In February I wrote a piece about Jean Vanier which began, "What to do when too many people might come to your funeral?"

At the time we were preparing to release our film about Jean and the organisation he founded, L'Arche, called SUMMER IN THE FOREST. We had spent the day with Eileen Glass, a vivacious lady who is in charge of Fundraising and Development for L’Arche Australia. As part of our time together, Eileen shared with us about Jean's extraordinary life. It was clear from her personal stories about Jean, whom she had known for many years, and from the film itself, that Jean was deeply beloved and cherished within his organisation, if not positively revered. 

In fact, Eileen confided to us that the international leaders of L’Arche had realised that they must prepare well for Jean’s death, because if there was not a very clear strategy in place, then thousands upon thousands of people would come from around the world and converge upon his small home of Trosly-Breuil in France.

At the time I found this fact to be profoundly impacting—the logistical need to stem an outpouring of love because it would be too big. Because Jean Vanier was not a fashionable superstar. He was not a Kardashian. He was not a world leader. He was a gentle, unhurried, quietly spoken man who lived out of sight in a very small place and who had done nothing traditionally news-breaking or globally attention-grabbing. 

All he had done, essentially, was to love people. 

 He did not invent a new kind of life-saving technology. He did not run a billion dollar company. What he did was to live a very quiet life, and love people. But that in itself was enough to impact the world, and history. According to Catholic Outlook he was the "initiator of a genuine revolution of love for disabled people," and the Catholic Herald called his life one of "exceptional fruitfulness." And so his board members had to convene meetings so that they could figure out how to get hundreds of thousands of people not to come and pay their respects to him if he died.

Turns out that the simple act of being present and loving people as they are, is more impacting than any social media campaign, celebrity status, or even radical world-saving political policy could ever be.

And then Jean Vanier did pass away. He went quietly from this world on the 7th May, aged 90. His intimate funeral in Trosly was streamed around the world. There were memorial services in multiple countries. Thousands and thousands of people did pour out their grief, just as expected.

SUMMER IN THE FOREST continues to screen in both Australia and New Zealand, and now people are coming to see it to pay him poignant tribute, or to remember him with intense fondness. They tell us that seeing him on the big screen in vivid detail is to be reminded how vivid, how revolutionary he was in real life.

Jean said, "To love people is to reveal to them that they have value."

It's that simple. And it is that revolutionary. It completely rocks the world.

Forget success, forget fame. There's only one way to truly make waves in this life. Thank you Jean, for showing us how it's done.

SUMMER IN THE FOREST continues to be shown in many cinemas in Australia and New Zealand as part of special Q&A screenings to raise money for L'Arche. 

To find out more, or if you would like to host your own screening, follow the links in this blog or go to

An Ode to Jean Vanier (x2)

I felt a little nervous meeting a "hero in the faith." A bit awed.

You know, like maybe I should make sure to keep a bit of distance so she would have enough room to float-walk above the ground, or maybe I should just never open my mouth in case I reveal how unspiritual I am.

But the truth is, Mrs Gladys Staines is lovely.

I actually got to spend the whole day with her when we did the first pre-screening of the THE LEAST OF THESE: THE GRAHAM STAINES STORY on the Sunshine Coast. And you know what? Being around her didn't make me feel less. She didn't make me feel like I should be better, like I'm getting behind with faith things and that's disappointing—the way we sometimes think God feels about us, right? 

No. Mrs Gladys Staines made me feel normal, somehow. Like I didn't have to pretend, and I didn't have to improve, to be in her company. Like she was really pleased to be around me, just the way I was.

And I had a little revelation about that, and about Jesus. Because he was like that, it seems. People wanted to be near him. They felt comfortable enough to say dumb things and wipe his feet with their hair. He was irresistible, in a sense. He made people feel like it was okay to just be who they were, and be where they were at.

And so it would seem, that "having great faith," actually means you have become more like Jesus. And becoming more like Jesus means your company is irresistible and you are more comfortable to be around. 

It makes you relax, it gives others the peace to enjoy small moments of pleasure and laugh out loud at funny things. It makes people feel like they belong, and they'll always belong, no matter what.

So thank you, Mrs Staines. For teaching me about Jesus, without even trying, and without even saying one word about it. 

THE LEAST OF THESE is still in cinemas. Go to www.theleastofthesemovie.com.au for tickets and cinemas. 

Mrs Gladys Staines

There's something about the Father that never stops being amazing.

When he sees our rotting flesh, he says, "I love you."

When he sees our uncomfortable, dangerous messes, he draws close and says, "I love you."

When he smells the stink of our pride or failure or shame he breathes it in and says, "I love you."

It's one thing to know this in theory, and it's another to see that flesh and smell that stink and be ashamed of that mess and still discover that his heart only wants to draw close, and pour out, and heal and fill and love.

And every so often we get a glimpse of that love, a tiny taste of something that never stops, never fits into any vessel or idea—and it explodes our minds for a second. 

Like this experience did for Shari Rigby.

The Least of These - Shari Rigby | In Cinemas May 16

Doesn't it just make you want to experience it for yourself—again and again and again?

Then, by constantly using your faith, the life of Christ will be released deep inside you, and the resting place of his love will become the very source and root of your life.

Then you will be empowered to discover what every holy one experiences—the great magnitude of the astonishing love of Christ in all its dimensions. How deeply intimate and far-reaching is his love! How enduring and inclusive it is! Endless love beyond measurement that transcends our understanding—this extravagant love pours into you until you are filled to overflowing with the fullness of God!

To buy tickets for THE LEAST OF THESE: THE GRAHAM STAINES STORY 

"I Love These Feet"

You know how there's films and then there's films?

There's films that aren't just something you watch and forget. They're the ones that mark a before and after. They're the ones that make it into your dreams and do something to your bones as if the change is permanent.

Loud Krazy Love Official Trailer #1 | May 15 - Limited Time Only | KoRn | Brian "Head" Welch

I don't remember much of the whole KoRn phenomenon, to be honest. At that time—the mid-nineties—I was busy being a giant nerd in high school, getting As in English (not P.E. or Maths, *sigh*) and having an extremely tame social life. I wasn't exactly riding the wild waves of the heavy metal scene.

So when I watched LOUD KRAZY LOVE, which traces the journey of KoRn guitarist Brian 'Head' Welch and how he walked away from the band at the height of their fame—there was still a little of that fear there—of the skinny adolescent me who was made uncomfortable by the kind of unleashed pain, anger and darkness that KoRn embraced back then.

But like I say, this film: It's a before-and-after film.

There was something that happened while I watched—in following Brian's journey as he made himself completely vulnerable on camera—all that footage from all those years—the good, the bad, the embarrassing—and shared how his heart was changed and how God used his love for his daughter to bring such healing to both of them...

To the point where, when we reached the part where God brought KoRn back together, I cried.

It was so beautiful. So naturally, supernaturally, classically—"that's so God" kind of beautiful—where you suddenly have this revelation about just how big and senseless and unleashed God's love is. He loves KoRn. I mean—he REALLY loves KoRn. Not in the Sunday School workbook kind of way, but in the loud, crazy, all-of-heaven-is-gonna-pour-out-on-these-guys-any-minute-God's-so-beside-himself kind of way. And he feels that way about every pain-filled metal-head in the crowd, too.

It literally doesn't matter what kind of music people play, or listen to—it doesn't matter what they wear or where they've been or what they've done, God's love for them is loud and crazy.

If you would like to go see LOUD KRAZY LOVE for yourself (and especially if you would like to meet Brian 'Head' Welch in person!) then go to www.loudkrazylove.com.au and get your ticket NOW!

His Love Really Is Loud And Krazy

But it is exactly what "those boys"—Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran—did.

And Execution Island, the new short film about the night they died, takes us there with them.

The power is in the truth of it. Yes, this film recounts true events, most particularly the overwhelming goodness of God in the midst of a situation that seemed irredeemable.

But also: this film portrays a wider, and at the same time more personal truth:

What this film left me with, personally, was compelling, tangible gratitude for the grace of God. Because Jesus faced his execution—for my sins—the execution that I deserve—I don't have to. 

And when these boys did face theirs, when they were forced to pay for their sins with their lives, then God made that sacrifice a thing of such beauty and joy that it was wholly redeemed. In the way that only God can redeem something—in the way that only a perfect Father of perfect kindness and holiness who chooses to die—can redeem something.

 And the fact that we all deserve execution, but only some, caught in a flawed government system, ultimately pay that price, is what makes the death penalty so unjust.

Christ paid the ultimate sacrifice on the cross so that we can have redemption and forgiveness, and access to the wondrous power and presence of God in difficult circumstances.

For this and so many other reasons, Execution Island is a film that needs to be seen.

Find out how you can show it for your church/small group/ community at www.executionisland.com.au

To Look in the Face of Your Own Execution

“I think that we human beings have a compass, a mysterious compass, which leads us to do what is right.” 

Hearing the quote above–which begins Summer in the Forest, a documentary about L’Arche, founded by Jean Vanier–I was afraid the film itself would be overly pat and syrupy. I was wrong.

When four men labeled as “idiots” were confined to a life of imprisonment in asylum-like institutes in the 1960’s, a young Canadian philosopher named Jean Vanier secured their release and created a space for them to live. The L’Arche community is a place of residence for those with developmental disabilities and their caretakers. It became a movement and has spread widely, with chapters currently existing in 37 countries. The original L’Arche in France, the setting of this documentary, operates to this day, and Vanier still regularly visits.

The striking power of this documentary doesn’t lie in the feel-good formula that it sets up with the beginning quote, but in its willingness to follow many of the residents in their daily activities. The movie gives the residents a face and a voice. For an often hidden and voiceless population, this story-telling decision is profound.

One of the most powerful scenes in the documentary takes place in a quiet room in L’Arche.

“Dearest Sebastian,” Vanier says, to a 23-year-old man in a steeply reclined power wheelchair, “you are beautiful. Very, very beautiful.”

The man in the wheelchair is nonverbal, only able to converse with Vanier in grunts and in movements of his wide and crossed eyes. Yet Vanier understands him.

“Oui….oui…..oui,” Vanier agrees, as he continues to talk to Sebastian about Sebastian’s upcoming visit with his own parents.

I doubt that Sebastian is regularly able to engage with someone who has the ability and the will to understand him. And I doubt that Sebastian is regularly, if ever, called beautiful. Most people, myself included, see beauty in much narrower, much shallower ways. Vanier helps to remind us, in this scene, that real beauty grows in connection with another person. Real beauty is recognised in relationship, even though it may be difficult. And I would say therein lies real love.

Many times throughout the film, the camera lingers on a scene for a beat much longer than I expected, despite there being no significant action. We watch a couple of the residents as they eat dinner together. I expected something insightful or dramatic to happen. Yet the dinner progressed with no sweeping action and no breakthrough dialogue; the scene just drudged on, despite my impatience.

Then, about halfway through the movie, when one resident of L’Arche was shown walking down a staircase, painfully slowly and holding on to the wall; I blurted out loud “I know how that feels.” As someone with a physical disability, the sense of connection was striking. Seeing someone who showed similar signs of struggling with stairs, I finally understood the reason for the lingering shots. This struggle–this frustration–is inescapable to those of us with disabilities. By strategically peppering uncomfortably long scenes throughout, the filmmakers invite viewers to enter the lives of the people on the screen more fully, more realistically.

Seeing people with disabilities on-screen is always a gamble for me: will the disabled be used as static characters who only exist to pull the heart-strings of able-bodied people? The sad truth is we –people with disabilities– are barely ever the heroes of our stories; we inspire other people to achieve their goals. Stella Young says in her TED talk about living with disability, “I’m not your inspiration, thank you very much.” People with disabilities have stories to tell, and not just to make other people feel better about themselves.

Probably the greatest strength of the documentary Summer in the Forest is its fearlessness in thrusting the disabled population from the background to the role of the hero. In another documentary close to my heart, The Ataxian, a friend of mine who shares my genetic disorder is the main character. The film shows his struggles and his successes from his own perspective. He is not the wise disabled friend imparting knowledge to the main character. He laughs, jokes, cries, struggles, and succeeds in his goal to ride a recumbent trike across the US in nine days in the world’s toughest bike race.

That people matter and have a story to tell, even though they have a disability–Summer in the Forest breaks no ground with that epiphany. Yet, it’s a hopeful step rarely taken in film, and it is orchestrated beautifully.

Seeing someone else’s weaknesses and challenges can be incredibly difficult. I would prefer to recognise only the attractive parts of others –their humour, their kindness, their intelligence. But that’s incomplete. Only by wholly seeing someone–their strengths, weaknesses, abilities, and disabilities–can we recognise them as fully human. And only in that recognition can we really begin to love one another.

The documentary Summer in the Forest was a perfect way for me to align my mysterious inner compass, and to recognise that accepting others–both in their strengths and in their disabilities–is the beginning of compassion.

SUMMER IN THE FOREST is IN CINEMAS from APRIL 29, and tickets MUST be pre-purchased!

To pre-purchase your ticket (support L'Arche Australia!) go to www.summerintheforest.com.au

Originally published as "Recognition: Jean Vanier and "Summer in the Forest," MARCH 22, 2018 on Sick Pilgrim. Matt Lafleur is Sick Pilgrim’s managing editor and a FARA ambassador. 

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An Ode to Jean Vanier (x2)

Mrs Gladys Staines

"I Love These Feet"

His Love Really Is Loud And Krazy

To Look in the Face of Your Own Execution

Heroes of Their Own Story

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