Let the Challenge Begin

“May the luck of the raven’s eye be with you. Let the challenge begin.”

Raven (2002-2010), passim

Rejoice, all ye noughties kids. Glad tidings I bring: Raven is back.¹

 

A raven (unless it’s a crow; I can’t tell) in a suitably fantasy-ish landscape. Apparently the raven who plays Raven’s raven form in Raven is (or possibly was) called Jake.

Probably the finest bit of children’s programming ever produced by BBC Scotland, Raven originally ran for ten series from 2002 to 2010, won two BAFTAs, and spawned three spin-off series.² Few programmes, I think it fair to assert, are so heartily beloved by Brits of my generation as this one: bring up Raven in any nostalgic conversation about the television broadcasting we used to enjoy, and you’ll almost certainly be met with a wistful grin and an enthusiastic exclamation to the effect of, “I loved that show!” from more than one quarter. The fact that it has retained a major cult following to this day and been one of the programmes most frequently requested for relaunch³ was undoubtedly a key factor in why the powers that be at CBBC have decided to gift the world with an all-new series beginning this coming Monday. I am, I confess, extremely – perhaps disproportionately – excited.⁴

The thing about Raven is that much as it is, at the end of the day, a gameshow – a mere kids’ gameshow with nine-to-thirteen-year-olds competing against each other to win a prize in the form of cash or a holiday – it never felt like one. It wasn’t so much that it called us to suspend our disbelief as that it seized our disbelief under the arms and dangled it helpless from the rafters without our consent: the whole idea of the programme was to maintain this pretence that Raven’s ‘young warriors’ really were inhabitants of this land of myth and magic, competing to prove their worth in the battle against the forces of darkness. No hint that they were in fact just ordinary schoolchildren being supervised doing outward-bound activities somewhere in Scotland was allowed to reach us. Even the charade of scrambling selected letters of the competitors’ given and family names to produce vaguely fantasy-esque pseudonyms by which they were known throughout the duration of the tournament, contributed: this was not some kid called Jamie Woods, this was Jaddo, Ultimate Warrior, bearer of the emblem of the mountain, wielder of his rightfully earned Staff of Power.⁵

I have always felt that the marginally similar outward-bound activities I was forced to do on various school trips would have been far more exciting if the instructors had taken a leaf or two out of Raven’s book. On such trips, I recall, I was presented with rocks to climb and lakes to canoe in and high-ropes courses to complete without there being any apparent reason for my doing so other than that that was what the activity organisers had arbitrarily decided my group was going to be doing that afternoon. If only they had told me that at the top of the rocks lay a portal through which I would need to pass in order that the evil Nevar might be defeated; or that the lake was my only route of access to a hoard of the gold rings I might later desperately need to replenish my ‘lives’, the feathers atop my standard, should I fail in too many challenges; or even, from a slightly different angle, that by completing the high-ropes course even though I was finding it seriously scary, I would be proving my valour, and that if I tried and failed I would depart with honour – heck, if I had been addressed as ‘young warrior’ one single time, or even if the activity had been launched with a dramatic, “Let the challenge begin!” – I would have had so much more motivation to complete these tasks. If only there had been some grand inspiring storyline, however vaguely sketched, behind my being charged to complete them. If only they had been presented as a chance to strike blows for the right side in the ongoing struggle of good against evil. If only there had been a sense that this was about something worthier and weightier than my mere little self.

 

We were canoeing on Lake Windermere, which is of course a bit less impressive than Lake Louise if this lovely shot is anything to go by. Frankly, Canada, I’d say you’re rather showing off at this point.

I once came across one of those Tumblr posts that regularly make their way over to Facebook in screenshotted format, in which a blogger was suggesting that the way to increase one’s enthusiasm for mundane, everyday tasks is to pretend that they are not in fact mundane or everyday, but rather mighty challenges of the sort with which our favourite fictional heroes are typically faced.⁶ Consider washing the dishes to be preparing your armour for battle. Consider homework assignments to be top-secret research vital to the cracking of a tough case. Consider that long journey you really don’t want to have to take to be the next leg of the route to Mordor to destroy the One Ring. Clearly, then, I’m not the only one who thinks it would be easier to do the tasks set before us if we could successfully kid ourselves that to do so was to contribute to some grand inspiring storyline, to strike blows for good against evil, to do something worthier and weightier than our mere little, mundane, everyday selves.

But suppose we didn’t have to kid ourselves. Suppose it were true.

Paul’s letter to the community of believers in Christ living in Ephesus is structured as follows. The first three chapters are basically a splurge of doxology where Paul richly enthuses over the amazingness of the gospel from a few different angles, also expressing his prayer that the Ephesians would come to understand said amazingness more comprehensively. To God be the glory forever and ever, amen, and then we’re on to the second half of the letter, which kicks off with a meaningful ‘therefore’ before outlining what it looks like to conduct oneself in a manner worthy of the amazingness of the gospel by which one has been saved, in various different contexts. The section, and indeed the letter, is wrapped up with the following famous passage (not counting the few verses of final greetings at the very end):

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armour of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armour of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and, as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace. In all circumstances take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one; and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication. To that end keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints, and also for me, that words may be given to me in opening my mouth boldly to proclaim the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains, that I may declare it boldly, as I ought to speak.⁷

There’s plenty going on in there – enough to fuel several blog posts, not to mention a very entertaining session of constructing a labelled cardboard panoply⁸ in which to deck a willing volunteer as a visual aid (my secondary school CU was a scream) – but my point today is this: all the things Paul was just talking about in the second half of Ephesians, all those mundane, everyday behaviours of bearing with one another, and letting go of our anger before the end of the day, and avoiding sexual immorality and covetousness in our conversation, and singing hymns in one anothers’ presence, and giving due respect to our parents – all of those things are the way we wage war against the cosmic powers over this present darkness. In fact, take a look at that sentence again: we are called to wage war against the cosmic powers over this present darkness. Just you try to tell me that doesn’t sound more like something Raven asks of his young warriors than a guide to appropriate behaviour for professing Christians.

So yes, the armour thing is a metaphor, but the battle is a real one. Spirit against flesh. Good against evil. We don’t have to motivate ourselves to complete the mundane, everyday tasks in front of us by kidding ourselves that to do so is to contribute to some grand, inspiring storyline; on the contrary, adelphoi, we’re kidding ourselves every time we get it in our heads that it’s not. If we think we’re to conduct ourselves the way the Bible tells us without there being any apparent reason for our doing so other than that that’s what God has arbitrarily decided we ought to be doing, then it’s surely no wonder that we lack enthusiasm for such an endeavour. But the reality is that every time we choose obedience over disobedience, however seemingly minimal the issue at hand, we strike a blow for the right side in the ongoing struggle of good against evil. Every resentment we refuse to allow to settle, every covetous comment we catch and do away with before it escapes our lips, every word of encouragement sung in the hearing of our comrades-in-arms – every such action is about something worthier and weightier than our mere little selves. There is a grand inspiring storyline behind the tasks with which we’re charged, and at its climax stands the cross on which the very Word of God gave himself over to the full force of his Father’s righteous anger in order that we, the worst sort of traitors, might receive mercy; he won the victory over all wrongdoing and corruption and decay, and invites us to share in the spoil – but more than that, to share in the battle. Our Captain calls us to arms. He calls us to wage war against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, not by our own power but in the power of his Spirit, with perseverance and prayer, conducting ourselves in a manner worthy of our calling. He calls us to take up the whole armour of God and stand firm.

Let the challenge begin.

Footnotes

¹ I kid you not. Extended trailer here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u3j9TYqu0Ek.

² If you have a hankering for more facts, then I have to say that as thorough profiles of television programmes go, this one from UK Game Shows ticks a lot of boxes: http://ukgameshows.com/ukgs/Raven.

³ As stated in this interview with the new series’ producer: http://www.bbc.co.uk/mediacentre/mediapacks/raven/gunaydin.

⁴ As you may, if you know me well or Facebook thinks you do, have spotted from a certain status I posted a few days ago. Ahem.

⁵ Jaddo was the winner of the third tournament (‘tournament’ being, in Raven’s case, essentially a synonym for ‘series’). Some sweet and creative human with plenty of time on his or her hands has created cute little icons of all the Raven warriors ever: http://miniravenwarriors.webs.com/ravenwarriorarchive.htm.

⁶ I’m afraid I can’t reference it because I can’t find it. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

⁷ Here’s the whole chapter, https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ephesians+6&version=ESVUK, but you’ll gather from my remarks that I’d really rather you gave the whole book a quick skim than only the verses I’ve quoted and the few packed in around them.

⁸ ‘Panoply’ (Greek πανοπλία, panoplía) is in fact the word translated ‘whole armour’ in the ESV. It comes from a combination of the words πᾶς (pās, ‘all’) and ὅπλον (hóplon, ‘tool, implement of war’), and refers to the whole equipment of the ὁπλίτης (hoplítēs, ‘hoplite, heavy-armed foot-soldier’), not just the wearable defensive bits but the weapons as well, hence the slight discrepancy between the set of items Paul includes in his description and what we might conceive of as a suit of armour: http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/morph?l=panoplia&la=greek#lexicon.