How do you become a friend of God?

In my last post, I claimed that being a “friend” of God is a higher metaphor than child or servant. The question then becomes, “How do we get there?”

As I said then, friends are in agreement. They see things the same way. Is your worldview and perspective in line with His? If not, how do you get there? The answer, I believe, is what Paul calls, “character.”

First, you must accept that your view and understanding of the world is not identical to his. In fact, it is likely that your worldview is farther away from His than you think it is. In any case, your worldview should always be changing. It must be brought into line with His. It is a process.

But this process is not about an intellectual agreement; it is about a change of “heart.” By this I mean a change at the core of your being. Two be a friend is to be like-minded, and for that to occur it has to come from who you are. I’m arguing that as your understanding changes, it becomes a part of who you are. When you act, you act out of who you are, who He has made you. This is what I mean by “friend” of God; it is part of your character.

Your character is who you are. We tend to use the word character as a positive. “That boy has character,” by which we mean by that is that he naturally behaves well, or his behavior meets or exceeds expectations. The key is that it is natural, that is that it comes out of who he is; it is not acting, or doing what he has been told. This description is part of it, but character is who you are for better or worse.

If you are naturally (innately) on the same page with someone, that is because you are the same kind of person - you have the same character. My goal is to be on the same page as God, which means a change in my character.

Paul describes this process in his letter to the Romans, when he says that “suffering produces endurance (other translations, “perseverance”), and endurance produces character, and character produces hope..” (verses 5:3-4). James says something very similar in 1:3-4. The point here is that when you endure through a struggle, it gives the Spirit a chance to change your character. The change becomes a part of who you are: character. When you react to similar situations in the future, you will react differently. You will ultimately react according to this new character that God has produced in you.

The key is that you must endure in trust. You must trust God that he is in control and that he will use the situation to change you. You must be able to look back afterwards and see how your faithful perseverance was the right way to go. If you go through the experience kicking and screaming, complaining and especially doing everything you can to avoid the pain; you may learn nothing. If you’re lucky, He might still be able to change you, but it will take so much longer.

Worst case scenario, you will be like the Israelites wandering in the desert for 40 years because they never learned to trust God. They finally perished without ever entering the promised land.

Here is an example of a kind of suffering that you may not think about, but illustrates the point well. Paul says (also to the Romans) not to avenge yourself when someone has wronged you, but let God take care of it (12:19). This can be a hard bit of advice for most of us. We want to hold a grudge. We want the person to know that they have wronged us. We want to retaliate in some way shape or form.

To let it go is to suffer. When we read Romans, we tend to think that suffering is being out of a job, or being stressed about whatever we get stressed about. This character building can certainly apply to those situations, but it seems to me that it is harder for most of the people I know to take an offense and not respond in kind (or at all). The offender might think he won! He might do it again, since there were no consequences!

It is hard to trust what Paul says and let God take care of it. Even those who believe that God will avenge them, still struggle because the vengeance is not immediate. So the first step is believing that is the right thing to do. Then the suffering comes as you bite your tongue, or you keep your mind off all the ways you can get back at the offender.

It helps to be truly convinced that Paul is right. It’s no coincidence that Paul starts the chapter with the admonition to be transformed by the renewal of your mind (12:2). But even if you are thinking, “Ok Paul, I don’t know about this, but I’m going to take your advice.” You set your heart to resist the calls in your head to retaliate. You persevere through it like a an addict in withdrawals. But when you come out the other side, you are at least a little bit different.

You should find it wasn’t as bad as you thought. Maybe you will feel good that you were able to let go of the situation. Maybe there will even be a positive outcome you didn’t expect. But your heart softens. Your character changes, even if only a little bit. The next time an offense comes, it will be a little bit easier to endure. And then a little bit easier. And then a little bit more. The beautiful moment will eventually come when you don’t even react to the offense. Or better yet, you didn’t notice the attack. That, my friend, is character.

Your newfound character produces hope (according to Paul) in that you see that your change in character is from Him and in itself proof that He is working in you. It is now a part of who you are, who He has made you. You will know in the core of your being why it is better to not retaliate.

This is a crucial step in the process of transforming your mind. You must take practical advice, apply it to your life in faith and let the experience change you. It is only in the living it out that you are transformed. You can’t be transformed sitting in a church, or reading a blog post.

So, try some biblical advice that seems strange or illogical to you and see what happens. Allow what happens to change you.

Can you leave vengeance to God? Can you love your enemies? Can you truly turn the other cheek without worrying about being a doormat? Can you swallow that juicy piece of gossip? Can you go the extra mile? Can you truly stop worrying about the future?

What is God asking you to try right now?

Are you a servant, a child, or a friend?

Not that these are mutually exclusive, but these are the three main metaphors that I have encountered to characterize our relationship with God. In this piece, I intend to argue that the best one is to be is a friend of God.

First, there is nothing wrong with having a servant’s heart. Paul tells us that Jesus, finding himself in human form, humbled himself by being obedient even the point of death on the cross (Philippians 2:8). It is wise way to live. 5 verses earlier Paul tells us to esteem others as higher than ourselves. We should live this way.

But the danger in seeing yourself as a servant is that you may come to see your value as utilitarian. That is, that you only have value to God as long as you are useful. A servant’s relationship to his master works this way. If he doesn’t work, he doesn’t stay in the relationship. In fact, even if he does work, his value in the eyes of his master is judged according to the value and/or volume of his work. This is not your relationship with God.

Consider the story of the prodigal son. He had, I think, the right attitude when he returned home. He would offer himself to his father as a servant. Considering the way he left and what he did while he was gone, this is probably how he should feel. But his father wouldn’t hear of it. Your children are always your children, especially when they don’t behave.

Have a servant’s heart, but you are not a servant. You are a child of God. Children have an inheritance. Children have a permanent place. The relationship with the Father is one of love, and it cannot be removed. Your behavior is not a factor in determining your status or His love. It is better and truer to understand your position with God this way.

The son in the story who didn’t leave is the one who makes this mistake. He sees his value as based on his own faithfulness and hard work. He is perhaps the bigger disappointment to the Father. It’s basically like saying, “I don’t really love you. I just want something from you.”

My daughter used to come up to me and with the sweetest voice would tell me that she loves me, and I would respond, “Ok, what do you want?” It was a little game we played, but imagine if she really did say she loved me because she wanted something. How disappointing.

Is that what you want your relationship with God to be like? Are you trying to earn his favor? Are you loving Him because it’s required, you’re supposed to, or that’s how you get blessings? Imagine how you would feel if that’s really what your children wanted.

As children of God, we listen to our Father. Why? We love Him. We trust Him. We believe that he knows best.

But there is a deeper, more mature relationship beyond obedience.

Jesus says, “No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you” (John 15:5).

Friends. That’s what he called them. A friend is something different. In its simplest expression, a friend is someone who agrees with you. Friendship “love” is phileo in the Greek. I remember reading in the book, The Four Loves, by C. S. Lewis, he describes agape as a one way love that gives without expecting in return. Eros is a “face to face” love, and phileo as side by side. In Eros the lovers look at each other. The love is about the relationship. However, in phileo the friends are looking at the same thing. Their love is bound up in how they are of the same mind.

Friends are joined together by their common interests. They see things the same way. I am arguing that this is, if not the ultimate goal, the next step in our relationship with God. We can and should come to the place where we agree with him and act out of our agreement. A child still does what he is told, whether he agrees or not. That is obedience. A friend acts because he is on the same page.

Imagine if you had a sense that God wanted you to do something and you realized you were thinking the same thing. Imagine if you acted upon an instinct that you knew was in line with God’s heart. This is what I want.

Last year, I had a colleague who thanked me for being patient with one of his students as they struggled to pass my class. I could have been tough on the student for not turning in work, but that’s not how I work. In that conversation, I sensed God telling me to use the word “grace.” In my heart, I thought, “That sound like a great idea.” So, I did. I said, “You know, I know we sometimes need to be hard on them to hold them accountable, but sometimes what they really need is grace.” And the conversation went on.

The next day, the colleague came up to me and said, “I thought about what you said about grace yesterday. It really got me thinking. I’m really starting to rethink how I approach these kids.” I’m not sure what makes me happier, that God was able to use me, or that I didn’t have to ask twice. Anytime I feel that I am in agreement with Him, it lets me know that it’s working. He is changing me.

The other example that comes to mind was a day that I was having the librarian do presentations to my classes. Between classes, she did a quick trip through the library to pick up trash when she found a $5 bill. Her in initial reaction was, “Cool, five bucks!” Without thinking, I said, “How sad. That could be someone’s lunch money.” I think she immediately felt guilty, which made me feel bad because that wasn’t my intent. But I realized that my first response was one of compassion for the kid. The significance is that this represents a change for me over time. I am instinctively seeing things in terms of the effect on others without regard to self.

Why are these moments important to me? I believe they show that my relationship with God is changing me. I am (ever so gradually) becoming like him. I am coming into agreement with him.  Check out verses like Romans 8:29, or 1 John 2:6 and many others. I think this is what they are talking about. I want to be like him naturally, instinctively, because he has made me that way.

I believe this is the next step in the maturing process for a believer. I want to be considered His friend.

How to “Hate” Your Father and Mother

“If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple…” Luke 14:26.

One thing that drives me crazy about Christians as much as any other is this phrase, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean…” When confronted with a statement like the one above, we are so immediately agitated by the notion it appears to contain that we must explain it away. The problem is that we never get back to what it might actually mean. Don’t assume anything, but sit with the phrase for a moment and contemplate what the actual challenge is here.

There are many readily available explanations that are reasonable, accurate and useful, but I want to suggest two things that I hope will be transformative. First, it may be connect with (and perhaps alter our view of) the greatest commandment. Second, what is hate?

“And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength” Mark 12:30. That’s the greatest, and I would argue, only commandment (but more on that later).

I want to connect these two verses by asking this question, “if you love God with your whole heart, mind soul, and strength, what else can you love?” Is there room for your family, your dog, your house, your car? There might be a little sarcasm in here, but I want to emphasize the point that perhaps we are not talking God at his Word. If you love Me completely, there should be no room for anything else. Don’t love anything else.

If you love your family, or anyone in your family, then they must of necessity compete with God. You must let go of anyone else and love only Him. That, in a nutshell is what He is saying. Take your family, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer them there as a burnt offering. (That’s a personalized version of Genesis 22:2.)

There will be no competing loyalties. This goes beyond those times when families members are pulling you in other directions. It’s not only when you must choose between the two. It is always. A man cannot serve two masters. You can’t serve God and your family. You must let go.

Now, before you move out, kick your kids out, or file divorce papers. Let’s move on to why I think there is only one commandment, even though Jesus says, “And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:39). It seems a simple phrase to say that this second commandment is like the first, but how is it like the first? I believe that the two are necessarily connected. You can‘t have one without the other.

I am arguing that you can’t love God without loving your neighbor. To put it another way, if you love God, you will love your neighbor. You love your neighbor because you love God. The simplest explanation I can give is that when you love someone, you care about what they care about, often just because they care about it. God loves your neighbor, so you will love your neighbor. The same thing applies, obviously, to your family. Or did you think I was suggesting that you should forget your family and care more about the guy next door?

How does this connect with the Luke 14:26? Well, how else can you demonstrate your love for God? What can you give the God who has everything? I suppose you can worship, you can do devotionals, but is your quiet time really the only, or even best way to give to God? Paul says that presenting ourselves as living sacrifices is our spiritual worship (Romans 12:1). We worship (demonstrate our love) by sacrificing our lives, but you do that by living for others. Your love for others IS an act of worship.

In other words, you cannot love your family, your neighbor, or anything in a way that competes with God. You cannot juggle your commitments, or schedule whom you will serve. Your Love is for Him and your love (small “L”) for others is actually allowing Him to love them through you. All of your actions toward others are Him working in their lives through you. If you really care about them, you will realize that is the best thing for them.

This is how we become the “parts” of his “body.” We become His hand that reaches out to those in need. We become his mouth that brings healing words. We become his feet that run to the rescue.

It is important to note how this affects your decision making. There is a difference between they way you will handle a loved one who is the most important thing in your life and someone you have been entrusted to care for. Your vision for your loved one is what YOU think is best for them. You cannot help but insert yourself into the process and you become entangled in their lives. Your entanglement then skews your decision making process. You lack objectivity.

However, if you have given them into the hands of the One who knows what is best for them, you will defer to Him. You will trust Him more to protect and bless them. If your consider this for a moment, you will start to see other differences that I believe will ultimately benefit those you love.

I would like to leave it there, but what about this word, “hate?” This is yet another example of the need to transform our minds. What if biblical “hate” isn’t what you think it is?

The danger in reading the Bible in our old minds is that we interpret it in light of what we already “know,” despite Proverb 3:5 that tells us to not lean on our own understanding. Why would Paul tell you to transform your mind, if there wasn’t something wrong with your thinking?

So here, we have the word, “hate,” and we assume that He means to be angry, to shun, ostracize, be mean to, or who knows what else your mind conjures up with that word. What DO you do when you hate something?

What does God do when He “hates” something? Consider this, “These six things the Lord hates, yes, seven are an abomination to Him: A proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that are swift in running to evil, a false witness who speaks lies, and one who sows discord among brethren” (Proverbs 6:16-19).

And what did God do to those people? He died for them. I could go on with other examples from the Bible of God’s longsuffering, and desire for our redemption, but the bottom line is this is how God “hates.”

Go ahead, hate your family, but hate them in the way that puts their redemption first and foremost. That’s what God would do.

"If Jesus sent me to Hell, I would go."

 

I remember making this statement as a young Christian and being surprised by the reaction. One friend in particular was apoplectic. “But that doesn’t make any sense! He would never ask you to… I mean why would you…?” And he went on. I get that it’s a little oxymoronic. And you should know I make statements like that with a little more than a touch of irony, but I was stunned by the acute anxiety in his reaction. It was almost as though that were a real possibility. God might actually send him to the “bad place.”

But why would he be so unsettled by, so threatened by something that he knew would never happen? There is no reason, justification, or theology behind the notion of sending believers to Hell. I think that the first problem for him is just that; it didn’t make any sense. However, his level of angst revealed a deeper confusion. My best guess is that my statement was antithetical to his personal theology.

You see, in his theology, the ultimate goal is to get to heaven. That was the promise. “If I believe, then when I die, I get to go to heaven. So, I am believing. I’m doing what I’m told and for that I expect a reward.” This transactional relationship with God is at the heart of many Christian’s relationship with God. It is a danger that inherently limits one’s relationship with God.

As Paul tells Timothy, there are those who “have a form of godliness, but deny it’s power” (2 Timothy 3:5). I think too many of us are powerless to change our lives because our entire “faith” revolves around getting to heaven. In that sense, we are in it for ourselves. Even when we “do” Christianity, it is because we are supposed to. Intuitively we know that it can’t be as simple as saying a little prayer and then getting on with our own lives, having secured our golden ticket. So, we go to church, maybe open a Bible once in awhile, or whatever list of things to do we have been given.

We practice this form of godliness, but it doesn’t add up to much.

As we’ve seen in the past, my friends initial emotional reaction caused him to miss the point entirely. However inartfully put, I was talking about something entirely other to his experience. His anxiety came from a statement that he could never make, and was so far outside of his experience that his reaction was a kind of hostility. I was clearly being heretical.

What I was trying to suggest is that I was not interested in some future destination, the “pie in the sky, by and by.” I wasn’t interested in the promise, so much as the one who promises. John wrote, “And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent” (John 17:3). This IS eternal life - knowing God. That’s it. That’s the whole thing and it’s NOW. There is nothing to wait for.

Know God - know life. No God - no life.

There is nothing to wait for. Nowhere to go. You already have eternal life. There is only the relationship with God, and that is NOW. “Heaven,” will only be a continuation and an intensification of what you have now.

So, why would I go to Hell? My point was that I would go where He goes. If He’s in Hell, I want to be there. I wouldn’t go to heaven if He wasn’t there. It kind of reminds of my dog, Chewie, part Chow, part German Shepherd, who follows me everywhere. If I get up to go to the bathroom, he gets up and follows me. If I close the door to the bathroom, he waits outside the door and then follows me back into the living room. No questions asked. I’ll go where He goes. There is no better place to be.

I wasted a lot of time as a young believer ruminating on the question of salvation. Was I really saved? Could I lose my salvation? I went round and round in my own head and in conversation with other young, not very well grounded, Christians. It was exhausting.

Ultimately, I didn’t so much finally answer the question as I gave up trying to find an answer. I reached a place where my eternal security no longer became an important question. I lost interest in the question. Others became more important; Jesus became more important.

I have said that my definition of sin is selfishness. After that realization, it came to me that the amount of time that I spent worrying about my salvation and trying to secure my salvation was selfish and therefore sinful. That is the problem of a Christianity whose goal is heaven, eternal life, or salvation. You’re in it for you. How is that not sinful? This is why you haven’t changed, why you haven’t been transformed. As long as on any level it is ultimately about you, you will not change. You will be a religious person trying to earn justification.

I finally came to the place where I stopped caring about my eternal destination. I just decided to follow Jesus, whatever that meant. Hell, the ends of the Earth, staying right here, my idea is to go where he goes.

It is true that I can write this knowing that my eternity is secure and the gives me confidence. If in anyway my ultimate destination was in doubt, that would upset the applecart. But my assurance comes from having a relationship with God, which leads to good. Fundamentally, I don’t expect that to change but to continue on forever, which would be heaven.

Rogue One is not a “Star Wars” Movie

SPOILER ALERT: This post assumes you have seen the movie!

Joseph Campbell, as they say, would roll over in his grave. Not that I hated the movie. I found it entertaining, but this movie breaks with the monomyth, the “hero’s journey,” in a way that is totally out of step with the Star Wars mythology. Another oddity is that the Force is ineffectual, something unusual for a series that generally elevates it to a starring role. Beyond that, I was mildly disturbed by what message might be communicated by the fact that everyone dies ending, whether that is the right message for today. The bottom line is that Rogue One just doesn’t fit the “Star Wars” mythology.

The biggest problem with the movies is that the hero can’t die. That Joseph Campbell’s ideas on mythology and the “hero’s journey” (monomyth) inspirational to George Lucas and the makers of the early Star Wars movies is well-documented. A simple internet search will yield plenty of charts detailing how Star Wars follows that classic pattern. A key element of the monomyth is that the values of the  culture are transmitted in the changes the hero goes through on the journey. Over the years, as I have taught about the monomyth in my Film Analysis class, one thing has become clear: the transformation of the hero is bound up in self-sacrifice. The journey must ultimately produce a change in the character in which he let’s go of his self-interest and dedicates himself to the greater good. This seems to be a key characteristic of the hero in our culture.

While the cultural message of the Star Wars mythology is that to be a hero one must sacrifice themselves for the greater good, this does not include dying. The end of the hero’s journey is to take come back home having been changed by the experience. The cultural value communicated in more a of living sacrifice. In some way, shape, or form, the hero is supposed to bring back a “magic elixir” that will heal the land. In it’s simplest form, the journey is about fixing whatever is wrong with his home, but not for himself, for his people.

Now, one could argue that Rogue One fulfills that. Jyn finds a kind of redemption, sacrifices herself, and transmits the plans, which could be viewed as the “elixir.” The plans certainly are the boon that allows the rebels to blow up the Death Star. The difference is that she, as the hero, is limited to one sacrifice on behalf of others. While it may seem very noble to make that sacrifice, it also limits our heros. All of us take the cathartic journey along with the hero toward self-sacrifice. So, all of us internalize the message of self-sacrifice. But we all can’t die for our cause, or there would be nothing left. Star Wars heros have a greater value in creating living sacrifices because if we were all to internalize that message, the end result would be a better society. Dying for your cause is either limited to a few or an exercise in futility. In any case, it is not consistent with the kind of hero consistently presented in the Star Wars mythology.

Having all the main characters die, makes the Rogue One essentially humanistic. Thematically, this means that goals are to be attained by human effort, and human effort alone. The movie pulls us out of the world of the underlying connection between all beings and into the humanistic realm. It is people doing what people need to do to survive on their own without the ultimate power of the universe. The Force is ineffectual. There is only one practitioner and the Force is not enough to save him. It is as though the movie franchise is now in the hands of unbelievers.

Jyn’s arc fits the monomyth in some ways; it is almost impossible not to. It’s just not the Star Wars monomyth. Star Wars is about the Force; it is about faith. Their goals are attained by trusting the Force, and it’s a power takes them beyond what human effort alone can do. Even when Obi-Wan Kenobi dies in the original, he returns to the Force to continue to aid Luke. In fact, he is present in spirit at the end of episode 6, so he isn’t “dead” in the same way as the characters in Rogue One. Luke only destroys the  Death Star by trusting the  Force. But that greater spiritual message is lost in Rogue One.

The Star Wars myth, because of the foregrounding of the Force, is more about inner transformation. It is about Luke becoming a Jedi. It is about Anakin losing his way and finding redemption. It is about that thing below the surface that can connect all of humanity for better or worse. As a cultural artifact, the Star Wars series argues for living a life of sacrifice, not making a sacrifice. The “ultimate boon” for the hero is the discipline that makes him of continual value to his people. I would argue, then, that the “message” for the viewer is that this is all of us. We all can go on an adventure and come back changed and more valuable to our people, however we define them.

Instead, Rogue One, is war propaganda about dying for a cause. This is not the hero’s job in the Star Wars myth. Not that people don’t die in the earlier Star Wars movies, just not the heros. Even Obi-Wan’s death, as I said, takes him into the Force to be of further use to Luke. He makes a conscious sacrifice that makes him of more value because of the Force. As I mentioned, since his consciousness continues, he still qualifies as a living sacrifice. Jyn, on the other hand, fails as a Star Wars hero because she does not choose to make the sacrifice. She intends to live, but circumstances converge to take that choice away from her. Her death and the plans she transmitted do not resonate beyond the human realm. But Obi-Wan and Anakin, because of the Force, are able to join in the celebration in Return of the Jedi. Will we see the spirit of Jyn raised in a future episode?

I must confess that the reason the self-sacrifice of the all of the characters in Rogue One did not sit well with me has to do with the times we live in. The world seems to be too extremist, too fundamentalist, and too willing too for the rightness of our causes. Everything is a battle. While the idea of dying for one’s country, or a good and worthy causes is laudable, the people who disagree with you may be getting the same message from the same movie. Throw a bunch of people together who are willing to die for what they believe and someone is going to die. I am all for messages of self-sacrifice, as the monomyth promotes, but I’m not sure this is the right time promote the ultimate sacrifice.

Wouldn’t we be better off with the old Star Wars mythology, people living lives of sacrifice for the common good, rather than dying?

Hacksaw Ridge as a Rorshach test

Hacksaw Ridge as a Rorschach Test

Just in case you’re not sure what a Rorschach test is, it’s that inkblot test. You look at the blob and state your first impression of what you think you see there. Psychologists use it as an analytical tool. What you see there tells something about you. You reveal something of yourself.

I’m going to argue that how you react to Hacksaw Ridge (or any movie for that matter) can tell you something about what you believe. So, I’m asking you the question: What did you see in this movie? If you had to state a theme, what would it be?

First, I enjoyed the movie, but I was a little bit confused. I didn’t find the clear message or theme in the movie that I expected. Not that I need a clear “message,” but I’m well-trained at recognizing themes, and pulling together the various elements of the text (the movie) into a consistency that could be expressed in a theme. Perhaps, this time I was lost because I was expecting something different and when I didn’t get it, it confused me. But I don’t think so. The word on my lips as a I walked away was “indeterminate.” I even wonder if Gibson did this intentionally. Is it possible that he refused to underscore a theme to allow us to create our own?

Gestalt theory includes the idea that we naturally take the various elements we see and perceive them as a single whole. That would mean that you will assemble the elements of the story, using your own preconceptions to fill in the gaps and order the evidence provided by the text into a whole that reflects your own beliefs. Perhaps Gibson is simply laying out the story before us and allowing our own natural tendencies to make it into a whole.

So, what was the movie about to YOU?

I see three potential interpretations (although the second two are probably the same thing, ultimately). My purpose here is to interrogate these interpretations to show what they might reveal about the interpreter. What does our understanding of the movie tell us about ourselves?

So, what do you see? Is this a story about a God who found a willing follower whom he could empower to perform a miracle? Is this a story about a great man of faith whom we should all admire? Is this the story of a “saint” (a person who stands apart from all us mere mortals)?

As an act of film analysis, it is my intention to try to stay away from outside evidence; the film is the text, and prior knowledge of the events cannot be assumed. I want to get at what the film itself says. So, here are the facts as I understand them from the movie. Desmond Doss made a commitment to God to never touch a firearm. Doss also felt a duty to serve his country in a time of war. Doss enlisted as a medic; the perfect job for him. He had to endure persecution at the hands of those he was hoping to help, and even had to fight to stay in the military. He risks his life to help wounded soldiers. But on one fateful night, he saved 75 wounded soldiers, singlehandedly lowering them down a cliff with a rope. I would also add that Doss was very humble and wouldn’t acknowledge that he was anything special.

Miracle?

First, do you see this movie glorifying God? At the end of the movie, is there something in your being that recognizes the power of an omnipotent being that used a man to save many? Did you walk out saying, “God is great?” There is plenty of evidence in the movie to lead to that conclusion. There are many unlikely things that lead up to the fateful day. His father shows up to defend him at his trial. His father had not been supportive of his participation in the military, or been a supportive father in any way, but he becomes a key turning point in convincing the military to allow Doss to complete his mission. There is a break in the chain of command that intervenes in his trial to help Doss. These things themselves could easily be seen in as acts of God enabling Doss on his path.

However, the most obvious act of God in the movie is the miraculous night. One must consider the incredulity of rescuing 75 helpless soldiers. Doss, as portrayed in the movie, carries 75 soldiers across a darkened battlefield to a cliff where he lowers them to the bottom. There is at least one close-up that suggests that his hands are getting raw from the rope, and that is fairly early in his night. Consider that sheer physical impossibility of the task. Estimate how many bodies you could carry before you gave out. Even in those stories we all hear about someone lifting a car off of a victim, they didn’t do it 75 times over several hours. Now add in the fact that your own military is bombarding the area without somehow hitting you. Now add in Japanese patrols looking to finish off the dying American soldiers. It is hard to argue that this is not an act of God.

Is this what you saw? Did you walk away praising God? In the postscript interview with the real Doss, he certainly attempts to deflect praise. He does not directly tell the listener to praise God for what happened, but he certainly deflects praise of himself, which leaves only God to credit. Herein lies my question. Why not be more direct? Is Gibson worried about losing audience to an overtly religious movie? Does he not see God as deserving of the ultimate credit and praise for the miracle? Or...does he want to let you decide?

Great Man?

Or did you see the man? Did you walk away from the movie impressed by Doss? Was he a great person who needs to have his story told? Doe he belong in the pantheon of the heroes of American culture? Is it Desmond Doss who should be praised?

Here too, I think you will find plenty of evidence. He is the protagonist. He follows Joseph Campbell’s hero’s journey. Simply by nature of how we watch movies, identifying with the protagonist and participating cathartically in his story, naturally puts him and the center of the meaning-making. Why would we not see the story as about him?

Even Doss’s humility can be read in a way that brings the attention back to him. Our culture rewards those who do not self-aggrandize. In our culture, the fact that he defers credit and does not esteem himself higher than others, only works to make him more praiseworthy. In that, he represents a cultural value.

Within the movie itself, there are few markers to point us beyond Doss. In fact, it was only after the movie that my own thoughts lead me to consider the miraculous nature of his feat. My thoughts during the movie were more apt to be impressed with Doss’s dedication, his selflessness, his conviction. I had to remind myself that there must be a God in this movie, just due to the impossibility of the physical labor of carrying that many men. In fact, the one instance in that sequence that stuck out to me was the moment when his hands were getting raw. I realized that in reality, his hands would be down to bone. His muscles would, at some point, no longer respond to his will. He would want to help, but his body would at some point fail. But again, I don’t see this in the movie; this came from my own thoughts much later.

Even the acknowledgement of his raw hands seems confusing rather than clarifying. The hands hint at the difficulty he faced, but it can be argued that it undercuts the miraculous nature of the moment ; “if it was a miracle of God, why was injured at all?” On the other hand, the fact that his hands weren’t more damaged seems to underplay the incredible difficulty of the task. It seems strange to read it as a miracle that he was only sort of hurt. It would be like saying, “Hey did you hear about the guy who lifted the car off of the accident victim. Yeah, he only pulled a muscle!” Similarly, the aftermath of the event lands him in the hospital, but there is no clear sense of the damage done. It comes off as simply exhaustion. It is indeterminate. Is this a testimony to the man, or to the God behind the man?

Even reactions of the witnesses to Doss’s heroics fail to clearly enunciate the director’s intentions as to how we should interpret the event. They acknowledge it. They are amazed. But they do not interpret. One could easily see a character declaring a miracle, or praising the man. We could even be given a variety of interpretations, including disbelief that might signal us to the need for us to make meaning of it ourselves.

However, what I could read into it was the acceptance of his peers. The film gives us an out, an escape to leave aside the questions of the divine, and see the event in humanistic terms. The despised outsider granted space in the community by proving his value. The surrounding characters are amazed at the feat, without attempting to define it. Those who doubted him acknowledge his value with a nod. Those who despised him are filled with gratitude. The characters are changed by the event, but it appears more to me that it is a lesson learned: “It takes all kinds.”

Is this your inkblot? Did you come away with a sense of the greatness of the man?

Saint?

Or did you find something else? I see a third option that I think is a combination of these two. I can see some reading into this film the idea that there are certain people, empowered by God (or the universe, or whatever) to do special things, but in a way that we can see that they are not us. I can see a view that divides us from these special people, “saints,” and extols their virtues as people we should look up to and admire, but not necessarily aspire to be. In that sense it would ultimately give us an excuse to remain unchanged.

This third view allows a comfortable view of God empowering certain people to certain tasks, so that the rest of us normal people can go on living our lives. We can be thankful, grateful, perhaps even worshipful without getting our hand dirty. If you combine the sense in the first view that this is truly miraculous, you must acknowledge a God. However, if we leave it as a miracle of God, and accept Doss’s claim to ordinariness, then we must conclude that it could just as easily have been one of us. In fact, the only reason that it wasn’t you is that you never considered the possibility that it could have been you.

You see, if your inkblot is the second one, then you’re still at risk of being asked to be a hero. If he can do it, why can’t you? The third way, however, saves you from that challenge. I would call this the “religious view,” because it acknowledges a higher power, but does not challenge you to step outside of your comfort zone.

What did you see?