Review: Of Gods and Men
Of Gods and Men, now playing at our neighborhood Edge 12 theater, is, on the one hand, a very specific tale: based on historical events, it relates the story of the seven Trappist monks of Tibhirine, Algeria who were kidnapped by Islamist militants in March of 1996 and killed two months later.
It’s a tale told with absorbing detail, at an almost leisurely pace as we get to know these men. We see them tend to the wounds and illnesses of the Muslim villagers among whom they serve. We watch them tend to their gardens and bees, join in their neighbor’s celebrations, we see them deep in study.
Most tellingly, we see them pray. Trappists are a branch of the Benedictine monastic family – Thomas Merton was a Trappist – and so their lives reflect the Benedictine ethos of ora et labora – prayer and work, carefully structured throughout the day to provide balance and perspective. The cycle of prayer conducted morning, noon and night, is centered on the Psalms, the ancient prayers through which Jews and Christians have found solace, asked questions, vented their anger and burst forth in praise.
So the monks of Thibhirine pray and work, practically the only Christians in the area. But – as most of us go into the film already knowing – the peace is not to last. The monks are caught up
in rising violence and the conflict between the Algerian government and Islamist rebels and eventually, the question must be raised. Do they stay?
They do not have to, of course. They could return to France, be absorbed into other Trappist communities and find safety, far from these threats, which are very real.
So this is the question – stay or go?
The source material is fascinating enough on its own, but Of Gods and Men will surprise – I think – even those potential viewers who are familiar with the basic story, as I was, having read the fine book The Monks of Thibirine.
I was surprised, not only because the filmmaking was so powerful, but also, I admit, because I wasn’t prepared to see a film deal with the dynamics and complexities of religious faith so accurately and to present the theological and spiritual stances of the monks on their own terms.
I won’t spoil the film by going into too much more detail, but I’ll just say that these monks are 
no plaster saints, making easy decisions just because they “have faith.” Nor is their faith presented as a cover or compensation for neuroses. They are presented as they were: men who committed their lives to Christ and are now struggling to figure out what that means and where it should lead them next.
One of the great beauties of this film – in addition to superb acting and telling detail – is the focus on liturgy and liturgical prayer. Each of these men struggle with a decision and a direction. They wash dishes, they talk, they bind wounds, they plant seeds, and all the time they are thinking over this pressing question. And then several times a day, they put down their hoes, lay aside their instruments, close their books and then quietly vest in white robes, gather in their small, plain chapel. A bell is rung, their leader – Father Christian – raps the wood of a bench, they bow deeply, and together, they begin to chant. This chapel isn’t a place of escape. It’s a place where they enter even more deeply into the struggle at hand, consciously entering into it, they would say, rooted in the body of Christ, there in the Algerian hills. I’ve never seen this connection – between prayer and life – expressed so profoundly on film.
I began this post by saying “on the one hand.” What’s the other? What else – besides this specific story – is Of Gods and Men about?
I’d say it’s about this – it’s about a point that will resonate with anyone who thinks about life, no matter what his or her stance on religion: it’s about how to live under the specter of death.
The human condition, really. How do we choose to live, knowing we will die?
Even if the specific language of faith that the monks speak is unfamiliar, even if the specific circumstances in which they ask it is one far from ours, the question is not.
And the monks’ answer? The whole film is that answer, culminating in a single powerful scene without words and filled only with faces. Faces of compassion, solidarity, sorrow, forgiveness and acceptance. Acceptance not only of a specific fate but of the world and life itself – ambiguous, mysterious and beautiful. Acceptance and even joy, as the monks gather around a table, of a lovely, bittersweet glass of wine.
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