Cutting Room Faith: what film editors & Gospel writers have in common

stjohnstmarkchurchburySunday, March 29, 2026

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Many of you will be much too young to remember the 1959 film, Ben Hur, starring Charlton Heston. But I’m sure your parents will have told you about it. It featured a very famous chariot scene. About 40 hours’ worth of film was edited down to create that intense 9-minute sequence. 40 hours down to 9 minutes. Less than 1%.

Most of us think that the power of a film lies with the director or the actors. But those who know cinema will tell you something else: that much of a film’s meaning is forged in the editing room.

Cultural Life

There’s a series on Radio 4 which is called ‘This Cultural Life’. Journalist John Wilson has in-depth conversations with some of the world’s leading artists and creatives across theatre, visual arts, music, dance and film. In one episode, he talked with film editor Thelma Schoonmaker, long-time collaborator with director Martin Scorsese. Their films together include: Raging Bull, The Color of Money, The Last Temptation of Christ, Goodfellas, Cape Fear, Gangs of New York, The Aviator, The Wolf of Wall Street… you get the idea. Thelma has edited some of the most searching films of the last fifty years.

In Raging Bull, for which she won one of her three Oscars for best film-editing, and The Last Temptation of Christ, she reminded us during the interview that editing is not about cutting things out randomly. It is about deciding what the audience must see, what they must sit with, and what they are not allowed to escape too quickly.

In that sense, I believe that Thelma Schoonmaker, and film editing, has something very important to tell us about Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

Editing as interpretation

In Raging Bull, Schoonmaker doesn’t simply present a chronological account of Jake LaMotta’s life. Some boxing matches are shown in excruciating detail, punches landing again and again. Others are reduced to flashes. Domestic scenes sometimes end abruptly, leaving tension unresolved.

The editing interprets the man. We come to understand LaMotta not because we are shown everything, but because we are shown enough – and shown it in a particular way.

The Gospel writers do exactly this. They are not trying to write neutral biographies. John tells us explicitly: ‘There are also many other things that Jesus did… but these are written so that you may come to believe.’ (John 20:30–31) That is an editor’s statement if ever there was one.

Mark: fast cuts and the weight of the cross

Much of Mark’s Gospel runs at breakneck speed. Many scenes are stitched together with the word immediately. Healings happen quickly. Crowds gather and disperse. Jesus is often misunderstood.

But notice Mark’s editorial choice when Jesus reaches Jerusalem. After he enters, the pace slows dramatically. Nearly a third of Mark’s Gospel is devoted to the final week of Jesus’ life. He lingers over conflict, betrayal, trial, and crucifixion. And then comes the most striking edit of all: Mark ends his Gospel with the women fleeing the empty tomb in fear and silence. No resurrection appearances. No comforting closure.

This is not an accident. Mark is shaping faith. He is saying that discipleship lives in the tension between fear and trust. The story ends apparently unfinished because the audience must decide what happens next. That is theology by editing.

Matthew: framing Jesus within Israel’s story

Matthew makes very different choices. He opens not with action but with a genealogy. Names upon names. History layered upon history. Many readers want to skip it – but Matthew refuses to. Why? Because he is weaving Jesus’ story into Israel’s story.

Matthew includes long teaching sections – most famously the Sermon on the Mount. He gathers sayings together, shaping Jesus as a teacher like Moses, interpreting the law from the mountain.

Matthew alone includes certain parables about judgement and responsibility, such as the one about the sheep and the goats. These editorial choices underline Matthew’s conviction: Jesus is the fulfilment of God’s promises and following him reshapes how we live.

Matthew is not telling us everything that Jesus said. He is telling us what he thinks his community needs to hear.

Luke: lingering over mercy and margins

Luke’s Gospel feels different again. Luke slows down over meals, conversations and encounters with those on the margins. Only Luke gives us the parables of the Good Samaritan, the Prodigal Son, the Rich Man and Lazarus. These are not incidental omissions or additions. They are editorial convictions.

Luke also lingers over infancy narratives – songs, prayers and women’s voices. Where Mark begins with Jesus ministering as an adult, Luke insists that salvation starts with vulnerability, with a baby, a refugee, with people the world overlooks.

Even at the cross, Luke edits differently. Where Mark gives us abandonment, Luke gives us forgiveness: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” That line appears nowhere else. Luke chooses it because it reveals the heart of his Gospel.

John: fewer scenes, deeper meaning

John’s Gospel is perhaps the clearest example of theological editing. John leaves out almost all the parables. There are no exorcisms – and there is not much supper at the Last Supper.

Instead, John gives us signs: water into wine; healing a man born blind; raising Lazarus. Each sign is carefully chosen. John doesn’t go for quantity; he wants depth.

And notice how John stretches time. One evening – Jesus washing the disciples’ feet and speaking words of farewell – becomes five chapters. Schoonmaker does something similar in The Last Temptation of Christ, slowing the film to dwell on interior struggle and choice. John’s editing tells us this: glory is revealed not in speed or spectacle, but in love poured out.

What is left on the cutting room floor

Every editor has scenes they love but must cut. Schoonmaker has spoken of the pain of removing moments that distract from a film’s deeper truth. The Gospel writers also leave things out.

We know that Jesus healed many more people than are recorded in individual Gospels. We imagine that he taught constantly. But each evangelist resists the temptation to overload the story. This is not deception. It is discipline. They trust that the Spirit works not through total information, but through faithful testimony.

Truth is not neutral

The Last Temptation of Christ caused outrage amongst many sections of the Church, partly because it refused a safe, sanitised Jesus. Schoonmaker’s editing forces us to sit with struggle, temptation and humanity.

The Gospels do the same. They do not edit out conflict. Thomas doubts. Peter denies. The disciples misunderstand again and again. These choices tell us something essential: faith is not certainty polished to perfection. It is trust formed in struggle.

Learning to read the Gospels well

Film editors like Schoonmaker teach us how to watch. They guide our attention, shape our emotional response, slow us down when we want to rush ahead. The Gospel writers invite the same kind of attentiveness. They ask us to notice what is repeated, what is lingered over, what is missing. They teach us that revelation comes not all at once, but through careful seeing.

Letting the Gospel edit us

We all edit our own stories. We choose what to emphasise, what to hide, what to revisit. And the Gospel writers edited their accounts so that we might encounter not just information about Jesus, but experience transformation through him. Like a great film, the Gospels do not tell us everything, but they tell us enough.

May we read them slowly. May we trust their shaping wisdom. And may we allow their chosen scenes to edit our lives toward truth, humility, grace – and, each time we open them, may we encounter afresh the God made flesh, Jesus Christ.

For now, I’m going to say ‘Amen’ – but after our commercial break we’re going to look specifically at Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem.

Hymn break

Cutting room faith part 2… different edits, same king

Thelma Schoonmaker often insisted that editing is not a technical afterthought but the place where meaning is made. In interviews about her long collaboration with Scorsese, she has said that editing is “the final rewrite of the film,” the moment when story, emotion and interpretation are shaped. What the audience experiences is not raw footage, but a carefully constructed narrative, where pace, juxtaposition and omission matter as much as content.

That insight offers a helpful lens through which to read the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. The four evangelists are not simply recording an event; they are editing a story. Each offers a different “cut” of the same moment, shaped by their own theological purpose, audience and context.

Editing for pace and urgency

Mark’s account is the shortest and most economical. Like a tightly cut sequence, it moves quickly: “Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it.” (Mark 11:7)

There is little commentary. The crowd shouts, the procession moves and immediately the narrative presses on toward conflict. Schoonmaker is known for this kind of editing in Raging Bull, where rapid cuts create momentum and tension rather than reflection. Mark’s Gospel similarly refuses to linger. The ‘triumphal entry’ actually feels uneasy, unresolved, already shadowed by the cross.

Adding theological subtitles

Matthew’s version is more expansive and explicit. He adds prophecy, like text appearing on-screen to guide our interpretation: “This took place to fulfil what had been spoken through the prophet…” (Matthew 21:4)

Matthew slows the scene, repeats details and intensifies the crowd’s reaction: “the whole city was in turmoil.” This is closer to what Schoonmaker describes as editing that “tells the audience where to look.” Matthew wants us to look and see Jesus unmistakably as the promised king – yet one whose kingship overturns expectations.

Reframing through compassion

Luke edits the story by what he places alongside it. He alone includes Jesus’ weeping over Jerusalem shortly after the entry: “If you, even you, had only recognised on this day the things that make for peace!” (Luke 19:42)

Schoonmaker has spoken about the power of juxtaposition – placing one scene next to another so that meaning emerges between them. Luke does exactly this. The shouts of joy from the crowd are reframed by Jesus’ lament. Triumph is edited into tragedy. The crowd sees a victory parade; Jesus sees a city that will not understand the way of peace.

Editing with retrospective insight

John’s Gospel offers the most reflective “director’s cut.” He tells us explicitly that the disciples did not grasp the meaning at the time: “His disciples did not understand these things at first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered…” (John 12:16)

This is a theological voice-over, added after the fact. Schoonmaker has described how meaning sometimes only becomes clear in the edit suite, when the whole story is visible. John writes from that place – years after the resurrection, after the glory – inviting the reader to rewatch Palm Sunday in the light of the cross.

What gets cut matters

Schoonmaker often speaks about the pain and necessity of cutting good material: “You fall in love with scenes, but you have to serve the story.” Each evangelist makes similar decisions. Not every Gospel mentions palms. Not every crowd speaks the same words. Each omission sharpens the focus. Kingship, humility, misunderstanding, or judgment variously come into view depending on which of the Gospel writers is doing the cut.

Conclusion

Seen through the lens of film editing, Palm Sunday is not four contradictory accounts but four faithful interpretations. Different rhythms, different emphases, different framing – but the same Jesus. Like Schoonmaker’s work, the Gospels invite us not just to watch what happens, but to feel its weight, notice its tension and recognise that meaning is revealed over time.

Palm Sunday is not simply Jesus riding into Jerusalem. At the start of Holy Week, it is a carefully edited moment in the story of salvation – one that this morning asks each of us, as viewers and disciples: what kind of king do we think we are welcoming into our lives and whether you, and I, are willing to see the story through to its costly end?

As we said at the blessing of the palms at the start of this service: grant that we who bear them in his name may ever hail him as our King and follow him in the way that leads to eternal life. Amen

‘Cutting room faith’ was delivered by Ian Banks at Dearnley Methodist Church on Palm Sunday, 29th March 2026. Matthew’s version of the entry into Jerusalem can be found here.

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