First off, in the Book of Alternative Services—the more contemporary prayer/liturgy book of the Anglican Church of Canada—the rite of confirmation is framed as follows:

Confirmation, reception, and reaffirmation are various modes of response to baptism. Whether they involve making promises on one’s own behalf, seeking membership within a particular branch of the Church, or reaffirming promises made long ago, each is directly related to the covenant made in baptism. The liturgy of baptism is consequently the primary context in which these renewals of the baptismal covenant take place.

In other words the Canadian Church seems to understand these three adult actions of confirmation, reception (being formally received from another church which practices confirmation, such as the Roman Catholic and Lutheran churches), and reaffirmation as all being cut from much the same cloth. They cover a fair bit of turf, too: 1) making adult promises on one’s own behalf; 2) seeking affiliation within this particular Anglican branch of the church; 3) reaffirming the promises made long ago at an earlier baptism— possibly as an infant, though not necessarily so. Was my professor very far off in his comment about it being “a rite in search of a theology?”

The Church of England (which is our “mother church”) provides the following statements as to the meaning of confirmation:

What we now call confirmation was originally part of a wider ceremony of Christian initiation and only became a separate rite when bishops were no longer able to preside at all baptisms.

As a separate rite, confirmation marks the point in the Christian journey at which the participation in the life of God’s people inaugurated at baptism is confirmed by the bishop by the laying on of hands, and in which those who have been baptised affirm for themselves the faith into which they have been baptised and their intention to live a life of responsible and committed discipleship. Through prayer and the laying on of hands by the confirming bishop, the Church also asks God to give them power through the Holy Spirit to enable them to live in this way.

When confirmation is part of a combined rite including adult baptism it has a slightly different significance. In this case, as in the traditional Western service of initiation mentioned above, the confirmation element signifies the gift of the Holy Spirit following on from baptism in water. The biblical model for this is Christ’s own baptism in which, the gospels tell us, the Spirit descended on Him when He came up out of the water after having been baptised by John the Baptist (Matthew 3:16-17, Mark 1:9-11, Luke 3:21-22, John 1:32-33).

Interesting to note that there is no mention at all of confirmation being equated with “becoming an Anglican,” or of joining a particular denomination. The focus, rather, is on the bishop’s role as representing a church that is rooted right back to the apostles, such that to have the bishop “lay hands” is to symbolize our connection to something older and deeper than any single congregation. There is also an emphasis on the Holy Spirit, though in some ways that creates as many problems than it solves, in that baptism is always understood as being the work of the Holy Spirit… a bishop doesn’t have the “power” to give you more of it!

Donald Schell, who was one of the priests who founded St Gregory of Nyssa parish in San Francisco—a very creative and decidedly out-of-the-box place—had this to say when I asked him what they did with confirmation:

I’ve presented plenty of adults for Reaffirmation/Confirmation, and most of them were people coming fresh to Anglican practice, some from other Christian traditions, some from no previous religious practice. When I was rector of St. Gregory’s and Bill Swing was our bishop, I’d tell them, “We’ll present you for the bishop to lay his hands on your head, prayer over you, and bless where you are in your journey into God (“journey into God” is Gregory of Nyssa’s language). The bishop is our living connection to the worldwide church—he’s the one who welcomed Desmond Tutu here with a hug—and he’s also our living connection to continuity through time back through Bishop Kip (California’s Gold Rush bishop who was shipwrecked and swam to shore in San Diego and in the course of his episcopate went from riding the length and width of the state on horseback to riding the brand new train), back to a long line of public teachers and preachers (Irenaeus’ description of the Bishop’s work) that help us know our lineage. We’ll pray for the gifts of the Spirit. You’ve already got those gifts, but grace is always overflowing, always more, always beyond anything we need. You don’t need to reaffirm your faith or be confirmed, but it’s a joyful and moving way to invite the Spirit to continue new work in your life and among us.”

I have to say, that makes as much sense of things as just about anything else I’ve read on confirmation. It is a perspective remarkably free of any sign of “institutional” membership issues, in that it doesn’t put any emphasis on joining the an institution called “the Anglican church,” but rather on connecting through the bishop to something larger than just our own church community. Yes, that is expressed through this particular place along the continuum of the Christian tradition, but that is a different thing from signing on the proverbial dotted line of institutional membership. And Schell also does justice to the issue of the Holy Spirit, as “grace is always overflowing, always more, always beyond anything we need.”  I like that.

All to say that while I don’t see confirmation as being in any way required in order to make us somehow more spiritual or fully Christian, I was delighted to present Bryan, Kyla, Andrew, Rachel, Norm, and Nadine for the rite of confirmation—a rite marked by the laying on of hands by the bishop, symbolizing our connection to something much bigger than ourselves. I’m with Donald Schell on this stuff… this is a “joyful and moving way to invite the Spirit to continue new work in your life and among us.”

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And as if that isn’t a sufficiently personal take on the whole matter, a few words on my own confirmation. I was confirmed in the early 80s, in the midst of my undergraduate studies at the University of Winnipeg. For me it was very much a point of rooting myself along a place along “the continuum of the Christian tradition.” Growing up I was formed in Westwood Presbyterian Church through my elementary school years, and at Church of the Way through junior high and high school. My high school education came courtesy of the Mennonite Brethren Collegiate Institute, and at the same time I was quite involved in Young Life (a ministry that shares some common ground with Youth for Christ, though certainly at the time it was a bit more on the maverick side of things). I also owe part of my formation to the two years I spent working at an old style home for young boys run by the Roman Catholic Sisters of Providence. There, under the tutelage of the rather mischievous Sister Rita Killeen, I not only learned some powerful lessons about putting faith into practice but I also came to a place of deep appreciation for Catholic Christianity.

With all of those influences—Protestant and Catholic, Anabaptist and Evangelical—where better to land than in Anglicanism? Yet that move hinged on the presence in my life of a very fine Anglican priest/mentor, who insisted that my university education was lacking because I was not studying literature, and so when I came asking for tomes on theology he kept handing me novels… the best thing he could have done.

In that era in this diocese confirmations were seen as diocesan events, and so people were gathered at the Cathedral from across parishes for special Sunday afternoon liturgies. There were probably fifty confirmands there that day, and while that might sound as if it must have been a bit of an assembly line, I had no sense of it being anything other than invigorating. I have a very vivid memory of kneeling before the bishop, and of the weight of his hands on my head as he prayed those words of invocation over me… over my life, really.

But the most vivid memory is of the family dinner that followed the liturgy. My grandfather had come from London, Ontario to attend the service, and as the supper drew to its close, he pushed his chair back from the dining room table and said that he very much respected the step I had taken. He then explained how as a young man he had been very drawn to the Anglican church, but had decided that he needed to stay on as a member at Elim Chapel, the church co-founded by his own father. There was no sense of regret in his words (my grandfather was not a man to harbour regrets!), but instead just a message of supportive understanding for how I had chosen to anchor my own spiritual life. His words, though, had about them something of a patriarchal blessing, complementary to the words of blessing spoken by the bishop a just few hours earlier.

Two and a half years later I was off to Toronto to study theology at Trinity College, and three years after that I was ordained in the Anglican Church of Canada. Next week I’m off to Toronto to mark the twenty-fifth anniversary of my graduation from Trinity, and I can honestly say that I cannot imagine myself having taken any other path. The rooting symbolized in my confirmation (and “confirmed” by my grandfather’s blessing) was the beginning of what has been a great adventure.

Jamie Howison

April 30, 2012

The next day Colleen Peters sent along the following reflection on this great prayer, written by Frederick Buechner and originally published in his book Whistling in the Dark: a Doubter’s Dictionary. If you’ve never read any of Buechner’s work, this might just inspire you to dig in a little deeper:

In the Episcopal [Anglican] order of worship, the priest sometimes introduces the Lord’s Prayer with the words, “Now, as our Saviour Christ hath taught us, we are bold to say…” The word bold is worth thinking about. We do well not to pray the prayer lightly. It takes guts to pray it at all. We can pray it in the unthinking and perfunctory way we usually do only by disregarding what we are saying.

“Thy will be done” is what we are saying. That is the climax of the first half of the prayer. We are asking God to be God. We are asking God to do not what we want but what God wants. We are asking God to make manifest the holiness that is now mostly hidden, to set free in all its terrible splendor the devastating power that is now mostly under restraint. “Thy kingdom come… on earth” is what we are saying. And if that were suddenly to happen, what then? What would stand and what fall? Who would be welcomed in and who would be thrown the hell out? Which if any of our most precious visions of what God is and of what human beings are would prove to be more or less on the mark and which would turn out to be phony as three-dollar bills? Boldness indeed. To speak those words is to invite the tiger out of the cage, to unleash a power that makes atomic power look like a warm breeze.

You need to be bold in another way to speak the second half. Give us. Forgive us. Don’t test us. Deliver us. If it takes guts to face the omnipotence that is God’s, it perhaps takes no less to face the impotence that is ours. We can do nothing without God. We can have nothing without God. Without God we are nothing.

It is only the words “Our Father” that make the prayer bearable. If God is indeed something like a father, then as something like children maybe we can risk approaching him anyway.  – Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking

 

You might notice, by the way, that Buechner writes how in the Anglican liturgy the priest often introduces the prayer by saying, “Now, as our Saviour Christ hath taught us, we are bold to say,” while at saint benedict’s table I always change the word “say” to “pray.” We are bold to pray, because to my mind such words really must be prayed, not simply spoken. It is when we pray them that they do their deep and at times unsettling work, reminding us that there is yet work to be done. And thankfully, this God of ours knows us the way a parent knows a child…

Whistling in the Dark is a great introduction to Buechner’s writing, as is a similar collection of short pieces called Wishful Thinking: a seeker’s ABC. You can also watch an excerpt from a film on Buechner’s life and work by clicking here.

Jamie Howison

We thought it might be interesting to extend the conversation, by linking interested readers to an article from the December 8, 2011 edition of The Economist  called “God in austerity Britain.” In the preface to the web edition of the article, the author made the following observations:

The Church of England looks suprisingly central to the national debate just now, with bishops making front page news by criticising government spending cuts and protestors camped out on the steps of St Paul’s Cathedral. But in reality, I suggest, this moment of national crisis poses a tough test for the established church, whose position is weaker than it looks.

Well, there are big difference between England and Canada, just as there are between the Church of England and the Anglican Church in Canada, but maybe that bit of distance might give us room to think together a bit more dispassionately about the whole matter.

We’d love you to read the article, and then to come back here and weigh in.

Although I really don’t enjoy waiting for many things in life (who does?), the ‘waiting’ aspect of Advent is something I anticipate each year. Advent waiting doesn’t focus alone on Jesus Christ’s return at the end of time, but also entails a time of waiting and watching for Christ to appear in my own life today. And He does, at times in astonishing ways if I have eyes to see it.  In Frederick Buechner’s words, “I look at what there is to be seen in the world and in myself and hope, trust, believe against all evidence to the contrary that beneath the surface I see there is vastly more that I cannot see.”

Seven years ago during Advent, I began a two month wait for brain biopsy results, and with each day of waiting the fear grew that I wouldn’t live to see another Christmas with Len and the kids. They were critical weeks for me, my mortality crashing into my consciousness every day, and many nights.

Fear

Wells up from below…

Fear of the unknown ….

Fear of the known.

Gag to quell it.

Gulps of tears to drown the fears.

The key of release from the stifling cage … Breathe.

 

 

But through the days of Christmas and through to mid February, a peculiar peace settled in my heart, and our home, and at times the memory of it brings me tears. Seven years later the crisis of having to consider tumours and cancer is long past, but the peace has not passed. The peace that carried me through crisis seven years ago, has carried me through chronic illness in the ensuing years providing a ‘chronic’ wellness … a steady presence that permeates all areas of my life, so that my physical decline doesn’t define who I am. That presence, the Spirit of Christ, is powerful and paves my way with a peaceful perspective that colours everything. Lewis’s words in The Weight of Glory ring true for me. “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen; not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.”

I’ve recently read a book, The Gift of Pain by Dr. Paul Brand, world renowned hand surgeon and leprosy specialist, that served to counter encroaching self-pity. The book is the fruit of Brand’s many years of working with people who suffered from pain and people who suffered from the lack of it. He worked closely with people groups from England, America, and India and their diverse responses to pain informed his thoughts over many years. Though not a pain expert, Dr. Brand’s vast experience allows him to write about managing pain across the board, not just the pain associated with leprosy. He chose the form of a memoir for his book, “with all its loops and detours because that is how I learned about pain: not systematically but experientially. Pain does not occur in the abstract – no sensation is more personal, or more importunate.” Dr. Brand’s book came out of the conviction that, in his words, “Most of us will one day face severe pain… and the attitude we cultivate in advance may well determine how suffering will affect us when it does strike.” The book was a tonic for me, and reading it refreshed my perspectives on several fronts, and perhaps most importantly made me grateful that I’m challenged by Multiple Sclerosis  rather than by a much harsher neurological disease like leprosy.

Living with MS, I experience pain in my feet, hands, legs, arms, face and eyes and parts of my back. Besides the surface, or skin pain, my neuropathy also manifests itself at a muscular level, causing weakness and cramp-like pain deep in my muscles, mainly my legs and arms. My legs, more so the left, feel like logs and a slight limp at times seems to be how my body is dealing with this. And yet I’m still running, without a limp, I’ve not fallen recently, and for this joy in my life I give God thanks! My chief grievance is the fact that my neuropathic pain is without respite.

C.S. Lewis was no stranger to pain, directly and vicariously, to both physical and emotional pain and I appreciate his perspective from A Grief Observed:

What is grief compared with physical pain? Whatever fools may say, the body can suffer twenty times more than the mind. The mind has always some power of evasion. At worst, the unbearable thought only comes back and back, but the physical pain can be absolutely continuous. Grief is like a bomber circling round and dropping its bomb each time the circle brings it overhead; physical pain is like the steady barrage on a trench in World War One, hours of it with no let-up for a moment. Thought is never static; pain often is.   (C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed)

 

I thought Lewis’s trench analogy characteristically incisive; and true and tender his perspective on God’s apparent silence when Lewis questions Him about suffering.

When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of “No answer.” It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, “Peace child; you don’t understand.”

There certainly are fragile days when God seems silent, and dangerously distant from my plight, but the sense of well-being remains even so and I am grateful that His peace keeps pace with the challenge of living with the chronic as it did with the challenge of facing the critical.

 “By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”  – Luke 1:78-79

In the Joy of the Season,

Colleen Peters

Colleen Peters is married to Len, and is a mother of two girls and twin boys. She taught at Winnipeg’s Mennonite Brethren Collegiate Institute before beginning to raise a family, and as her children grew she returned to teaching on a part-time basis. Neurological anomalies surfaced in 2004, and she was eventually diagnosed with Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis, the condition with which she continues to live.

Dear Mr. Harper,

I am deeply concerned about Omnibus Bill C-10. It is my wife’s research (as a social-work student at Booth University College in Winnipeg) that has refocused my attention to the bill. The more I followed her work, the more concerned I have become.

Firstly, I believe there are some good things in the bill – let me be clear about that. But there are also some alarmingly retrogressive policies that will undoubtably be a black stain on your leadership for decades to come if passed as is. For the love of God and your fellow Canadians, please slow the process of this bill down. Break-up the omnibus to its components and consider each individually and carefully.

Honestly… in the last election I was prepared, for the first time in my life, to vote Conservative. I tend to be a bit left leaning myself, but thought that at this particular juncture perhaps a conservative economic approach trumped other concerns. Also, I live in Conservative MP Joy Smith’s riding and have deeply appreciated her noble fight against human trafficking. But in the end I could not, by extension, sign my name to a bill that blanketly criminalizes the ill and the desperate when other measures are proven to be cheaper, more effective and more humane.

I have no need to demonize those who have different opinions than me. But please tell me… who is being served by taking away the power of judges to discern individual cases and sentence accordingly? Who is being served by harsh punitive measures for crimes that are rooted in addictions and poverty when prevention and restorative measures are proven to be far more effective? Who is being served by costly measures that disrupt family and community economies instead of promoting personal responsibility and community well-being? We need a much more sophisticated and nuanced response to crime and public safety than what this bill will produce.

Frankly, I’m a little surprised that you, who shares the same Christian faith I embrace, propose to rule out discernment and mercy from the justice system. A broad-scope survey of Biblical history shows a slow but progressive movement away from a merciless justice which favours retribution to restoration.

Know also, my convictions come from lifelong experience of the Canadian Penitentiary system. My father was a protestant chaplain who served roughly 30 years in federal prisons in Drumheller, Stony Mountain, Edmonton and, toward the end of his career, as regional Chaplain of the Maritime Provinces. Dad is a thoughtful man who tends toward a more conservative ideology, but finds himself utterly bewildered and alienated from ideologies that do not honour or respect the long hard work of practitioners in the field, expert research or verifiable fact.

Mr. Harper, please reconsider. I don’t believe you have the majority of Canadians’ support for this. You certainly do not have the support of experts in the field. Again, this administration will be well remembered for a costly mistake in judgement in support of structures that will have to be dismantled at great expense to the individuals, families and communities that make up our nation.

Meanwhile, I do sincerely pray for your health and the well being of your beloved. I wish you every good success in the office with which you have been charged and I thank you for carrying the weighty burden the office demands.

Respectfully,

I

came to saint ben’s two summers ago, unaware that I was on the doorstep of a growth spurt that would feel more like a genuine faith crisis. In the fourteen or so months since then, my perception of God has not so much changed as come round full circle, having deepened beyond communication. The short version is my paradigms got blasted to bits, shaken through a sieve of tough questions—none too gently, I might add—and rebuilt into a richer, though somewhat less defined belief. All this came after a New Year’s resolution which essentially said to God, “Hit me with your best shot.” Although I’ve settled into a very peace-filled desire for this inner reformation to go on indefinitely, it is with great trepidation that I recommend such a course of action to anyone else.

All that said, I owe you all my very deepest gratitude. You accepted Scott and me, as a couple and as individuals, at a time when we needed it the most. I owe the Krushels and Mr. Campbell—sorry… Larry—my particular, heart-felt thanks for this. You have no idea how much your simple acts of love meant to me in dark times. As a congregation, you demonstrate a vital familial love for one another, the likes of which I’ve not seen in another church. I walk into service on Sundays and instantly feel like I’m among kin; I feel safe, cared for, home. Your collective pursuit of a living, relevant, authentic relationship with God, your devotion to practical service, taught me in a time when I was sure of almost nothing of what life with God looks like.

So thank you. As I continue my time here with Outtatown I look fondly toward December when I will worship with you again. God willing, I’ll remember to say “Happy Advent,” lest Jamie chastise me for a premature “Merry Christmas!”

Beth concludes her message by directing us to Romans 15:5-6: “May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

• To listen to the audio from the workshop, simply click the arrow

Here’s a bit of information on the three artists:

Helen Lyons is a Winnipeg-based visual artist, inveterate student and life-long learner. She has been a part of saint benedict’s table from its earliest days, and her series of prints of the Stations of the Cross were published in our Lenten book, Toward What We Can Scarcely Imagine and Scarcely Refuse. Helen lives with her husband Martin in a house filled with art, books and life.

Jodi Penner has been active in saint benedict’s table since 2004, taking an active role both in our music and our art ministries. She finds both traditional stained glass and glass mosaic to be colourful mediums that express the emotion and spirituality she seeks to convey in her art. Her mosaic piece “Anamnesis” – a meditation on the meaning of communion – has become a fixture beside the communion table at worship.

Jaylene Johnson is a singer/songwriter who lives in Winnipeg. Her work has been widely recognized with various nominations and awards, as well as placements on various popular television shows. Described as an artist who will make you “listen more closely,” she infuses hope into her songs while taking an honest look at the human condition. We are delighted that Jaylene recently joined our staff as the ministry coordinator.

Helen Lyons' print from her series of Stations of the Cross

Helen Lyons' print from her series of Stations of the Cross

Jodi Penner's "The Ascent of Adam Penner"

T

he images of starving children in East Africa over the last few months got a lot of people talking about what’s causing the drought. Is it just normal climate variability? Is it a particularly nasty La Niña year? Or could it be linked to climate change?

The answer is we don’t know. Most reports are linking the drought and famine to La Niña, a natural weather event linked to cooler than normal sea-surface temperatures in the central and eastern tropical Pacific Ocean that can significantly affect global weather. The science on how climate change impacts La Niña is still unclear.

But even if we can’t say for sure what’s caused consecutive failed rainy seasons in the horn of Africa, one thing is clear:  Extreme weather is becoming increasingly common around the world. Whether it’s the deluges of rain on the Canadian prairies this spring, or the worst floods in 50 years currently devastating Thailand, or unprecedented heat waves in Russia last summer, something strange is happening.

The cost is high. Over six million acres of prairie farmland went unseeded in Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta due to flooding in 2011. In the U.S., the National Weather Service announced that by the end of August the country had already experienced nine weather disasters with losses of at least $1 billion this year. This tied the record set in 2008—with four months left to go before year end.

While it is difficult to attribute climate change to any one event, we do know these events fit the climate change pattern. Said Sir John Beddington, the United Kingdom government’s Chief Scientific Adviser, about the East Africa famine: “Worldwide, events like this have a higher probability of occurring as a result of climate change.”

Whether or not the drought in East Africa can be attributed to climate change, at Canadian Foodgrains Bank we know that our partners in other countries are becoming increasingly concerned about drought. In a  recent survey of 40 agricultural projects in Africa that receive funding from the Foodgrains Bank, drought or excess rain was mentioned as a leading cause of hunger in almost 90 percent of the projects, with most of the concern centred on drought.

We also know that those who are most vulnerable to droughts and other extreme weather events are those who are already living on the edge of hunger. Many of these are smallholder farmers or pastoralists—people whose livelihoods depend almost entirely on the weather.

Canadians are responding to the needs of people still suffering from drought in East Africa by donating money—something that we, and other aid groups, are extremely grateful for. But another way to help would be to think about whether climate change might be putting these people at risk now, and in the future.

A group of saint ben’s folks will be doing just that on Wednesday November 9. We’ll hold an informal conversation around the impacts of climate change on global hunger, and we’ll invite people to write letters to their MPs encouraging action that will benefit those most vulnerable to climate change.  All are welcome at the home of Emily Cain and Tim Klaas for wine, conversation, and letter writing. To get the address or for more info, simply contact us.

For more information on how Foodgrains is responding, just click here. To listen to Carol Thiessen’s podcast on climate change and refugee issues by clicking here.

Carol Thiessen is a public policy advisor at Canadian Foodgrains Bank and regularly attends saint benedict’s table.

he Winnipeg-based writer Will Braun has recently published a piece in the  Canadian Mennonite called “Sunday is not a day for school,” in which he offers some insights (and raises some important questions…) about how we pass on the story of faith to our children. As he draws his article to a close, Will reflects on how his four year old son responds to the practice of communion at the Anglican church the family sometimes attends. That church just happens to be saint benedict’s table.

Occasionally, our family visits an Anglican church that has a particularly beautiful communion ceremony. My son willingly comes back from the playroom for this part of the service. I like to think that when we go to the front, where he can smell incense, hear the music, see rituals and receive a blessing, his sense of the holy is nurtured in a way that a lesson could never achieve.

How very good to read these words. To see the full article, simply click here.

ur resident jazz guitarist Robert Burton offers a review of the documentary film Rush: Beyond the Lighted Stage, making the case that rock musicians can be great players and effectively demonstrating that just because one loves jazz doesn’t mean that there isn’t room for some serious rock and roll…

*     *     *     *     *

Rush is a band that was always different. Sure they have a front man who sang impossibly high, their lyrics were harder to understand, they play in odd time signatures, they were (and remain) above-average musicians and, most of all, Canadian. But I have found other things that made them different. They always gave credit to their stage crew in the liner notes even on STUDIO albums. They stayed out the press for most of their career for anything negative (until guitarist Alex Lifeson and his son had a run in with Naples Florida Police in 2003 or the disclosure of Neil Peart’s personal tragedies) and they always credited founding member/drummer/vocalist John Rutsey even though he was only on the first album and had very little to do with what would become the band’s sound. Despite no critical acclaim or serious airplay they became a high grossing band, third on the list for most consecutive gold and platinum albums behind The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. Above all they are a band you love (or hate) because of the music and not because of their looks or notoriety.

So it is with the rock-u-mentary Rush: Beyond the Lighted Stage. Where other music documentaries are light on music and heavy on talking (particularly the annoying habit of starting a bit of music and 15 seconds in to have someone narrate over top), in this movie the talking and music are clearly separated.

There are the obligatory famous fans; endorsements from Jack Black, Sebastian Bach (ex-Skid Row), Mike Portnoy (Dream Theatre), Gene Simmons (Kiss), Les Claypool (Primus), Kirk Hammet (Metallica), Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins) and Danny Carey (Tool), etc. But some of these folks also offer criticisms (particularly in respect to the bands over use of keyboard phase). Later in the movie the question is posed, why was one of the greatest guitar power trios trying to sound like it wasn’t?

For fans of the band the concert footage (both on the main DVD and bonus disc) is worth the price of admission alone with performances from the pre record deal era to present

Directors/writers Sam Dunn, Scot McFadyen (Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey and Iron Maiden: Flight 666) approach this from a fan’s point of view (something they have been criticized for), and why not?  Why would one make a product to sell to people who don’t like the band? Having said that, I think a non-fan or casual observer should come away with respect for a group that has stayed out of the gossip grinder, stayed with same line up for decades and resisted pressures to conform (something that is sadly lacking in the music arts).

I’ll paraphrase Danny Carey…maybe you didn’t like Rush in your day but after 36 years you probably need to give them their due. For a look at the movie trailer, click here.