Conclave

In the film, The Godfather, Part III (1990),  Cardinal Lamberto laments that Christianity, like water surrounding a stone that is in a water fountain, has not seeped into European culture even after centuries of being in Europe.  Watching the movie, Conclave (2024), a person could say the same thing about the Roman Catholic Church, though the ending does provide some hope that internecine fighting and pettiness for power, even aside from the sexual-abuse epidemic by clergy, need not win the day.

Concerning the dead pope, we are told at the beginning of the movie that he never had any doubts about God; what he had lost faith in was the Church. Through the movie, the reason is obvious. At one point, the new Cardinal Benitez from Kabul, Afghanistan aptly characterizes his fellow cardinals as “small petty men” concerned with power. Even thusly characterized, the cardinals elect Cardinal Benitez as pope, and it is only fitting that he chooses the name, Innocent. It is in the innocence of a person who has no ambition to be pope and is genuinely surprised to be elected that the Church has hope.

The outcome of the election is subtly anticipated early on by the notably unique sincerity in the blessing of the food that Cardinal Benitez gives at the beginning of the conclave, and is implicitly guaranteed by the rebuttal that he later makes in front of the other cardinals to Cardinal Tedesco’s claim that the Church is at war with Muslims. After the second bomb, Tedesco declares, “We need a leader who fights these animals,” who are the Muslims in Europe. Cardinal Benitz disagrees: Inside each of us is what we are fighting. This is exactly what Mary Magdalene tells Peter and the other disciples in the upper room after the resurrection in the film, Mary Magdalene (2018); rather than waiting for Jesus to come on clouds to vanquish the evil Roman soldiers, the change starts within, “in the transformation of our own hearts.” Accordingly, the kingdom of God is already here even as it is not yet—pending us vanquishing the enemy within, which is done in part by being compassionate to people who are suffering.

In the conclave, “the men who are dangerous are the men who do want it.”  Cardinal Bellini says he doesn’t want it, but he does. He has progressive views (e.g., more of a role for women in the Curia), which he refuses to hide in his campaign, and this strategy makes him appear to have integrity, but he doesn’t. Even though he is a Christian, and even a cleric, he angerly rebukes Cardinal Lawrence’s claim, “This is a conclave, not a war,” by saying of Cardinal Tedesco and the conservatism which that cardinal represents, “This is a war!” This is the first of two mentions of being at war—Tedesco’s war with Muslims being the second.

Even Cardinal Lawrence, the dean of the College of Cardinals, who laudably seeks the truth concerning Cardinal Tremblay and even Cardinal Benitez, is a partisan. The homily that he gives on the first day of the conclave subtly favors the progressive platform of Cardinal Bellini, whom Lawrence was still supporting to become pope. Cardinal Lawrence lauds the Church’s diversity in being comprised of people in different countries, whereas Cardinal Tedesco wants an Italian pope. “Certainty is great enemy of unity,” Lawrence tells his brothers. “Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance. . . . Faith walks hand and hand with doubt. Otherwise, there would be no mystery, and therefore no need for faith.” This message is in line with Cardinal Bellini’s liberal platform because the presumption of certainly saturates Cardinal Tedesco’s ideology. As the Cardinals sitting at tables at the first dinner, Cardinal Tedesco observes that the tables are “divided by language.” He suggests to Lawrence that the next pope be Italian so it is not Cardinal Adeyeme, a black African. Cardinal Lawrence is rightly disgusted and leaves the table. Lawrence even prays with Adeyine as he cries, and puts his hand on Adeyine’s hands even though Lawrence knows that Adeyine had impregnated a teenage woman when he was 30.

Furthermore, at some point in his search for the truth concerning whether the dead pope had fired Cardinal Tremblay, Cardinal Lawrence tells a bishop, “No more secrets; no more investigations; let God’s will be done.” That Lawrence himself later investigates by entering the sealed-off papal apartment is justified by what he uncovers not only concerning the dead pope, but also Cardinal Tremblay. Finally, Lawrence is justified in keeping Cardinal Benitez’s medical secret after that Cardinal's election. Even though Benitez’s rather unique medical situation technically violates church law, Lawrence earlier said to Cardinal Bellini, “I thought we were here to serve God, not the Curia.” 

As truth-oriented as Cardinal Lawrence is, faith without love is for naught in Christian terms. In this regard, Cardinal Benitez steals the show; he is the true protagonist in the end. Just as Mary Magdalene’s rebuttal to Peter on the nature of the kingdom of God gives the film, Mary Magdalene, so much theological value for audiences, it is Cardinal Benitez’s rebuttal to Cardinal Tedesco that the Church is at war with Islam that not only gets that cardinal elected, but also provides the theological value, and thus hope, of Conclave. Take on the enemy within—one’s own hatred of Muslims—rather than fight them, Benitez tells his brothers. He could have gone further by preaching to the petty, power-seeking men: feel and exercise kindness and compassion to Muslims; go out of your way to serve them, especially those who dislike you, for something more is involved spiritually than the much easier, "love thy neighbor as thyself." Then you will find that you have conquered the enemy within and entered the kingdom of God.

Obsession

Brian De Palma’s film, Obsession (1976), harkens back to Hitchcock’s film, Vertigo (1958) primarily in that resemblances between a character-contrived myth, or story, and the closely related (though different in key respects) social reality in the film (i.e., what’s really going on in the film’s story-world) trigger perplexed reactions for the character being duped by other characters in the film. I thought she died, but there she is . . . or maybe that’s another woman who looks like her—so much so that I believe I can will the woman to be her. The human mind may be such that it convinces itself of even a supernatural explanation rather than admits to have been fooled by someone else’s cleverness. At the very least, doubt as to what is really going on can be stultifying. The human mind is all too willing obviate its uncertainty by either resorting to a supernatural explanation or making something so by force of will, as if believing something to be the case is sufficient to make it so.

The European philosopher, David Hume, wrote a text on the natural history of religion in which he suggests that we mere mortals have an innate tendency to add familiar ornaments onto divine simplicity; we innately anthropomorphize the wholly other so it looks human. Then we believe that our artifices are ontological, or real, and even divine. De Palma’s Obsession explicitly draws on religious iconography and even dream-like mysticism in conveying Michael’s vision of Sandra as Elizabeth brought back from the grave. Viewers may resist the religious cross-over because it is easier to accept that a distraught man believes someone is his deceased wife than that our minds are just as prone to lapses when we enter the domain of religion. This is not to suggest that religious meaning is thus invalid, or even that symbol, myth and ritual cannot be useful in enabling religious experience; rather, Obsession can, if we allow it to do so, gently show us what our minds may be up to in making metaphysical and ontological leaps in matters of religious faith. At the very least, the human mind ensconced in the religious domain regularly confounds belief with fact, whether epistemologically or ontologically. Similarly, we conflate two distinct literary genres: faith narrative and historical non-fiction as if the respective purposes were the same even to the respective writers themselves. We are much better at distinguishing films that are fictional from those that are based on a true story. Even a fictional film can hold a mirror up to human nature as it exists in us. I submit that the human mind is not as goof-proof as we think. Both in Vertigo and Obsession, the minds of the protagonists are definitely put under stress by observation of resemblances that don’t make sense yet are extremely inviting.

In Vertigo, Scottie thinks he recognizes Madeleine even though the contrived story is that she jumped to her death at a convent. In Obsession, Michael thinks Sandra, whom he sees priming for a painter in an Italian church, is his former wife, Elizabeth, whom the contrived story has as having died in a car more than a decade earlier. Whereas Madeleine really is Madeleine, Sandra is not Elizabeth, but is actually Michael’s (and Elizabeth’s) daughter, who is in on the scam that is being perpetrated by one of the kidnappers and Robert, Michael’s very patient real-estate partner.  Sometimes investments like swindling jobs can take over a decade before the returns come in.

In Obsession, it is not just the resemblance—though curiously not adjusting for the difference in ages—of Sandra and Elizabeth by which De Palma conveys isomorphic (i.e., of the same shape or form) resonances throughout the film The images shown at step-wise distances as the open credits are shown are of a church on a hill in Italy. Michael and Elizabeth first met there, and this is where Michael sees Sandra during a business trip with his business partner over a decade after Elizabeth died. The visual resonance of the church is found in the large memorial structure that Michael has erected in a park for his dead wife and daughter. That even as a real-estate developer he refuses to carve up that part is a testament to how dear that monument is to him. The church and the memorial edifice are also isomorphic with the top of the wedding cake in Michael’s dream of his wedding to Sandra, who, uncomfortably, it turns out, is really his daughter, Amy. That incest may have occurred by the time the couple return to America is left up to the audience, though that Michael has his arm around Sandra in a taxi connotes a certain physical intimacy, especially given the changed sexual mores in the 1970s. The ethics aside, any discomfort felt by viewers can be said to have its source in the obvious lapse in Michael’s will of wish-fulfillment as being sufficient, to him, to render the young Sandra as a replacement or even incarnation of Elizabeth as if from the grave. Willing it so does not make it so. Michael’s dull gaze at Sandra when she is on a painting riser in a church full of religious iconography not only shows the suspension of his rational mind, but also the implication that religious devotion is also susceptible to such a lapse.

One way in which myth touches us emotionally and even spiritually is in the resonances between symbols in myth and things in the world in which we live. The human brain makes use of such likenesses in dreams, such as the one that Michael has of his wedding to Sophie. Whether intentionally or not, De Palma converges myth with the dream in portraying Sandra as translucent and even other-worldly as if she were a goddess. Sandra is vicariously Elizabeth, who has come back from the grave to give her inattentive husband another chance. Michael believes this to be so even in his waking state, and his temporally elongated gaze at Sandra at several points in the film resembles how a person might look at a religious statue, such as that of the Virgin Mary, in adoration. Sandra gains goddess-like standing in the myth, which Michael accords as real empirically.  Therefore, myth can also touch our world in that a person thought to be real (in our world) has mythic resonances. In Christianity, both Jesus and Mary are typically believed to have existed historically and also in a distinctly religious state (i.e., heaven) while maintaining human form via the bodily resurrection of Jesus and the bodily assumption of Mary.  

I submit that the salience of Christianity in the film allows the viewers to grasp that the myth in the story-world, which Michael believes is real in his waking daily life, resembles distinctly religious myth as it is believed in as real by religionists. Of course, one big difference is that viewers find out what is really the case in the film, and this bursts the story’s credence, whereas religious people are not debriefed as to whether the characters of Jesus and the Virgin Mary in the Gospel stories are merely nominally real in the stories or actually existed historically. The debriefing in the film can be understood as giving the audience a psychic payoff in lieu of the one that never comes in religion.

Perhaps such a payoff in religion is not really what we want; after all, at the end of the Da Vinci Code (2006), Robert asks Sophie whether it is worth deflating the faith of Christians by revealing that Jesus was married and had at least one child—thus implying perhaps that Jesus was a man rather than a god-man. The religious meaning in Sophie’s spiritual, inherited qualities is not deflated, but the faith of many Christians who have not been debriefed on the relation between the myth and history could be expected to take a hit to the extent that the basis of their faith is the divinity of Jesus Christ rather than, say, compassion itself to people one doesn’t like (or don’t like the person).

If the reality is different than the myth, does the distinctly religious meaning in the latter necessarily or inherently collapse? Not so for Mary Magdalene in the film, Mary Magdalene (2018), who tries in vain to convince Peter in the last scene that the kingdom of God is within, and thus starts with the transformation of one’s own heart from compassion toward others, rather than with Jesus coming on clouds in the future to defeat the evil Romans and free Israel. Michael’s debriefing by Robert in Obsession is like wish-fulfillment writ large for an audience that is not accustomed to finding the meaning of a religious myth in the myth itself, rather than in other domains, such as history, astronomy, and even moral science.

Obsession is embellished with ornate religious settings and even meaning, especially with Sandra appearing like a goddess of sorts in Michael’s dream—his dead wife being de facto a goddess. As in the domain of religion, there are stories and there is the world in which we live out our daily lives. Resonances between the two give us pause, as we are not really sure what is going on—and what is really real of the two, or what the resemblances mean. Michael’s bubble is burst, but he comes out just fine in realizing that his daughter was still alive and that they have found each other in something more tangible, perhaps even more real, than the world of myth that Robert had foisted on Michael in order to swindle of him of his money. To be sure, the world of myth can come in handy, for surely there is some sense of reality that goes with the claim that Robert, once killed in his climatic fight with Michael, is in hell.  

Mary Magdalene

In the film, Mary Magdalene (2018), Mary Magdalene and the other disciples have two different interpretations of the Kingdom of God; these may be called the interior and the eschatological, respectively. The Kingdom of God is within, already and not yet fully realized, or not yet at all, as it will be ushered in by Christ in the Second Coming, which is yet to come. The film’s point of view is decidedly with Mary’s interior interpretation and against Peter’s revolutionary (i.e., against Roman oppression) eschatological take. After both sides fail to convince the other, Peter sidelines Mary in part also because of her gender, so she decides to preach and help people on her own. That the film does not portray Jesus and Mary as romantically involved is a smart move, for it sidelines a controversy that would otherwise distract the viewers from focusing on the question of the nature of the Kingdom of God. This focus is long overdue in Christianity, and is important because only one of the two interpretations—the eschatological—has dominated historically. The film is valuable theologically in that it gives the minority position—Mary’s interior interpretation—a voice. To be sure, Mary Magdalene is a controversial figure, so the choice of that character as a mouthpiece in the film for the minority theological position on the Kingdom is daring and not without its drawbacks. For one thing, she is a woman in a man’s world in the film. Outside of the film, in real life, a medieval pope denigrated her by erroneously identifying her as the prostitute in the Bible, and her reputation had to wait until the twentieth century for the Vatican to correct the error and label her as the Apostle to the Apostles. Finally, there is the Gnostic gospel, The Gospel of Philip, in which Jesus kisses her and the male disciples ask, “Why do you love her more than us?” That jealousy is present in the film, and plays a role in the dispute between Mary and Peter on the nature of the Kingdom. So, returning to the film, having her as the mouthpiece for a minority position that has not seen much light of day historically in Christianity puts the credibility of the interpretation at risk. Accordingly, it may not have much impact in shifting the emphasis away from the eschatological Kingdom in the religion, given the tremendous gravitas that any historical default enjoys.

The version of the Kingdom of God that has dominated in the history of Christianity has the Kingdom not yet here as it depends on the Second Coming of Christ. In contrast, the minority’s report, which Mary holds and advocates in the film, has the Kingdom being “already” and “not yet.” Whereas the Second Coming is external, being evinced in the world and on a collective level, Mary understands Jesus as preaching the importance of the interior conversion of the individual as being crucial to any change in the human condition externally in the world. Whereas the Second Coming commences a revolution against collective oppression and injustice more generally, Mary’s Kingdom gives primacy to each individual letting go of hatred and embracing love. Jesus’ second commandment, to love one’s neighbor, including one’s enemies, fits Mary’s version.

The film is unique among Christian films not only in providing a substantial and sustained dialogue focused on the Kingdom itself, but also in relegating the resurrection and the Second Coming to secondary roles. This corrective is overdue. When Mary joins the other disciples (for in the film, she is a disciple) to tell them that she has just seen Jesus risen, the men have much less trouble believing that Jesus would choose a woman as the witness than in Mary’s notion of the Kingdom. That is, the men seem something less than awestruck by Mary’s good news that Jesus has beaten death and is finally at peace, whereas they are very concerned about the Kingdom. This suggests that for them, the latter is more important. To them, the resurrection is just a sign that the Second Coming will indeed occur and bring with it the Kingdom on earth in a revolutionary battle against Roman oppression.

According to Mary Magdalene, the men misunderstand Jesus’ conception of the Kingdom of God. If she is right, they are relegating the resurrection to a mere sign for nothing. For one thing, Jesus’ insistence in Matthew 24 that “this generation will not certainly not pass away until” the Son of Man comes “on the clouds of heaven with power and glory” undercuts continued belief in the Second Coming itself, for it did not happen while Jesus’ generation was still alive. It does not undercut Jesus’ divinity to say that he is wrong about when the Son of Man would come on clouds of heaven to judge the living and the dead, for Jesus goes on to say at Matthew 24:36, “But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the father.” That the Son is thus not omniscient (i.e., having complete knowledge) raises questions about the relationship between the Father and the Son, but for our purposes here, the problem is that Jesus makes a statement about when the Second Coming will occur then contradicts being able to make such a statement by admitting that he doesn’t know when the event will occur. The contradiction is in scripture itself. Making a claim about something that the claimer knows is beyond the person’s knowledge is itself a mistake. Were I to tell you that I will be arriving next Tuesday and that I don’t know when I will be arriving, you would scratch your head in bewilderment.

When a gospel narrative contains a contradiction in dialogue, it is tempting to eclipse the biblical narrative by going behind it to ask what historically might have been said (we don’t know) or whether a copyist could have inserted the line about the current generation to get the Christians then to wake up. Such a copyist would have erred in creating the contradiction if the line about the Son not knowing the day or time was already extant in the manuscript; otherwise, whoever subsequently added the line about the Son not knowing the day or time—that line likely added after the generation alive during Jesus’ lifetime had died (and the Second Coming had not yet occurred)—erred in failing to remove Jesus’ (or the earlier copyist’s) statement claiming that the Second Coming was imminent.

Whether taking the errors in the gospel as a given or trying to get behind them by speculating about copyists, I contend that giving the Second Coming pride of place in interpreting what Jesus means by the Kingdom of God is not a smart move. Recently, I attended an “Oxford Movement” Episcopal Church “high church” service during which the pastor claimed that the season of Advent pertains to the Second Coming rather than to Christmas. I walked out during the homily and got some breakfast. At the diner, a professor at Yale’s divinity school told me that Advent had referred to the Second Coming from the second to the eighth centuries (notably not from the start). He said Advent came to be associated with Christmas because that is lighter. He was insulting the association with Christmas (even though he going to do some Christmas shopping after breakfast!) “Well,” I replied, “then Advent should be before Christ the King Sunday rather than after it.” That Sunday culminates the liturgical year because Christ the King refers to the Second Coming (which ushers in God’s Kingdom in that interpretation), which is the end of the story. Then the liturgical year begins again with the season of Advent, which I had assumed was universally known by Christians as period of awaiting the birth of Christ, the light coming into the world. How could that possibly be a degradation? I was implying that the Second-Coming referent had been wrong, and thus the subsequent tie to Christmas was an improvement. The scholar demurred. To place a season called advent just before Christmas but claim that the season pertains to another event is misleading at best. It’s just dumb. In actuality, Roman history suggests that Christmas on December 25 only began in the fourth century, so the Advent that had begun to be observed in the second century was a completely different season from what Advent is today. To take what was a completely different season and superimpose it on another season just because they both have the same generic name (advent means “arrival, emergence or coming of” something significant) and claim that the latter season should have the same meaning as the former is asinine. Having a liturgical reading on the Second Coming (e.g., Matthew 24) on the first Sunday of Advent, after Christ the King Sunday, constitutes a liturgical error, given that Christ the King ends the liturgical year. Liturgists would be better off creating an advent season (calling it something other than Advent) that leads up to Christ the King Sunday, and keeping the Advent season of Christmas where it is (i.e., leading up to Christmas, after the Sunday celebrating the Second Coming as the END).  However, to add a season oriented to the Second Coming ignores the scriptural (and perhaps historical) problems with the Second Coming itself. Even if taken only as myth, the Second Coming is weakened by the scriptural contradiction, especially if that comes out of copyist errors, which may suggest that the myth itself was added. The myth may have been added because the world really did not change in the first century of Christianity; something more was needed to effect the change of heart preached by Jesus in the Gospel narratives. That which was needed, however, may have been a different interpretation of the Kingdom of God—precisely that which Mary advocates in the film.

Therefore, I submit that it is foolish to pin the Kingdom of God to a theological concept that is problematic even within the faith narrative alone (i.e., without eclipsing by asking historical questions). Practically speaking, to predicate the arrival of the Kingdom on the Second Coming, which did not arrive while Jesus’ generation was still alive, may push the arrival of the Kingdom off indefinitely, and thus keep Christians from acting so as to bring about the Kingdom now. To be sure, even if the Kingdom is to come in the future, the Bible indicates that Christians can do things now so as to be able to enter the Kingdom in the future. In Matthew 25, Jesus says that when “the Son of Man comes in his glory,” people who have cared for the poor, prisoners, and, moreover, strangers will “inherit the kingdom,” which is “eternal life.” Essentially, the Kingdom in this version is heaven, which may explain why Jesus says that the generation then alive would still be alive when the Son of Man and the heavenly Kingdom arrive. In caring for people beyond one’s friends and family, Christians can make it more likely that they will go to heaven.

It is interesting, however, that enemies are not mentioned explicitly even though Jesus commands his followers to love their enemies. This omission is problematic because, more than helping the poor and even neighbor-love in general, coming to the aid of one’s enemies (and detractors) would “move mountains” in bringing about interpersonal and world peace. The great fault in the eschatological version of the Kingdom lies in not being able to recognize that the Kingdom is present in a heart that overcomes its hatred in order to care even and expressly for enemies, and in a world that is constituted by such individuals who have voluntarily undergone the interior transformation that brings forth forgiveness and even caring where it is least convenient but most needed, given human nature.

Viewing the Kingdom as exclusively “not yet” may itself be erroneous, for Jesus says in Matthew 3:2 that the Kingdom is at hand. There’s a bigger, more intractable problem, however, because Matthew 3 states that the Kingdom is “already” whereas Matthew 24 has the Kingdom “not yet.” The two different interpretations of the Kingdom are both in the Gospel! This is problematic if, as in the movie’s theology, the Kingdom is and ought to be the main focus of Christians and Christianity itself. Supporting this primacy, Jesus states in Luke 4:43 that preaching on the Kingdom of God is the purpose for which he has been sent. This situates him as a means in relation to the Father’s kingdom; he—meaning his preaching—is the way to his Father’s kingdom. To take the way for its destination is to conflate means and ends. It is generally agreed that ends are more important than means.

It is imperative, therefore, that we delve into the rival interpretations of the Kingdom, which we can do by analyzing the dialogue between Mary and Peter in the room where the disciples are hiding on Easter. The film definitely has its point of view, which is in support of Mary’s interpretation. The film backs this up by showing Mary as being the closest to Jesus in a religious (not romantic) sense. For instance, in one scene, after Mary has walked away from the disciples to spend time with Jesus in a field, both characters literally and figuratively look down on the anti-Roman zealotry of the disciples.

After Jesus has risen from the dead, Mary goes to the disciples to give them the good news that Jesus has beaten even death, and is now at peace. Mary refutes Peter’s conception of the Kingdom of God as awaiting the Second Coming for the people to rise and Jesus be crowned king so Roman rule would finally be vanquished. “Jesus never said he would be crowned king,” she tells the disciples. “The kingdom is here, now,” she explains in dispelling the disciples’ misinterpretation of Jesus’ preaching on the Kingdom. The disciples see no kingdom because the Roman occupation has not ended, but she insists that “it’s not something we can see with our eyes; it’s here, within us. All we need to do is let go of our anguish and resentment and we become like children, just as he said. The Kingdom cannot be built by conflict, not by opposition, not by destruction; [rather] it grows with us, with very act of love and care, with our forgiveness. We have the power to lift the people just as he did, and then we will be free just as he is. This is what he meant.” The kingdom, she goes on, is not the sort that is of revolution “born in flames and blood.” Peter dismisses Mary’s version, insisting, “just outside that door, there is no new world. No end of oppression. No justice for the poor, for the suffering.” In keeping with, and applying, her interior-oriented notion of the Kingdom, she asks Peter, “How does it feel to carry that anger around in your heart?” If Peter wants a new world, he first needs to swallow his demons—doing so is the only kind of change that can change the world. Nevertheless, he insists that the fact that Mary has seen the risen Jesus means that “he will bring the kingdom.” It is something not yet rather than here already in the heart ministering to anguish and hatred. “The world will only change as we change,” Mary retorts. Otherwise, what we’re left with is cascading revolutions and oppressions with the human heart unchanged in its balance against its own demons. Real change can only come from within, person by person, rather than collectively, as by organizations such as revolutionary governments. This is the point of view expressed by the film. The disciples opposing Mary have misunderstood Jesus. She is, after all, closest to Jesus throughout the film, so her claim of having understood better what he had in mind is credible.

The implications of the dialogue (and the film’s point of view) are important. For one thing, liberation theology is radically off the mark because it puts societal structures ahead of intrapersonal transformation. We won’t get economic and political structures that do not oppress without the people in business and government letting go of their anger and hatred, as well as their related power-aggrandizement and greed. Moreover, the focus on Jesus, including on his resurrection, is itself off the mark, but so too is the belief that the Second Coming will usher in the Kingdom, for it is “already” here even though it is “not yet” in the sense that not nearly enough individual hearts have transformed themselves for the proverbial mustard seed to manifest into a tree with many branches. Going person by person, eventually enough people will have let go of anguish and hatred and thus be better able to love their enemies for the Kingdom to manifest societally in a peaceable kingdom.

Perhaps the most radical implication is that the focus of the Church should be on helping individuals to face their demons and help not only strangers, but also enemies, rather than on worshipping Jesus. In the film, Mary asks the men if they had heard Jesus ever say he would be crowned king. Because in the Gospels Jesus refers to the Kingdom of God as his father’s Kingdom, it stands to reason that the Father is the king, and Jesus dutifully serves him by telling people about his father’s kingdom. This is not to deny Jesus’ divinity, for he is resurrected both in the Gospels and the film. Nevertheless, of the three manifestations (or personae in Latin) in the Trinity, Jesus Christ has received by far the most attention throughout the history of Christianity. The film does not go so far as to suggest that Jesus should not be worshipped. In the film, he is not worshipped, even by his disciples. Rather, in one scene he and Mary watch the men pray to the God of Israel (rather than to Jesus). Even once Mary tells the other disciples that Jesus has risen, they do not drop down and worship him in that scene; rather, their emotional attention is on the nature of the Kingdom, which is thus presumably more important to them. It is not as if the Kingdom itself can be worshipped, and the disciples do accept Mary’s claim that Jesus has risen from the dead, so it is reasonable to think that they would eventually worship him were the film extended. Such worship would not be their primary focus, however, yet neither would Mary’s version of the Kingdom. The film is thus tragic in that we see the disciples except Mary coalesce around Peter and his version, and we know that historically, their side has been dominant while a pope relegated Mary to being a prostitute. The challenge for Christianity may be in how to shift the focus from that of worshipping Jesus and waiting for the Second Coming before the Kingdom can be realized to the worship being a means to focus on Mary’s version of the Kingdom and the human agency that it implies and indeed even mandates.