Belonging to God (reprise VI)

When I think of belonging to God I think of giving myself to God. Although by rights every created thing belongs thoroughly to Him, God has given me the capacity to belong to Him by willingness. I have unceasingly the uncommon opportunity (who besides redeemed men and angels have this?) of offering my life by choice to my Heavenly Father, to serve Him, to praise Him, to cast my foolish weak soul into the ocean of His infinite mercy and wisdom.

When I walk the trails at the Springfield Nature Center (a sort of sanctuary for me) I have at times taken up two different views, both of them fertile for meditation. The first view is to look on all the trees and frogs and turtles and water and grass and recognize that all these things without exception continuously and faithfully fulfill God’s calling for them, in perfect unwavering submission to His will. It is only I and my fellow human travelers who rebel. Like a tarantula in the flour bin I stick out ghastily in the midst of an otherwise behaving creation. And as if that were not enough, this behaving creation is bent over almost double under the weight of a curse, a curse undeserved. My Edenic kin, those ancient gardeners, grew a spreading grass. This is a most sharp and humbling view to undertake.

The sharpness of this first view is inverted, but no less sharp, in the second view to which I have more recently come. And it yields a fuller fruit, I think. This second view is to consider that among all these trees and frogs and turtles and squirrels and flowers I encounter in my amblings, it is only I and my fellow human travelers who have been granted the prerogative of faith. Yes, as is evident from my first view, I and the rest of humankind are the singularly unfaithful specimens that are brushed by those breezes coming in off the water. We are the darkest blots on land or sea; and yet we have that exclusive invitation to bow our monstrous wills and seek forgiveness and new life in Christ. We have the privilege of choosing to give ourselves to God. And it is in our very weakness that God demonstrates this His greatest power and glory. The trees are majestic as they lift their arms in praise. The flowers unfold beauty in their appellations. All the rest of nature single-mindedly offers a sacrifice of pure devotion to the Creator. But only we sinners have the capacity to dazzle creation in shining with the brilliant redeeming glory of Christ. May our heavenly Father give us grace to shine that glory in love and holiness.

Feel-Good Movies

I am certainly among the most ignorant of movie critics, but I do notice a thing or two now and then. For example, I have observed that some movies are more sentimental than others; they pull at the emotions and heartstrings. Perhaps they could be called feel-good movies. They inevitably have a happy ending where the monster is killed, the heroine is rescued, the city is saved, and the heroes live, presumably, happily ever after. Another name for these movies might very well be fairy tale movies. And they do wax abundant during the holiday season. These feel-good movies are often criticized for being contrived and unreal, substituting superficial sentimentality for a depth of plot and a sensibility of the real. I would like to say a word in defense of these seemingly light, affected pieces.

One of the more well known and prolific perpetrators of the feel-good movie was the Italian-American film director Frank Capra. The sentimentality of many of his fell-good movies was so notorious that many of his works came to be known under the heading of “Capra Corn”. And yet they are still beloved today, many decades after they were made, after CGI and surround sound and digital everything has left them reeling in a bin of dusty ancientness. Why do some of us (I am certainly among this tribe) find them so compelling? Certainly there is a pleasantness to the resolved and elated emotions that we experience when we watch them, but might their goodness run somewhat deeper?

On New Years Day I read an article by Rod Bennett (recommended to me by my friend Chris — a.k.a. LifeIsAPolka) entitled “The Gospel According to Frank Capra” (http://oldarchive.godspy.com/culture/The-Gospel-According-to-Frank-Capra-by-Rod-Bennett.cfm.html). In the article, Rod Bennett discussed the sentimentality of Capra’s movies and the depth of Capra himself. He explored some of the challenging implications of faith and doubt in these movies despite, or rather because of, their sentimental nature. He focused especially on Capra’s movie “It’s a Wonderful Life” (one of my all time favorites).

The Capra Corn movies of which the article speaks (and others in the same spirit) have a decided habit of happy endings. This is what many of the critics find so unreal about them: they are rather more like fairy tales than they are like the human life we know. But then, that is really the entire point. I believe the happy endings betray the deeper good. At the bottom of the page of Bennett’s article, a commenter mentions J. R. R. Tolkien’s concept of a ‘eucatastrophe’. In his powerful essay “On Fairy Stories” (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/On_Fairy-Stories), Tolkien describes the eucatastrophe as the “Consolation of the Happy Ending”; it is opposite of Tragedy, and, in Tolkien’s opinion, “the eucatastrophic tale is the true form of fairy-tale, and its highest function”. In the words of wikipedia, eucatastrophe is “the sudden turn of events at the end of a story which result in the protagonist's well-being”. It is what brings about the ‘happily ever after’, a sort of poetic justice and redemption.

As I read Bennett’s article my mind was carried away on downy waves of eucatastrophe. I was struck by the parallels between many of the ‘feel good’ movies and the gospel of Christ. Perhaps the reason that Capra’s movies are rejected as Capra Corn is that they are being made metaphors of the wrong thing. They are not the infomercials of positive thinking, the purveyors of sappy platitudes by those who should know better. It just may be that these ‘fairy-tale’ movies are not about optimism in ordinary humanity, they are about optimism in extraordinary humanity, that is, the more-than-justified optimism found the man Jesus Christ, the man who is God. These movies really are fairy tales (or close to fairy tales) that do a splendid job of exhibiting what Tolkien’s eucatastrophe, and the grand eucatastrophe of the universe, the real eucatastrophe is, of course, the gospel.

This notion brings together into one many of the thoughts and feelings I have about feel-good movies (perhaps it was no accident that I was watching ‘Rocky’ while I was reading the Capra article, and that I had seen some of ‘Anne of Green Gables’ earlier in the day – both movies that move me, sometimes to tears). As far as the movie ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ goes, I think Bennett may have made the closest connection with the gospel when he alluded to John 15:13: “Greater love has no one than this, which one lay down his life for his friends.” And there are likely more connections (of some depth, I think).

The question that is now raised in my mind is what parallels to the gospel might we find in other feel-good movies. Consider, for instance, the movie ‘A Christmas Story’, where little Ralphie is in Christmas quest of a Red Ryder BB gun. I have not, even in the recent past, been a great fan of this movie; however, as I have pondered in the past couple of weeks and discussed it with others I have discovered a peculiar beauty in it: the beauty of childlikeness. And childlikeness, according to our Lord, is a key quality of those in the kingdom of heaven. Ralphie and his brother display childlikeness over and over and over again. My initial reaction is to complain that Ralphie is so selfishly motivated, and then I remember how selfish I am in this heaven walk, and how our heavenly Father looks down on me (and all His children) loving me beyond my selfishness (Thank you, Father). The eucatastrophe still comes; the eucatastrophe must depend on something more than good little boys and girls. What could it be? The goodness of a spotless savior (we must grant here that trying to find the spotless savior in Ralphie’s father would be overreaching the metaphor). So can you think of any more gospel parallels in those much maligned feel-good movies? There are so many sparkling facets of the gospel; one would think that there are not yet enough of these fairy tale movies (Hollywood, are you listening?). Note that I am not saying that such gospel parallels don’t exist in the non-feel-good movies; it’s just that they would likely be less complete: the eucatastrophe such a powerful portrayal of the victory won in the resurrection of Christ.

I am thinking that it is no accident that many of us are predisposed to being moved with hope and longing by feel-good movies. Maybe this feel-good-ness should tell us something of just how deeply these longings and hopes go into the very core of our being. In this sense it is possible to view many movies as really a continuation of Adam naming the animals, taking his God-given imagination and poring it over the living things of God’s creation; for what is more living and beautiful and worthy of imagination than every speck of the blessed gospel?

Of course the feel-good movies, viewed in this way, are just reflections (some faint and some bright) of the great story, the great fairy tale, the gospel. It is the great fairy tale that does not merely captivate minds, it creates them. The ones who complain about the ‘feel-good’ movies not being real are being too narrow; they are neglecting the place where the euchatastrophe, the happy joyous ever after ending is most real: in Jesus Christ our Lord. And, from that we may take an additional comfort, because if I am in Christ I am given the privilege by His grace to enter into that blessed eucatastrophe. Thank you, Father for such a beautiful gift; only You make it reality.

Belonging to God (reprise V)

When I think of belonging to God I think of being valued. He keeps me around. For some reason (will I ever know the reason?) God has chosen not to discard me into the becorpsèd burning trash heaps of Gehenna (the fit place for things beyond all usefulness). He wants me to belong to Him. He wants me, the sinner. Of course, it is a matter of love. He prizes me, and has been at pains to have me in a higher way than mere vassalhood. He has given up His only begotten Son to be born and beaten and spit on and unjustly killed. My heavenly Father turned His eyes away in the darkness of the cross and let the burden of all the world’s sin press down unrelentingly onto the heaving form of His dying Messiah Son. How can I measure this kind of love? It is so far beyond me.

And that isn’t the end of it; it is just the beginning. Out of the tomb there came a risen Savior; and out of my wretchedness there came, in Christ, a new me, a new forgiven creature with life indeed. And this is still not the end. He has given me His Holy Spirit, who indwells all believers in Christ. He is my Counselor and Comforter and Convictor. He even prays for me. I have heard that when my father proposed marriage to my mother he gave her a ring and said something to the effect of “There, now you know who you belong to.” I think that is a good picture of God’s love toward us when He seals us with His Holy Spirit, a glistening engagement ring to be sure, and the pledge of even more to come. It is sheer privilege to belong to God in this way. May our dear heavenly Father teach us more of His deep deep love. We are overwhelmed in His love.

Belonging to God (reprise IV)

When I think of belonging to God I think of my obligation to obey Him. This is essentially a corollary of His absolute ownership: after observing God’s unbounded prerogative I must consider my response. And there is no better word for the proper response than ‘obedience’. But fashion would have me use other words, other more pragmatic, flaccid, selfish words; perhaps something like ‘It would be in my best interest to do what God wants.’ While this may seem to have something going for it, it misses the point spectacularly in terms of my duty as God’s servant. And indeed all things are by right and by design God’s servants, even if they are runaways. I am His vassal — and even if He wishes to adopt me into His family I do not relinquish subjection, I inherit love.

Obedient service to Him is just the plain order of things. If God’s right of ownership of me is complete and boundless, then the only reasonable conclusion is that I must submit my entire life to be at His disposal for His purposes. It is not like my job, where I tap away at a computer for 8 hours every weekday for the benefit of the firm, but then have 16 hours remaining to pursue my own benefit quite apart from the firm. No. God is to get 24 hours of my every single day. In this regard matters are much more like the dealings I have with my car. I never give my tan sedan the weekend off to go gallivanting out on its own holiday, but I may (and often do) command it to sit quietly in some lonely parking place waiting for my beck and call. It is at my disposal every moment.

Of course there is a complication here: I have my own personal will but my tan sedan (to my knowledge) never desires to go out riding on its own holiday. Someone might say this breaks the analogy, but I think it rather allows us to see something deeper, and still retain the analogy (for whatever it is worth). In the case of my car, any desires that I might imagine that it could have to go on its own vacation would be independent of my wishes and commands. However, things are not the same with God and me: being in Christ and indwelt by the Holy Spirit, a believer may have many personal desires that are in perfect harmony with God’s commands and will. In fact, God can communicate His will through the believer’s will (see Paul’s letter to the Philippians, chapter 2, verse 13). It is a wondrous thing that my personal longings and aspirations can bear fruit at the same time that I offer all my heart, soul, mind, and strength to obeying Him, that these two can, in fact, be the same thing. So there is not necessarily a conflict between my desires and obedience to God.

Now, I did say necessarily. This is because, as I know all too well, many of my desires run at cross purposes with God’s command. But thanks be to God, He sends me a Savior, and Apostles and prophets (through the Scriptures), and teachers (often long dead), and brothers, and sometimes even enemies, to tell me which desires are of that dark sort. And yet still my obedience to our heavenly Father falls so far short of what He is due. But praise His name, I have a Savior who takes up the towel, pours sweet pure water into the basin, and washes my foul feet. He forgives me over and over and over and over again. May His grace and power deliver us from the selfishness defiance that flouts His command and the pride that blinds us to our disobedience. May we be ever more obedient children.

Belonging to God (reprise III)

When I think of belonging to God I think of an absolute ownership, an ownership that knows no bounds in right or privilege. This is a direct consequence of belonging by existence and belonging by being made. I certainly own my tan sedan, and I am allowed to drive it on Missouri roads, provided I pay my personal property tax and obtain the proper licenses (licenses that expire, sometimes unnoticed, as a certain police officer made clear to me not long ago). I have a right to drive it on the road. But only on the right side of the road. I may not take my car out and meander it down the left side of roads. My ownership of the car is bounded, and so is my ownership of anything else. Even the ownership of my cherished life’s freedom (thank you, Lord, for allowing me to live in this free land) is bounded by seemingly numberless volumes of laws and regulations.

But my belonging to God in the sense of ownership is not like that. He is under no obligation to a higher authority (as if there could be one) to act toward me in any way other than what His desire might dictate. Someone might object that we are free to violate His desires, and hence his ownership is not complete. But we must remember that it was His inscrutable desire to bestow us this freedom, and that this freedom is after all only finite. Like penciled lines in a perspective drawing, the lines of our freedom all converge into His ultimate purpose at some vanishing point nearer to eternity.

In this age it is difficult to imagine the completeness of God’s ownership of us. While the legacy of the Enlightenment may have helped to unveil the dignity of the individual in the company of men, I think it has also served to shroud the humility of man in the company of God. In human society we might claim unalienable rights, but bare before the indescribable presence of God nothing is unalienable, and that is an idea very hard to get used to. But we must try, if we wish to think clearly.

Perhaps what is most difficult is to recognize that God is under no moral obligation whatsoever regarding His various creations. He very well may be just and righteous and merciful toward His creations (and praise to Him, He is), but not because He is obliged to do so. It is only because that is the expression of who He is. If I bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies (as if I ever do such things), and take a steaming hot sheet of a dozen or so of them out of the oven, what is my obligation toward those cookies? What is my obligation to the cookie that falls on the floor as I am sliding them onto the countertop to cool? I am perfectly within my rights to throw that cookie away. But wait a minute. What about the most beautiful, moist, steamy, and delectable cookie of the whole batch — the one beckoning me by smell and sight to be the first one I devour? Do I not also have the right to throw it away as well on a whim or for some other deep unrevealed reason, be it sublimity or madness? Yes, the cookies belong to me to such an extent that I may throw any one of them or all of them away for any reason whatsoever…or I might crown even the dumpiest, driest, darkest, crustiest, and most disfigured one with a mountain of chocolate cream and a cherry. Please, don’t mistake my meaning. I am not saying that God acts on capricious whims or that there is any madness in Him. Quite the contrary (history might bear out that misunderstood genius sometimes appears to be madness, at first — often until after the genius dies). My point is that God has utterly unrestricted latitude in His behavior toward His creatures as He works out His deep purposes according to His unsearchable desires. How terrible and terrific it is that we belong to God in this way. Perhaps it is this sense of belonging that comes to the fore when the mere creature is visited by God’s manifest presence (like the encounters of Daniel and John the Apostle); perhaps this is part of what compels the creature to fall down strengthless and near dying. May God give us the grace to accept and praise His use (or non-use) of us, whatever that may be; may we be soft clay in His molding hands.