things like the Epstein files to mind as well - all this from a screenplay Anderson says he has been writing for twenty years, and which wrapped shooting a year before the ICE surge descended on Minnesota.

An imaginative and chilling movie that has genuine affection for the characters that it subjects to such harsh trials, and yet still finds moments of gallows humour and absurdity, I suggest open-minded film fans seek out One Battle After Another on Crave here in Canada. Heck, if you watch Sinners on the same service, that's 29 nominations you've covered for the Oscars...