One of the two is Silva, a languidly creepy villain,
portrayed without any trace of a white pussy cat. He is one of Britain's top
agents stationed in Hong Kong. M, played again by Judi Dench, hands him over to
the Chinese before the territory reverts. Silva is part of the price she's
willing to pay for a trouble-free transition. The other is Bond, James Bond. At
the beginning of the film he wrestles with a terrorist on the roof of a moving
train. Another British agent has the chance to take one shot. But the sightline
is not clear. Bond's writhing form flits in and out of the crosshairs. 'Take
the shot' says M. She betrays him, just as she betrays Silva. Adamantine
certainty crumbles.
The mighty stones of Jerusalem's Temple must have looked
like a certainty far more reliable and far less fickle than M's loyalty. Their
massive weight betokened God's commitment to his people Israel. This was the
place where he had elected to dwell, at the very heart of his chosen people.
"What large stones and what large buildings!" exclaim the fishermen
from Galilee who have come up to the big city. Jesus's response must shock them
to the core. "Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be
thrown down". Jesus predicts the inversion of all certainties. He predicts
the overthrow of everything that the disciples - everything that the Israelites
- believe and trust. "Take the shot" says M. Jesus takes aim at what
is dearest to his people, and squeezes the trigger.
Jada and Lorian are being baptized in a landscape that
bears an eerie resemblance to that inhabited by Silva and Bond. Just as
betrayed secret agents must learn to live without the biggest certainty of
their professional lives, so Jada and Lorian, and all of us are learning to
live without the certainties with which we have long lived. A global geopolitical settlement that prevailed for
decades has collapsed. Religion has re-acquired its medieval potential for
terror. The fragile planet creaks under the burden of unlimited growth. The
Internet has revolutionized our communication. Like Silva and like Bond we live
on the other side of certainty, in a place where the stones of the temple have
been thrown down.
So how do they cope? I don't think I'm giving anything away
if I tell you that Bond survives. The future of the franchise is assured. Silva
longs for revenge. With fiendish ingenuity he plots M's destruction from his
island hideaway. The only agent capable of thwarting him is, of course, 007.
And Bond cannot resist the call. After the railway shooting he embarks on a
lengthy binge in a tropical paradise, but when England is threatened he cannot
but return.
Silva's response is nihilistic despair; Bond's is
unquestioning patriotism. But what is ours? The Gospel does not offer a plan
for our uncertain times. It has much to say about many of the crises that
affect us: about the destructive power of greed; about the centrality of
forgiveness; about the virtue of self-giving in place of self-serving. But it
does not offer one comprehensive route-map out of them. The prophet Daniel
foresees a time of anguish. The prophet Jesus foresees wars and rumours of
wars. The prophets of political and economic punditry foresee protracted
recession, global warming and intractable strife in the Middle East. And what
God offers is not the sort of neat solution that Q Division is tasked with
dreaming up. Baptism is not the sacramental equivalent of a bio-hazard suit
that can be concealed inside a cigarette lighter. It will not shield its
wearers against everything that they encounter. What God offers is far more
intuitive than that. It is the deadliest secret weapon of all. What God offers
is companionship.
Secret agents are probably the loneliest people on the
planet. I can't help wondering if that accounts for the success and the
longevity of the Bond series. I wonder if in Bond's aloneness we see our own
aloneness: a far more exotic version of it, obviously, one that is full of
beautiful women, gorgeous locations and world-saving secrets. But Silva and
Bond are fundamentally alone. In their possession of state secrets, in the
small hours of the morning, or as they confront death, they have only their
hatred of England and their pride in England for company. They are like us. No
matter how strong our relationships are we ultimately face the perils of the
post-certain world by ourselves. Which is why God offers what God offers in
baptism. God offers it because only God can offer it, and what God offers is
what we need above all else. The only one who can be with us in our aloneness
is the one who is nearer to us than we are to ourselves, the one who promises
to be with us to skyfall and beyond. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment