Hillsong: Let Hope Rise and the intimacy of the “theatrical worship experience”

On the surface, Hillsong: Let Hope Rise appears to be your average behind-the-scenes music/concert documentary. And, in many ways, it is. We get the story behind the Australian worship band’s unexpected rise to global fame, the members’ relationships to one another and their families and intimate peeks into recording sessions and live shows.  We see the struggles of touring, the cost of artistic genius and the stresses of living life in the limelight.

But this documentary is much more than your average concert doc. It’s billed as something beyond that: a “theatrical worship experience.” The goal of the film is not just to inform and entertain, but to draw people into worship and intimacy with the God of the universe, without having to leave their theater seats. An ambitious goal, to be sure, not to mention a novel one. It’s a testament to the power and intimacy of Let Hope Rise, then, that it accomplishes everything it sets out to do, and more.

Impeccably directed by Michael John Warren (who made the Jay-Z documentary Fade to Black), the selling point of the film is the extended musical sequences, many of them shot at a concert at the Los Angeles Forum (though a concert in Manila gets some focus as well). Here we see the aching intimacy and raw power of the performers in their natural setting. But these folks aren’t in it for the applause or the fame: as all the band members make clear, they exist to make the name of Jesus famous. This is the glue that holds the group together, and we witness that throughout the film. In all their interactions with each other, with their families and with their fans, the members of Hillsong United are a mighty testament to how God’s love looks like lived out in the day-to-day. Not that they’re perfect: they doubt, they disagree, they regret things they’ve said and things they’ve left unsaid. But it’s truly inspiring to see the band, which started as a worship band at Hillsong church in Sydney, selling out arenas around the world and yet remaining so incredibly, almost supernaturally humble.

Better than most music documentaries (and certainly most Christian films), Let Hope Rise conveys the beautiful idea of calling, that we all have something in this life that God is calling us to do. Joel Houston never planned on touring with a hit band around the world; it kind of just happened. He simply saw a need and walked into it with humility. Many band members say they can’t exactly explain this idea of calling, because, in some ways, following God’s will for our lives goes beyond rationalization. When you’re answering God’s call and living out his will for your life, you just know.

Exploring this intimacy with the band members off the stage only adds to the power of their worship experiences on the stage. We’ve seen the struggles they’ve had in coming up with the perfect lyrics (which are designed to be sung, not just listened to, Houston says) and the perfect melodies to allow people to draw near to God at one of their shows. We know how achingly hard they’ve worked to bring this kind of intimate experience about.


Let Hope Rise is billed as a “theatrical worship experience,” and is entirely successful in its ambitious goals.

Now, filming a concert doesn’t mean that an audience watching it on a screen is going to feel the impact of the show in the way that those attending it live might. But, in this case, I think every emotion resonates. This “theatrical worship experience” is something truly special; I felt an immediate connection to these songs I’ve sung in church and heard on the top of the charts for years. I felt the palpable presence of God in that dark theater, and that’s something very rare, particularly in the world of Christian films, which often settle for trite religious platitudes and sentimental spiritual pandering—rarely uplifting, and hardly ever inspiring. There’s not a hint of falsehood with Hillsong: when it comes to Christianity, these folks are the real deal, and a great example of what living a life sold out for Jesus can really look like. This authenticity, rather than the quality of the musicianship or the production values (though those are both stellar) is what makes the concert sequences so exhilarating (Taya Smith’s performance of “Oceans” is, naturally, a highlight, though seeing people around the world sing “Mighty to Save” in different languages was my favorite moment in the film). As one band members says, “Without Jesus, the band would be nowhere, because I honestly don’t think we’re that good.” This kind of authentic worship may have the power to sway those who have grown deeply cynical toward the church or worship music in general (Seth Hurd wrote for Relevant on how the film affected his attitude toward worship).

I chuckle, then groan (or maybe it’s both at once, a chuckle-groan, if you will) when I hear critics of bands like Hillsong United dismissing them because of the fact that (gasp!) they’re successful and make money and sell lots of records. It’s as if they’re expected to donate every cent of their success to charity and live in complete poverty (ironically, there’s no pressure for successful secular artists to do this, for reasons that probably warrant a separate blog post). But there should, I believe, be a healthy skepticism of fame and fortune when it comes under the banner of Christianity. Thankfully, the members of Hillsong avoid that trap by focusing entirely on their message and giving the praise and the glory back to Jesus: the band members discuss the tension of calling attention to themselves so they can direct it back to God, and I think that can be a potentially healthy (or potentially dangerous) space in which to wrestle. But Hillsong emerges from that battle triumphant. In all the ways that matter, they’re still that tiny little worship band from a tiny little church in Sydney. There may be more people listening and watching than ever before, but the invitation remains the same. “Come to the foot of the cross and worship with us, and you will leave changed.”

I, for one, didn’t want Let Hope Rise to end. As it turns out, the presence of God is a pretty awe-inspiring place to be.

Sully review

One of the traits Clint Eastwood has embodied over his lengthy career both in front of the camera and behind has been the rugged American spirit of steady faithfulness, of living life well in the day-to-day. That’s why the director’s sensibilities appear to be such a perfect match for a behind-the-scenes look at Captain Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger and the “miracle on the Hudson” that enthralled the nation on January 15, 2009. Sully is Eastwood’s inspirational nod to the marvelous things that can happen when we champion the traits of perseverance and steadfast devotion in our own lives.

Tom Hanks portrays Sully in a perfect casting choice. So much of Sully’s story revolves around the fact that he doesn’t view himself as a hero, but simply a man doing his job. Despite Hanks’ worldwide fame, he somehow embodies the spirit of the “everyman” better than any actor working today (see: the recent Captain Phillips). Here, he plays a man whose commitment to his ideals and confidence in his own abilities allow himself to be anchored during the greatest challenge of his life.

The film wisely avoids opening with the infamous “forced water landing,” in which all 155 souls on board U.S. Airways flight 1549 were spared. Instead, we see the barrage of questions Sully and his co-pilot Jeff Skiles (Aaron Eckhart) are forced to confront, both from the ravenous and fawning media and the decidedly less enthused National Transportation Safety Board. The NTSB is convinced that, despite the positive outcome, Sully endangered the lives of the passengers by not attempting to return to La Guardia airport after a flock of birds flew into the plane at the low altitude of 2800 feet, taking out both engines. In between the hearings, Sully grapples with the emotional impact the ordeal is having on his wife (Laura Linney) and daughters, and is plagued by vivid nightmares and doubts over whether or not he did the right thing. “I’ve flown thousands of flights and delivered millions of passengers safely,” Sully says. “But in the end, I’m going to be judged on 208 seconds.”

Sully is a subtle, beautiful tribute to the everyday heroism of a job well done.

Sully is a subtle, beautiful tribute to the everyday heroism of a job well done.

Watching a series of NTSB hearings doesn’t sound like riveting drama, which is what makes the skill with which Eastwood and screenwriter Todd Komarnicki tease out both the revelations and the smaller character moments all the more remarkable. Both the dialogue and camerawork are incredibly realistic, factors that really put the audience in the center of the story.

Of course, much like Robert Zemeckis’ Flight, the centerpiece of the film is the landing itself. And it’s absolutely breathtaking. The film smartly reveals the whole picture of the event in several flashbacks, which allows us to view it within the larger context of the emotions the characters are feeling at that particular moment. It’s a smart narrative device, and it gives the film much of its punch. We do get a couple of repeated scenes, but even then we get to see the same conversations and events from multiple perspectives.

And that is perhaps Sully’s greatest strength—it’s not really about Sully. Sure, he’s the center focus of the story, but I loved seeing the miraculous landing from the perspective of the air traffic controller who thinks he lost the plane (“no one survives a water landing,” he incorrectly believes), or the coast guard boat pilot who can scarcely believe his eyes, or the passengers of the plane themselves, who are in total and complete shock that they’re not dead.

Eastwood’s camera gives ample focus to many players both big and small, driving home the message that one of the biggest miracles we can experience in this life is not really much of a miracle at all. From Sully and Skiles to the stewardesses, passengers, firefighters, policeman and coast guard members, the reason everyone walked away from the Hudson that cold January day in one piece is because everyone performed their jobs to the very utmost of their ability. Everyone has a responsibility, and everyone has a role to play. It may not be a “miracle,” and it may not fit our Hollywood notions of heroism, but, in a time of crisis, it means everything. This engrossing drama enforces that important message with quiet, beautifully understated grace.