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Warning! If you are not completely caught up with Lost, you won’t want to read any further.

David wrote,

So here’s my question: was the forgiveness Ben recieved for killing Jacob cheap? I mean the man murdered and he is let off the hook simply because he let his daughter die too. I am not sure how that all works. I loved this week’s episode and found myself sympathetic toward Ben too, but I can’t help but wonder what motivated that sympathy in me or in the other characters on the show. Thoughts?

Richard wrote,

David, I have to admit I was caught off-guard by your question. To me, this wasn’t a show about the nature of forgiveness as much as it was the nature of repentance and grace.

I too felt sympathy toward Ben’s predicament, not because I identified with his “murder,” but because I identified with his root struggles: his disappointment in himself, his uncertainty as to the nature and reality of Jacob, his regret that his uncertainty caused him to betray Jacob, and his fear that such a betrayal would cause him to be rejected by those who love Jacob.

So yeah, if this situation weren’t quite so cosmic, maybe we could debate whether Ben should get life in prison or something. But what we’re really talking about here, as alluded to the last time we discussed Lost, is a faith struggle – and Ben came out on the other end of it.

We see the same thing from Jack, who caused quite a bit of harm as well, throughout his life, because he didn’t have enough faith to simply accept that some things just can’t be, and shouldn’t be, fixed. His belief, or lack thereof, came to a head in Lighthouse and he has come out with a stronger faith than ever. Jack isn’t a guy who kills people – we saw that early in the series, when he refused to allow the easy death of Kate’s arresting officer. But here was Jack, willing not only to blow up Richard, but himself as well – except he figured that probably wasn’t going to happen. We could tell from his face that he wasn’t entirely sure, but he figured he had to accept the stakes and jump in at some point. That’s what that scene is all about.

We see the same leap of faith exhibited not only by Ben, but by Ilana herself. She seems to be quite close to Jacob, considering him to be the closest thing to a father that she’s ever had. Isn’t it interesting then, that she would forgive Ben for killing him? Maybe she’s following in her father’s footsteps?

This season is all about the main characters (at least the candidates) experiencing their crisis of faith, and either getting stuck there or coming out stronger for it. Hurley was lucky enough to have had this crisis throughout the series – which is why he’s suddenly more confident and mature than everyone else at the moment, and why he saw no need to stand next to some dynamite while it exploded. Far from suicidal, Hurley has a lot ahead of him. As far as he’s concerned, Jacob has a wonderful plan for his life.

David wrote,

Previous Installments:

Pre-season: Lost’s Biggest Question.

Pre-season, part 2:  Lost’s Free Will Dilemma.

Season Premiere: ‘Lost’ Patience.

What Kate Did: Poor Jack.

The Lighthouse: Sawyer’s Choice

Sundown: Jacob is Good, All the Time

• Lost’s Biggest Question
• Jacob is Good, All the Time
• Sawyer’s Choice

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I think the heart of a lot of these issues really comes down to something the apostle Paul warned Christians against: thinking more highly of ourselves than we ought. Each of us thinks our issues are the most important, and we take ourselves way too seriously. What woman really thinks a “thanksgiving only” table is understandable? Tina Fey suggested her husband make the bathroom for Easter only and see if she caught onto the lunacy of the idea. We need to learn to laugh at ourselves and if going on a prime time television show with Jerry Seinfeld is the only thing that can do it then so be it.

The show doesn’t simply help them laugh at themselves and provide me an occasion to chuckle at how ridiculous others are, but it serves as a window on my own soul too. No I don’t floss in bed or get a weekly manicure (which one husband did), but I have my own issues that I am sure I take too seriously. When my wife and I were first married I insisted that she wash out a milk carton before she threw it away because the smell of rotting milk would get to me. Yesterday, immediately after finishing the last of the milk, I tossed one in the trash on top of two dirty diapers…I’ve seen the stupidity of my request.

I don’t suspect that ‘The Marriage Ref’ really did solve the actual marital problems of these people, but it’s a start in helping them mellow out and laugh together at themselves. The apostles tell us by Jesus’ command that we are to love one another and defer our own interests and preferences for their sake. Marriage isn’t about compromise; it’s about me giving for my wife and she giving for me. It’s not 50/50 it’s two people giving 100%. But all of that begins with not thinking more highly of ourselves than we ought, and maybe that means being willing to laugh at our silly demands and preferences (like Thanksgiving tables). So maybe ‘The Marriage Ref’ won’t actually provide a winner to the debate over “keeping the former husbands artificial limb,” but it might help the rest of us to take a closer look at our own stupidity and that can go along way to saving our marriages.

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1. What is the purpose of listing companies who are “rooted in Christianity”? Should I be compelled to buy a greasy Chick-Fil-A “sandwich” just because they are closed on Sundays?
2. What does it mean for a company to be “rooted in Christianity”? In-N-Out has Bible verses on their cups, Chick-Fil-A is closed on Sundays, and Precious Moments features angelic children with freakishly large eyes in “christian inspired” scenes. What Christianity is this? Does this rootedness lead to business practices that honor God? Products that honor God?

This list reminds me of a trip my wife and I took to the mall yesterday to buy her some clothes. She bought a few shirts from Forever XXI, and when we left I was surprised to notice John 3:16 printed on the bottom of the bag. I was shocked to find out that this was a Christian company since the atmosphere of the store seemed to promote an utterly vain, club lifestyle. Obviously, I don’t think there is anything wrong wear wearing attractive clothing, or buying clothes from stores that promote non-Christian worldviews (if I did I would probably be naked), but I was surprised that a company which seemed to be so explicitly appealing to vanity would also explicitly market themselves as a Christian store.

I have no strong conclusions to draw from these observations, except that we should be discerning when companies claim to be Christian and those companies or others in the Church imply that we should support them because they are “rooted in Christianity.”

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A college friend once explained that he and I both looked at the world through the lens of culture and arts and pointed out that the higher goal was of peering strictly through the lens of Christ. He and I enjoyed many of the same things: books, movies, records. What I understood as a healthy avenue of spiritual maturity, he believed a condition of our fallen nature-that were we more mature we would not place value in these temporary, fleeting things. I ardently defended the idea that these pop culture trash heaps of vanity were of heavenly worth inasmuch as God intended to use them for our benefit.

I realize now that this was a dangerously ill-defined concept, one which easily could be manipulated to suit or justify whatever whim, habit, or fancy I entertained. I could consume mass quantities of media in the name of being culturally-conscious. I needed to watch the Sopranos. I needed to listen to the Jay-Z/Linkin Park mash-up. I needed to play the Wii. I needed to Facebook. Depending on the week, this call to engage the culture-at-large can be a right holy bonus of good Christian living. More often though, it is a burden. It’s too much to keep up with and already I fail enough.

The other position is equally unhelpful. In a recent video, Paul Washer compelled his listeners to get off of Facebook and to stop sending “stupid little messages to each other like 13 year-old girls.” There is a gospel call to heed and no time to waste. To make his point, he told the story of two young men in recent times who sold themselves into slavery. They did this so that they could spend their lives sharing about the gospel with the slaves. What a beautifully chilling testament of the love of God, that these men were so convinced of it that they gave up their lives to benefit others. So, what’s wrong with that? Washer makes it seem as if theirs is the only appropriate response. He might have you believe that any person with a semblance of normality too tightly clings to the things of this world. That is not necessarily so.

There is a version of Christianity that is like capitalism with a cross. These people thank God that they are so fortunate, dismiss charity as a scam or welfare, and swear by the power of personal determination. They secretly believe that somehow they merited life on the right side of the tracks, in the right part of the world, and with all their rights intact. This is the American Delusion. They feel no urgency to do good for people.

As mentioned before, my problem is in not knowing how to enjoy things. If every good and perfect gift is from God, I believe it is our responsibility to appropriately appreciate good and perfect gifts. But that begs the question: What constitutes good and perfect? “The greatest of these is love.” The rich, young ruler comes to Jesus discouraged and asks how to have peace (or eternal life). Jesus tells him, “sell everything and give it all to the poor.” I have known Christians to run from this passage for fear that something might be expected of them. I’m not suggesting that every Christian should cash out their 401k and their investment portfolio, give it to the poor, and relocate to the street but if you have love the thought shouldn’t be offensive or unimaginable.

I tend toward extremes. Campaigning for Ride:Well Tour has presently gotten my brain and heart in knots. I am conflicted. At Wal-Mart, I’ll eye a $15 Wii game but then I hear this voice reminding me that with the same money I could provide 15 Africans with water for one year. I walk away frustrated. I haven’t been as motivated to rent a movie from Redbox either. My entire concept of a good deal is under direct assault. I’m not convinced that extremes are so terrible. Jesus’ life and ministry were the most extreme.

I only wish I knew how to enjoy things again.

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We could be. Or we could be falling victim to a common mistake, discounting something particularly because it is “popular.” My suspicion is that those who are most grieved by these songs haven’t really become acquainted with them. Nonetheless, there are tons of normal people out there who loved these songs enough to spend a dollar on them. What do they see in this stuff? And what does it all mean?

I hope to answer these questions by doing something that most of us refuse to do: taking these songs seriously. In the next few weeks, I’ll listen to and write about two songs at a time. Christ and Pop Culture has unwittingly ignored popular music for some time. This is unfortunate, because it’s clearly one of the biggest and more prevalent aspects of Popular culture that’s out there right now, even in the midst of its’ current downfall. Hopefully this series will begin to make up for this.

The Number Ten Most Downloaded Song of All Time: Ke$ha – ‘Tik Tok’
I have to say, we’re not off to a great start. There’s not a lot to like about this song, other than the undeniably catchy chorus. Nonetheless, the song is a perfect introduction to our series, being a startlingly transparent collection of pop music cliches and staples. From the opening needless cameo from rapper/mogul, P. Diddy to the straightforward description of hedonistic party life. Life’s purpose is the party, from the time we “wake up in the mornin’” and “brush my teeth with a bottle of jack.” What happens when the party’s over? Not an issue because, “the party don’t stop,” a classic pop sentiment that’s pushed to it’s logical conclusion here. In this life, who is the deity? The DJ: “You build me up, you break me down, my heart it pounds, yeah you got me. With my hands up, you got me now. You got that sound, yeah you got me.”

Really, it’s a song about social hedonism, a social contract that assumes that we are here for the sake of one another, though we have no actual responsibilities to one another. In fact, it is ourselves that is of primary importance: “The party don’t start till I walk in.” Ke$ha embraces a sort of stunted community in which the “boys try to touch my junk junk.” But don’t worry, she’ll “slap em’ if they get too drunk drunk.”

Bottom line? It’s an unsustainable lifestyle that refuses to acknowledge the very real dangers that follow from indulging. The social emphasis is commendable but not altogether surprising, and ultimately not helpful when short-circuited with a self-centered search for pleasure.

But gosh, it sure is catchy. It brings me pleasure. Ironically, though, I’ll be listening to this song (oftentimes on repeat) in the privacy of my own home.

The Number Nine Most Downloaded Song of All Time: Leona Lewis – ‘Bleeding Love’
On a list filled with self-centered, sentimental and vapid love and not-exactly-love songs, ‘Bleeding Love’ stands out. I like this song because it appreciates the love relationship without sentimentalizing it. Sure, it’s not a super-deep song, and it takes the frozen/closin’ heart metaphor a little further than it probably should (“My heart’s crippled by the vein that I keep on closin’”) but the song seems both sincere and a direct result of real emotional growth.

The song avoids blatant extremes that we see in other pop songs. Even those who try to keep her from the one she loves are friends looking out for her, not villains: “Yet I know that the goal is to keep me from falling.”

We could accuse the song of unabated emotionalism; the reasons cited for ignoring her friends advice aren’t exactly based on pure logic: “But nothing’s greater than the rush that comes with your embrace. In this world of loneliness I see your face.” Then again, how many of us always describe our love for someone else on purely logical terms? Does even Christ himself?

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“I’m begging you, your right to religion and freedom to exercise religion and read all of the passages of the Bible as you want to read them and as your church wants to preach them . . . are going to come under the ropes in the next year. If it lasts that long it will be the next year. I beg you, look for the words ’social justice’ or ‘economic justice’ on your church Web site. If you find it, run as fast as you can. Social justice and economic justice, they are code words. Now, am I advising people to leave their church? Yes!”

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But does this match made in Heaven work? Wonderland (or Underland as it is actually called) is a visual treat. Tim Burton’s strongest suit has always been his ability to both dazzle the eye and communicate plot through his visual landscapes. The 3-D element fails to live up to the “Avatar” standard but this is a minor point. The world created is still a site worth seeing. Overall, the acting is strong, too. Helena Bonham Carter is great as the Red Queen. Depp sparkles as yet another quirky character with unusual depth.

Burton wisely leaves aside the original Lewis Caroll works for a new story. It is 13 years after Alice’s original adventure, and she is now a 19 year old young women trapped in Aristocratic customs and marriage games. After facing a truly embarrassing proposal from an even more embarrassing lord, Alice runs off after a rabbit in dress clothes—yes, that one—and finds herself again in the magical world she traversed in her childhood. The movie eventually morphs into a tale of fate and war. The last part of the story becomes somewhat tired by the clichés, though not enough to sink the picture. At times, one wishes that the movie had been less driven by plot and more focused on characters and dialogue. So much happens in the film that it feels rushed, especially for a Tim Burton offering.

Themes abound in the tale of Underland. The film attempts to address the tension between fate and choice. Alice is annoyed at being constantly asked “Are you the Alice?” destined to return to Underland and defeat the Red Queen. Alice says that she makes her own choices, not some foreordained prophesy. But the reality is more complicated. Burton communicates an interplay between fate and choice that leaves them in tense dialogue. Can someone freely choose to fulfill a pre-determined event? What does this do both to choice and to destiny? Christianity struggles with similar themes. God’s rule of the world and our choices seem to partake of similar tensions. Only in the Bible, the debate is centered more firmly in relationship. Our choices do not interact with some impersonal fate; they interact with a personal Deity.

Relationships make up another theme in the movie. The Red Queen asks whether it is better to be feared than loved. This question is very old, dating at least back to Machiavelli. The Red Queen, of course, rules by fear. She threatens all opposition with imprisonment and, yes, decapitation. By such methods she keeps an iron grip on the kingdom. Yet deep down, she desires to be loved. Not just romantically but by the people of Underland and, we briefly see, her now dead parents. Her relationships with her people show the inadequacy of fear as a basis for communion.

Relationships between ruler and ruled must be built on trust and even affection. Only such bonds can transcend turmoil and reap something akin to justice. Only such bonds can move toward fulfillment of human longings. The Queen’s fearful tyranny shadows in some ways our sinful separation from God. We oppose a relationship built upon love. While we cannot make God fear us, we certainly try to place ourselves over Him, creating a relationship of painful discord. We may not impose fear on God; but we do cause fear—within our own embattled conscience.

The Queen’s reign of terror results from fears of her own. She has, well, a big head. I mean a really big head. This lack of proportion is a cause of incessant insecurity and self-loathing on her part. This insecurity and self-loathing causes her to lash out against others. She kills the king because she knew he would leave her. Those surrounding her adorn fake mis-proportions so their better physique will not incite her wrath. The world around her is a fake grotesque that merely masks bitter jealousy. Her preferred method of execution stems from her own self-image.

Here, we see the results of the Fall. When Adam and Eve ate the fruit, they saw they were naked. They covered themselves. Why? Because they felt both their own physical imperfections as well as the selfishness of their partner. Not only were they no longer perfect; they could not trust the other to accept them with those imperfections. The result was fear, loathing, and broken relationships. In the end, the Red Queen’s self-image leads both to her downfall and a lonely banishment, much like our first parents.

Thus, “Alice in Wonderland” gives the viewer much to see and much to consider. It is a visual spectacle that does not lose its touch with humanity. While far from a perfect film, “Alice” is a skillfully done work worthy of the price of admission.

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Up In The Air gets so many of our modern conundrums right that it’s hard not to classify it as a tragedy, even with some great laughs. The film explores themes of corporate greed, alienation, infidelity, and much more, but the dilemmas that really triggered further reflection were the film’s portrayal of certain dichotomies: family versus career, love versus romance, and freedom versus commitment.

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Everyone makes disciples.  Whether you know it or not, you actually are making disciples–there are people who, for better or worse, look up to you and follow your example.  What you center your life around will have an affect on those closest to you and how they live their lives.  Certainly it is possible for children to “break the mold” of their parents, but from my limited perspective, I suspect that is far more rare than we would like to admit.

Bioshock 2 was a pleasant surprise because, in the end, Bioshock 2 was not about the danger of competing ideologies so much as it was about the power of influence.  Particularly that of a father over his daughter.  If you haven’t played Bioshock 2 and are interested in picking it up, you may not want to read any further.

Most people remember the original Bioshock because of Andrew Ryan and his objectivistic ideals based on the philosophy of Ayn Rand.  The original game showed how devastating one’s ideology can be as Rapture, the city under the sea that celebrates human freedom and achievement, is in ruin because of its celebration of said freedom.  Bioshock 2 explores both Ryan’s failed objectivism and the new villain, Sophia Lamb’s collectivistic ideals.  At first glance, Lamb seems to be a true collectivist in the same vein as Stalin, but in the end she turns out to be far more heinous.  This sets the stage for where Bioshock 2 shines–on a very personal level.

In Bioshock 2 you are a “Big Daddy,” which are these huge men who have been engineered to protect Little Sisters–which harvest genetic material called “Adam” which everyone in Rapture is hyped up on and thus have gone crazy.   As the game goes on you find out that you were a diver that came upon Rapture–your daughter was taken away and you were killed–or at least it seems you were and all the while your daughter is experimented on and held captive by Dr. Lamb.

The most engaging part of the game is found in three encounters you have with some very unique and rather seedy individuals who played a part in your demise and your daughters imprisonment.   Each encounter is unique and each gives the player the opportunity to spare or kill these very shady characters and each instance is unique in its moral implications.  At the end of the game when you save your daughter, she has the opportunity to seek revenge on Dr. Lamb who has abused and imprisoned her for so long–your moral decisions determine what decision your daughter makes in the end.

Bioshock 2 reminded me that ideologies don’t save people.  Salvation, in Bioshock 2 comes on a more personal level.  Rapture itself, is beyond saving, but one little girl is not and your influence on her in the end directs her in the way that she should go (Prov. 22:6).  This is true of the gospel–the salvation presented therein is far greater than strictly ideology.  Certainly I believe that the gospel connotes the one true ideology, but what makes the gospel unique is that God becomes man, lives among us, teaches us how to live, and dies for us because he knows we cannot save ourselves.

The ideology of the gospel is unique because it is personal–Jesus enters our world and saves us individually on a personal level so that one day we will be fit to live in community together in harmony.  Unlike most games, the salvation found in Bioshock is more realistic–its personal rather than cosmic. Bioshock reminded me of the incredible power I have to influence others, especially those closest to me for good or evil.  It reminded me that relationships are more influential than ideologies.  Bioshock 2 reminded me of the power of influence more than perhaps any other game ever has.  In spite of our very individualistic world, Bioshock 2 emphasizes the power of the family and the influence therein.

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That’s the sort of watered-down fluff you’d expect from Hollywood, right? And yet, the day after I saw The Last Station, I heard a sermon with much the same message as Masha’s diatribe.

The film opens with the quote “Everything I know, I know only because I love,” attributing it to Tolstoy (rather than to his character Prince Andrei, who speaks this line in War and Peace). It’s a sentence that can be either profound or shallow, depending entirely on what is meant by “love.” Unfortunately, in its weaker moments, The Last Station settles for a definition of love that’s indistinguishable from infatuation. Masha and ultimately Valentin buy into a false dichotomy between “love” and “rules,” ignoring the fact that rules are present in all human relationships, and that they help to keep us from hurting each other.

However, it’s hard to see why anyone would follow the teachings of the film’s Tolstoy (Christopher Plummer)—even he doesn’t believe anything he’s written, it seems. I’ve always been somewhat troubled by the little I know of Tolstoy’s beliefs about sex after his conversion to Christianity: in his rejection of the body’s goodness, he’s always seemed more Gnostic than Christian to me. If the film is similarly troubled, however, it decides to eliminate any tension by simply having Tolstoy disavow his professed beliefs. In a conversation with Valentin, Tolstoy recalls an affair with a woman in the Caucasus and laughs lustily when Valentin begs him, “Please, don’t torture yourself.” Contrary to Valentin’s expectations, this earthy Tolstoy suffers no remorse for sins of the flesh, presumably because they were committed in “love.”

Robbing Tolstoy of his convictions has the unfortunate effect of rendering him an unsympathetic and inexplicable character. If Tolstoy falters in his convictions, in regard to celibacy or poverty, then why is it so important to him to write a new will that leaves the rights to his written works to the Russian people, rather than to his family? This is the central conflict of the movie for Tolstoy and his wife Sofya, who, quite understandably, objects to the new will. Sofya may be a little childish and melodramatic (in one of the best lines of the movie, Tolstoy tells her, “You don’t need a husband—you need a Greek chorus!”), but because we have no evidence of real moral conviction on Tolstoy’s part, and because Sofya is played by Helen Mirren, viewers have no choice but to side wholeheartedly with her.

Based on my limited knowledge of Tolstoy’s later-in-life philosophy (everything I know, I know from his influence upon Gandhi) and on one brief line in the film, I can guess that Tolstoy’s motivation for the will was guilt over his privileged life and his prosperity. That’s something I can understand and admire. If we could see the film’s Tolstoy wrestling with such guilt, we could sympathize, even if disagreeing with his decision. For some reason, though, the film seems to have decided that a deep, internal conflict between the love of mankind (although Valentin does get the nice token line, “I’ve never seen mankind!”) and the love of the human with whom you’ve become one flesh is less interesting than a conflict featuring an external villain. Enter Paul Giamatti as a mustache-twirling Chertkov, the disciple who wants to form the Tolstoyan movement in his own image.

If Tolstoy is not motivated by conviction, his decision to leave his wife Sofya and die in peace and quiet seems like nothing but the foolishness of a grumpy, selfish old man. In essence, though the film doesn’t seem to realize it, Tolstoy is doing what Masha claims he’s all about: loving without rules. If you love without rules, then what’s to keep you from leaving your wife of 48 years when you are frustrated with the challenges of married life? What’s to keep the passion between Valentin and Masha from changing to hatred or indifference in an even shorter period of time?

Back to that sermon I mentioned. We’ve all probably heard or read something similar: it was along the lines of that cringe-worthy mantra, “It’s not a religion—it’s a relationship.” First of all, I hate the negative use of the word “religion,” a word with possibly the same root as “ligament,” implying being connected and tied to something. Religion and relationship are not mutually exclusive words. Furthermore, if we focus on the relational aspect of our Christian faith without acknowledging the commitments upon which any meaningful relationship is forged, we end up with something as superficial as the infatuation between Valentin and Masha. If our faith is based on emotional highs of feeling connected to God, then we have little to hold us steady in times of suffering or doubt.

The Last Station wasn’t a great movie, but it did bring into stark clarity how much contemporary Christians are parroting the popular messages of our culture. You’ll hear from many evangelical pulpits today the assertion that we should forsake “religion” and get back to the basics of Jesus’ teachings. Ironically, this is what the real, historical Tolstoy believed himself to be doing when he rejected the Orthodox church in favor of a simpler, more “authentic” Christianity—and yet, how easily that simple faith began to draw in elements from Buddhism, Gnosticism, and more. So often, when we claim to pare down the gospel to its basics, we begin borrowing from other, less worthy sources, because we have abandoned the framework of religion that keeps us tied to a deep, fulfilling orthodoxy. This, I fear, is the ultimate fate of any purely relational approach to Christianity.

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