Seen and Heard

2022-12-09T11:37:00.003-06:00

First, Have Something to Say

An Un-Communications Manifesto

“We have a great product; we just need to do a better job getting the word out about it.”

As a communications professional working for over 25 years in both the for-profit advertising world, and the non-profit world of church ministry, I’ve heard this phrase in one form or another countless times. Probably, you have, too. Maybe, you’ve said it yourself.

In the ministry world, it gets phrased like this: “We have a timeless message, we just need to communicate it in a more relevant way.”

In communication jargon, we might say the problem is not in our content, but in our delivery. In business lingo, the problem is not in our product design or production quality, but in our marketing.

As a culture, we’re obsessed with communication. Ask any group of people how to solve our societal issues with politics, justice, education, or healthcare and they are likely to say, “better communication.” How to improve your marriage and family? “Better communication.” How to get ahead in your career, dating, or personal goals? “Better communication.” The message is ubiquitous.

Corresponding to this is the rise of the Communications Professional. The constellation of career fields around marketing, public relations, branding, advertising, content development, etc., has exploded. In business leadership, the Director of Communications has risen from a minor sub-department to a C-Suite executive. In churches, hiring a communications person has moved from something only a few megachurches would even consider, to being a top priority, right after securing a pastor, worship leader, and perhaps a youth minister (or more likely, the youth minister is expected to be a communication guru as well). And no one needs to comment on how important managing media spin has become in the world of politics.

At the heart of this shift towards professionalizing communication is an attitude of epistemological arrogance. Simply put, we are certain that we know stuff. We know the truth, our opinions are correct, our message is right, our solution works, our product is perfect. Therefore, if other people are not convinced—if they aren’t buying our product, joining our movement, believing our creed—then we must not be saying the words right. We couldn’t possibly be wrong; we’re just not saying it right.

The premise of this manifesto is simple: We don’t have a communication problem. We have a pride problem.

I didn’t start out my career believing this way. Fresh out of high school, I believed I was called to be a Youth Pastor, so I went to my church’s youth leader and asked how I could help. He pointed me to a recently purchased Mac Classic computer and explained that he needed a weekly newsletter designed. It wasn’t long before I had taught myself graphic design using the recently democratized tools desktop publishing. I was enamored by the technology: Adobe Photoshop, the original image manipulation software, and Aldus Pagemaker, predecessor to Adobe’s InDesign. It came into my mind that the tools of the trade that had once been confined to the well-funded advertising agencies of Madison Avenue were now available to the masses.

At the same time, I had moved on to a part-time job as “Print Shop Secretary” for another local church. As I looked around at the Chancery Italic and Old English style fonts, the corny clip-art, and the badly designed bulletin put out every Sunday, I thought I had found my life calling. Why shouldn’t the graphic design work of the church look just as good as the secular business advertising I saw in national magazines? We, the Church, had the greatest message in the world; why shouldn’t our communication pieces promoting eternal salvation be at least as well-designed as the full-page spread selling vacuum cleaners?

Later, I would extend that vision from printed design to include websites, branding materials, video production, and social media. But the premise was the same. Improve the quality of communication, and the decades-long decline in the North American church could be reversed. People would surely flock back to the pews once they realized that the life-changing message of the gospel, long clouded in the grey mists of outdated design, was allowed to shine forth clearly in a newly minted modern mantel of timely typography and current creativity.

Of course, religious dogma is unchanging by definition, so the approach of “change the method, not the message” makes sense for faith leaders. However, as my career progressed and I went to work as a graphic designer in the world of advertising, I discovered that a similar mindset was shared by business people as well. Restaurants were certain their recipes were delicious; if their tables weren’t full, it was because they didn’t run the right coupon in their latest ad. Car dealers were sure they had the best vehicles on the market, they just needed the name of the dealership a little bigger in Saturday’s newspaper. Realtors had wonderful houses, they just needed to tweak the description to highlight that cozy little cottage. In every field, the belief was the same: change the method, not the message. Just communicate better.

Nowhere was this more true than in the media business itself. For ten years, I worked for a local newspaper, supervising a team of graphic artists who designed ads for their clients. Throughout that time, the drumbeat was constant: we must become a digital news source, not just a print product, in order to succeed in the modern world of web-based communication and social media. Yet every quarter, the financial reality stayed the same: despite declining circulation, profits from print advertising were greater than online. So for all the talk of digital innovation, fundamental change never happened. Instead, the pressure shifted to the Marketing Department. The story was, local news still has tremendous value, we just need to remind people of how useful it is to their lives and they will sign up for subscriptions once again. The more revenue the paper lost, the greater the pressure to improve the self-promotion.

Today, the newspaper is a shadow of its former self. The print product is slimmed down to a few pages of mostly syndicated content, while the website never gained traction. The reporting staff is a skeleton crew, and the entire design department I supervised has since been eliminated and outsourced. But last to go were the sales staff and marketing team. Even as they draw their last breath, they are singing the same song: “The product is good. We just need to sell it.” The problem is communication.

I wish I could say that was the last time I had to watch that sad scenario unfold. Unfortunately, I am still seeing it, in the institutions I love the most. The failing public school system in my community seems convinced they don’t have problems with educating students, they just aren’t communicating their success well to parents and stakeholders. Healthcare leaders seem convinced they know how to solve chronic disease; they just aren’t persuading the public to practice the right prevention. The addiction crisis is preventable if we just educate people on the dangers of illicit drugs. The university down the street is convinced that a traditional four-year liberal arts degree is still worth the tens of thousands of dollars of debt students incur, they just need more cool photos of the swimming pool that was added to the Student Life Center. In my own church, the Men’s Ministry that rarely sees a man under 60 attend their monthly dinner is convinced that they are providing exactly what men need—they just need more announcements from the pulpit on Sunday to get the young guys to come check them out. The problems is communication.

But what if we are wrong? What if the answer is not a new logo, clever copywriting, or a more user-friendly website? What if search engine optimization is not all we should be searching for? What if our wound is deeper than a cinematically produced promotional video can band-aid over? What if the virus we suffer from is more serious than a viral media campaign can cure? What if we can’t market, spin, educate, inform, or talk our way out of the hole that we’re in?

After my wide-eyed start in the world of church communications, my faith that all the church needed was an image overhaul has faded over the years, but not without a fight. I will admit that for some time I participated in the “worship wars,” convinced that a shift in musical styles was the key to the next revival. I went up against the forces of tradition that persisted in poor design practices. I finagled for more funding in our communications budget. Most of all, I sought to perfect my own craft, voraciously devouring all that I could learn about design and marketing and seeking to apply it in my ministry context. But the more I learned, the more my misgivings grew. Like a doubting disciple, I was hesitant to reveal my heresy. Could I, as a communication professional, really admit to myself, much less to others, that communication was not the cure-all I had believed it would be?

At the same time I was practicing my trade as director of media and communication at a large church, I was experiencing a metamorphosis in my understanding of faith. First through the writings of contemporary theologian N.T. Wright, and then through my studies in seminary, I began to be aware of how the Church, at least the tradition I had participated in, had neglected vast portions of our theological inheritance. It wasn’t so much that we had wrong doctrine, it was just that we didn’t have much doctrine. We had simplified our message down to a stump speech, and elevator pitch version of the historic Christian faith. Moreover, the average Christian simply had no knowledge of Biblical narrative. Their knowledge of the incredibly complex and layered literary work that is the Bible was limited to a few stories from Children’s Sunday School. Simply put, we don’t know our own story.

Even among pastors and seminary students, little attention was given to theological and biblical learning. The unspoken assumption was that we already knew the Gospel, we just needed to learn the best ways to present it. Sermon planning was less about learning the text or comprehending its message, and more about choosing the most relevant illustrations and making the most compelling applications. And yet, more and more I saw that we were just scratching the surface of the deep biblical message and wide theological tradition that were available to us. Even the storytellers seemed uninterested in fathoming the depths of our story.

And while, as a Christian, I believe the story of our faith has a unique spiritual life and power that sets it apart from all other stories, I could see echoes of this problem in other domains. Businesses, institutions, and organizations of all stripes seemed uninterested in asking probing and profound questions about their own story, and the stories of the people they were seeking to serve. Don’t get me wrong: narrative and storytelling get a lot of lip service in today’s communication profession. Volumes are being written about the power of story, and the need to tell them. The problem is, we assume that we already know them. We are not seeking to understand our story, we are just only focused on how to tell it better.

There are many communication gurus available to give you a step-by-step process on how to tell your story better. At one time, I would have been one of them. I am sure they still have value. There’s certainly nothing wrong with doing your best to communicate well. However, I would like to propose a new “step one” in “how to communicate better,” and it is simply this:

First, have something to say.

The Last Night You Are Sixteen

2022-01-19T23:37:00.004-06:00

The last night you are sixteen, you are a cross between a ball of yarn and a ball of lightening. Complex, crackling, tangled, tense, able to get lost for hours, able to explode into life.

The last night you are sixteen, you can't be put into words. A poem being written. A painting yet to dry. A departure without a defined destination.Your room is your cocoon, where the music slips out loudly from the crack under the door and footsteps can be heard of secret solo dances. Earbuds in, your private world, but sometimes you share a glimpse of your playlist with me, like a drink of water from a hidden well, your songs more playful and passionate than your public persona lets loose.

The last night you are sixteen, you and your mother have secrets. You have shows. You have inside jokes. You share furtive whispers. You are part of the secret sisterhood, and men aren't allowed. You have secret wars, as well; ways of hurting each other's feelings that a father doesn't understand. And, later, ways of making up. Usually, these ways involve shopping.

The last night you are sixteen, I wish I could say that you have forgiven your little brother for...well, for being born. But not yet. Maybe soon. I'm thinking soon. I'm hoping. That will be a good day. You really do have so much in common. Not least having to grow up with me.

The last night you are sixteen, you are a space traveler. You transport between worlds. You have friends at school, friends at dance, friends at church. You are the same to all, but like a diamond, you may show a different face depending on the angle of the light around you. You are lovely. You are loyal. You are thoughtful. You are kind. You are funny. Sweet, sharp, silly and serious. There are your "big girls" and your "little girls," a band of young women you have taken under your wing, the unofficial matriarch of a motley crew. You don't tell them what to do; indeed, a mark of your gang is that they resist being stuck with anyone's label gun. But then, you show them what to do. You don't know you are a leader, but space changes shape around you, and whether you know it or not, you change your world.

The last night you are sixteen, you present your day to me as a drama and a dance. You have danced for so long, I'm not sure you are even aware you do this. Taking center stage in our living room, you pronounce judgment on those who made you angry with a flourish. With a kick, you review your funny moments, laughing at your own jokes, replaying a scene with your friends. With a twirl, you review the ups and downs. You aren't selfish or insecure, but you do demand my attention. But then, you already have it.

The last night you are sixteen, you can still be a child. Sound asleep in a rainstorm, unplugged from the whole world. Baking cookies, and expecting me to eat them. Expecting, demanding, knowing, or rather, simply assuming as an unquestioned fact of the world, it's dad's job to take care of it when there's a bug in the room, or a shelf you can't reach, or a joke that needs an audience. And so it is.

The last night you are sixteen, you can be an old soul. You know teachers have egos, preachers have personal lives, politicians have pockets to fill. Whole systems get bought and sold. It's enough to make you cynical, and on a bad day, you are. But on a good day, you take it all in, you sigh and you give a knowing shrug, and you move on with the business of loving the world bit by bit into a better place. And that's how you move mountains.

The last night you are sixteen, you drive here and there. You don't think about it any more, this freedom, this far-from-homeness. I think about it, from the time you walk out until you come back in the door. But you've got the music playing, and places to go, things to do, people to see. You've worked a little, made a little money, spent a little more. You think about things like that now. What you'll do. How you'll make money. Maybe I wish you wouldn't, or didn't have to, but that's the world. Sometimes you worry. I worry about how you worry. I worry about the decisions you'll make. Not the ones you'll make to do something wrong; those are few enough, and far between. No, I worry about the ones you make to do nothing at all, to not attempt what you don't think you can do, or don't think you can do perfectly. You demand so little from others, remind them so patiently that none of them have to be perfect to be loved. I hope you'll listen to yourself preach. I hope however far from home you get, you carry enough home in your heart, you never truly feel unloved. If you forget, come back in my door.

The last night you are sixteen, you are waiting in the wings. A nervous energy fills your frame, but it isn't fear. It's readiness. You've rehearsed enough. The lights are on. The audience is seated. The music is about to begin. You really are a dancing queen, every bit of seventeen. I fear my time is up. I've done what I could, and all too soon my job will be to let you go. But wait, not yet. There's time for one more hug.

My Scarlet Fever Christmas Eve

2020-12-25T01:08:00.002-06:00

Illustration of Scarlet Fever in a young boy, from a 1911 pediatric nurse's manual.

Some years ago I wrote a Christmas play entitled “The Bell and the Rose,” which centered around a young girl’s crisis of faith brought on by the death of a child. Later it became something of a joke among my team that, if Ken wrote it, a child was going to end up dying, and probably at Christmas.

The truth is I’ve never suffered a deep tragedy of that kind. Nevertheless, my imagination of Christmas was deeply formed by an illness, something I can't help but revisit in this year so deeply touched by disease.

I can still remember the shock of pulling off my shirt to put on my pajamas and seeing my boyish chest in the mirror, splotched bright red with I didn’t know what. At some point, I got up the courage to tell my parents what I had seen and soon enough we had a diagnosis. I suppose I must have been taken to the doctor, but I don’t recall that part, I only remember the label I was given for my mysterious rash: Scarlet Fever.

Had I been born a century earlier this could very well have been a death sentence. Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, and Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie, as it turns out, all feature characters who die or nearly die quite young from this form of strep infection. The development of antibiotics has made the disease much less dangerous, but nevertheless, in my young boy’s mind, it sounded serious enough. I thought I might die.

Strangely enough, this did not frighten me. Somehow, it quieted me. The world seemed more serious, more profound, though I wouldn’t have known to put it in those words. To borrow a phrase from C.S. Lewis, there was "a weight of glory."

Perhaps this was because my outbreak of scarlet rash and the accompanying fever came right at the Christmas season, when the world is so dark without, and so bright within.

As the redness spread across my arms and cheeks, my back aching and my throat strangled with trying not to swallow for pain, the time came to curl up on the couch with blankets and listen to my father read the Christmas story from the King James Bible by the light of the Christmas tree, as he did each year.

“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people,” sounded out my father’s sonorous voice in the half-lit glow: “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”

That night after I went to bed, not with “visions of sugar plums dancing” in my head, but with images of Bethlehem's little town, I heard the brush of angels’ wings. Call it childish imagination, call it feverish delusion, call it sentimental false memories, but I heard something that night, felt something, knew something about a presence with me that I've never quite been able to shake.

The song says, “Hail the heav’n born Prince of Peace, hail Sun of Righteousness; Light and life to all he brings, Ris’n with healing in his wings."

Soon enough I recovered from my sickness, the fever and the rash went away and became mere memory. But somehow the lens through which I viewed Christmas was never quite the same.

To some the silver-dark, midnight-blue longing of Christmas Eve is just a prelude to the bright joys of Christmas morning; the moonlit silences soon forgotten in the rush of ripping paper and opening packages. To some the ache of fever dreams is a thing to be forgotten in the sunlit days of health.

But to me, it will always be the year that death’s scarlet flower bloomed across my chest that I first heard the angel say, “Fear not.”

It will always be in the dark, in the quiet, in the loneliness of Christmas Eve that I first heard the brush of His mighty wings that still draw me into the holy hush of His presence: Immanuel, our God with us.

The Past, the Psalms and the Patriot

2019-07-04T12:56:00.000-05:00

Today is July 4th, which as an American citizen naturally has me reflecting on the history of our United States. Like so many aspects of our national life, the interpretation of history in recent years has become a divided ground. Some emphasize only the glorious victories, the grand virtues, and the great ideals, while others focus solely on past failures, persistent vices, and present injustices. I'd like to suggest that the scriptures offer us another path to understanding the past—namely in the book of Psalms.

Two Ways of Telling History

While the Psalms are best known for their songs of praise and prayers for deliverance, a number of these ancient poems can be classified as "historical," retelling in verse the history of the nation of Israel, especially their "Independence Day" origin story—the Exodus from slavery in Egypt. Among these are Psalms 105 & 106.

Read Psalm 105 now.

Psalm 105 retells the Exodus story triumphantly—how God promised to make Abraham a nation, protected his fledgling family until they grew into a numerous people, and then fulfilled His promise by overthrowing Pharaoh's armies with demonstrations of His almighty power, caring for His people throughout their desert wanderings by providing food, water and guidance, and leading them into their Promised Land.

The Exodus, painting by Than Kyaw Htay

Read Psalm 106 now.

Fascinatingly, the very next Psalm retells the same story, only in Psalm 106 the focus shifts from the greatness of God in delivering His people, to the constant rebellion of the Israelites despite His goodness. They questioned Moses' leadership, they rebelled at the Red Sea, they made idols for themselves at Mt. Sinai, they grumbled against God in the desert, and when they finally did make it to the Promised Land, they were continuously unfaithful to their God until He allowed them to be scattered into exile.

I don't believe it is an accident that these two versions of the Exodus history are juxtaposed next to each other in successive Psalms. I believe the whole point is, we need both a Psalm 105 and a Psalm 106 interpretation of our history.

Practical Applications for True Patriotism

Let me pause here to state what should be obvious, but has sometimes been forgotten: America is not Israel. We are not God's chosen people. For the Christian, the salvation history of God that began in Israel is understood to be carried forward directly through Jesus Christ, and thus indirectly through all those who are marked in Christ by the Holy Spirit—namely the Church universal, which is specifically described as being "from every tribe and nation and people and tongue." The appropriate love any people has for their nation must always be subservient to our love for our brothers and sisters in Christ from all nations, and our allegiance to King Jesus must be above all other loyalties, or else our patriotism has become an idol.

Nevertheless, I think we can draw practical points of application from the Psalms to form a proper view of how to do history. We can break it down into three points:

1. When we recall the greatness of our past, our focus must be on God's grace and goodness.

Psalm 105 is our example. It begins, "Give thanks to the Lord and proclaim his greatness. Let the whole world know what he has done. Remember the wonders he has performed, his miracles, and the rulings he has given." (Ps. 105:1, 5)

It is difficult to read the accounts of how the colonists gained independence from mighty Great Britain, perhaps the world's greatest superpower at the time, without seeing the providential hand of God at work. Likewise, when I see the role American forces had in liberating Europe from Hitler, and specifically bringing the Nazi death camps to an end, with all due respect to the American military, I believe the appropriate response is to praise God, and to recognize that He allowed America to rise to a position of power among the nations perhaps for just "such a time as this."

U.S. troops at the liberation of Dachau

To remember our victories as if they were our own is to court pride and hubris. As another Psalm puts it, "not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to your name be the glory." The lesson of Psalm 105 is that it is appropriate to remember the high points of our history, when we do so in order to give God proper credit.

2. When we recall the sins of our past, our focus must be on our own present need for God's mercy.

Psalm 106 shows that it is not "unpatriotic" to rehearse a nation's past failures, for doing so is an appropriate reminder of our propensity to rebel, leading us to humility and repentance. It does not self-righteously pretend that we, the current generation are immune from the ignorance and evil of our ancestors, nor does it separate the world into an "us vs. them" way of thinking that scapegoats one group as the source of all evil while elevating another group as pure and innocent. "Like our ancestors, we have sinned. We have done wrong! We have acted wickedly!" (Ps. 106:6)

As Americans I believe we must be willing to confront the truth of our past collective sins: the evils of slavery and racism; the acts of bad faith toward Native Americans; the times when we have used our military might (and put the blood of our brave young men and women at risk) for less than pure and unselfish causes; the innocent blood of unborn; the ongoing oppression of the poor through mass incarceration and other structural injustices.

These are hard conversations. Psalm 106 shows that we cannot distance ourselves from them; we cannot simply say, "I wasn't there, I didn't do those things." We must take collective responsibility for the past in order to take ownership of our collective future.

Slavery memorial at The National Memorial for Peace and Justice by Hank Willis Thomas

However, this Psalm also models a path beyond the partisan, ideological manipulation of history that we see today. It does not say, "look at history—it proves that I am right and you are wrong!" Rather, it says, "look at history—it's long track record shows that all of us together have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, because all of us alike have a sin nature that bends towards rebellion." It is this inward rebellion against God that manifests itself in injustice towards our neighbor. Seen in this light, taking responsibility for history is not a means to produce "white guilt" or any sort of guilt. Rather, the acknowledgement of guilt is a necessary step, but the end goal is to recognize the redeeming grace of God that flows from His merciful nature.

Ultimately, this awareness of our individual and national need for God's mercy leads us back to seeking God's glory and praise: "Again and again he rescued them, but they chose to rebel against him, and they were finally destroyed by their sin. Even so, he pitied them in their distress and listened to their cries. He remembered his covenant with them and relented because of his unfailing love....Save us, O Lord our God! Gather us back from among the nations, so we can thank your holy name and rejoice and praise you." (Ps. 106:43-45, 47)

3. We can hold the positive and negative views of national history in an appropriate tension together when our ultimate goal is the Kingdom of God.

The reason the collectors of the Psalm could juxtapose the seeming opposites of Psalm 105 an Psalm 106 next to each other is that both point in their own way, not to the glory of the nation, nor to the reformation of the nation, but to the glory of God.

When our horizon is limited to this present age of the world, we tend to go to extremes: either we become drunk with nostalgia and propaganda about what a great nation we have, or else we become high on self-righteousness rhetoric about what an evil nation we have.

When we expand our horizon by faith to see the ultimate goal as the kingdom of God, which is beyond any merely human national endeavor, we position ourselves to more objectively evaluate both the good and the bad in any given worldly power structure. "But people who aren’t spiritual can’t receive these truths from God’s Spirit. It all sounds foolish to them and they can’t understand it, for only those who are spiritual can understand what the Spirit means. Those who are spiritual can evaluate all things, but they themselves cannot be evaluated by others." (1 Cor. 2:14-15)

That doesn't mean we don't celebrate our nation, or that we don't work vigorously for its reform. It only means that we do so with the appropriate sense of proportion and priority, which Jesus so succinctly summarized in Matthew 6:33: "Seek first the kingdom of God, and His justice, and all these other things will be added to you."

The Sower, Van Gogh

Blow Something Up

2019-01-03T11:17:00.004-06:00

The Big Thunder Mountain roller coaster in Walt Disney World's Magic Kingdom will always have a soft spot in my heart: It was my daughter Abbie's first fast ride, one she went on when her brother was not even tall enough yet to ride, and she loved it.

BTM does not have a well-developed story, but the theming in the wait queue provides a few hints. The iconic orange sandstone mountain peaks and plateaus rise up out of an idealized American Frontier in the Gold Rush era. Riders are invited to join in the quest for riches as gold miners amidst the "Big Thunder" of the dynamite blasting deep down in the mine shafts. A variety of signs warn that this will be a dangerous job, raising anticipation that the ride will not be "safe" but rather an exciting runaway train chasing through explosions on every side.

Big Thunder Mountain reminds of a simple principle: if you want to find the gold, you've got to blow something up. Up above, there is nothing but barren desert and dry dust. Down below, glittering amidst the cavernous mine shafts, is the evidence of the valuable gold nuggets. The explosive charges, wires and sticks of dynamite are all there, but to get from the worthless dust to the precious metal, at some point you have to light the fuse and let the thunder roll.

Psychologists suggest that every one of us is motivated by both desire for gain and fear of loss. Some of us tend more towards risk-avoiding behavior, while others tend more towards reward-seeking behavior. I myself tend to be more of a risk-avoider. To be sure, the scriptures would warn us against foolish behavior that is unnecessarily risky. However, I think we sometimes overlook how much the Bible, taken as a whole, encourages a willingness to take risks in order to seek reward, provided it is the right reward.

In the great "faith chapter" of the Bible, Hebrews 11, we read: "And without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is and that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him." Notice that faith is described here not merely as abstract belief in the existence of God, but rather as an active, confident trust that God has good rewards, and that he is willing to give them to us if we are willing to seek Him. Faith is acting like it's worth my time and energy to pursue God. God is not concerned that we will ask Him for too much, but that we ask for too little; we are content with less than what He desires to give us, satisfied with something other than the fullness of His promise for us.

The great failure of the first generation of Israelites who came out of slavery in Egypt was their unwillingness to enter into the Promised Land (see Numbers 13-14). Do you know the story? They sent out twelve spies, and ten of them came back warning of the risks: the people of the land were giants living in well-fortified cities, and would surely squash the Israelites like grasshoppers. Only two of the spies brought back a report that focused on the rewards: clusters of grapes so large it took two people to carry them, a land flowing with milk and honey. More importantly, the two faith-filled spies recognized that if God was with them, the forces that were against them were outweighed by the power of God that was for them. Unfortunately, the people chose to listen to the ten nay-sayers rather than the two with great faith, and they spent the next forty years wandering in the desert until a new generation rose up that was willing to trust God to take the land.

When God calls you to a new vision, you can bet that it will require some risk. God's will is not guaranteed to be "safe." On the contrary, stepping into God's destiny for your life almost always puts you in the path of danger on some level. But if it is truly the voice of God calling you, then you can also count on two more things: first, that God is more powerful than the dangers that oppose you. And second, that the rewards far outweigh the risks.

Of course, God's callings are not to merely earthly treasures like gold and silver, a paid off mortgage and a healthy retirement fund (although God can and does provide material resources to meet our needs and enable our mission). The Holy Spirit offers us eternal treasures: Souls to be saved, lives to be changed, lasting relationships to be built, communities to be invested in for generations to come. Above all, we are called to the ultimate treasure of experiencing the presence, power and glory of God. God reveals Himself to everyone, but the fullness of His Spirit is a reward only revealed fully to those who choose to pursue Him with complete abandon.

Paul wrote to his protege Timothy:

For this reason I remind you to kindle afresh the gift of God which is in you through the laying on of my hands. For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline. Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony of our Lord or of me His prisoner, but join with me in suffering for the gospel according to the power of God…For this reason I also suffer these things, but I am not ashamed; for I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day. (1 Tim. 1:6-8, 12)

It's natural to have a timid spirit—a desire to keep our safe, comfortable lives intact, and avoid the risks of suffering that inevitably come from answering a call from God. The last thing we want to do is set off any explosives. But without some dynamite, we stay at the surface level, inheriting nothing but some dusty desert.

God wants us instead to have a spirit of courage, to be bold in seeking after the reward, confident that God will come through. We have to light the fuse of faith and blow up our safe, protected, sheltered lives. Only then can we step on board the adventure ride of the Spirit's calling, and discover the gold of God's eternal rewards.

Five Steps to Breakthrough with Mary Poppins

2018-12-26T15:28:00.000-06:00

Everyone's favorite magical nanny is back in Disney's wonderful new film, Mary Poppins Returns, and just like before she takes children on fantastic adventures but her real purpose is to uncover the lessons needed to save the adults.
Like many of us, the characters in the film are in need of both inner and outer breakthrough—a dramatic change of condition in both the circumstances of life and in the attitude of the heart. The Banks children have grown up and forgotten that their experiences with Mary Poppins were real, and Michael in particular is in desperate need of a breakthrough. He has recently been widowed, and in his grief he has become lost in a state of depression that has paralyzed him in darkness. He faces the immediate threat of losing their iconic Cherry Tree Lane home to a bank repossession because he has fallen into debt; however, the deeper threat is that he is emotionally disconnected from his three children, who are learning to fend for themselves at the cost of their own childhood innocence.
The path Mary Poppins leads Michael on—from darkness to light, depression to joy, lostness to remembering—can be a beautiful picture of the path that Christ offers us toward breakthrough. If you find yourself in need of breakthrough today, read on.

1. Look Up

The film opens with Jack the Leary (i.e. a lamplighter) singing "Lovely London Sky" [click links to listen in Spotify] at dawn. The song sets the stage for the story by addressing one who "feels blue" and is "in a slump" but

Sooner than you think you’ll hear
Some bright new song
So hold on tight to those you love
And maybe soon from up above
You’ll be blessed
so keep on looking high
While you're underneath the lovely London sky

In other words, expect breakthrough. Breakthrough is the miraculous manifestation of heaven on earth. However, breakthrough begins long before the miracle, when we begin to seek a solution that comes from heaven, which requires that we lift our eyes away from earth.
Seasons of sadness are normal, and it would be a shallow faith that insisted that believers must be perpetually happy. It's perfectly natural, for instance, that Michael has walked through deep grief over the loss of his wife. Accepting pain, loss, and sadness as part of life in a fallen world is evidence of maturity.
However, the Enemy of our souls also strategizes against us, seeking to transform these seasons of sadness into pits of despair, stealing our hope and trapping us in the darkness of depression. To do this, the Enemy seeks to focus our attention only on earthly things, distorting our perspective so that we will rely on our natural strengths alone rather than trust in a miracle-working God.
Thus, God's grace constantly woos us to lift up our eyes, reminding us that our ultimate source of hope and healing must come from heaven:

Since you have been raised to new life with Christ, set your sights on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits in the place of honor at God’s right hand. Think about the things of heaven, not the things of earth. For you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God. And when Christ, who is your life, is revealed to the whole world, you will share in all his glory. (Colossians 3:1-4 NLT)

The first step out of the darkness is to shift your gaze. Breakthrough begins when you look up.

2. Imagine the Impossible

When Mary Poppins returns to the Banks family, her first prescription for the three little ones (John, Annabel and Georgie) is a bath, which turns into a magical underwater adventure. The skeptical children are challenged to put aside logic and intellect to re-engage their imagination. Mary sings "Can You Imagine That," a song that ironically mocks those who are "foolish" enough to engage in play and nonsensical fancy:

Some people like to laugh at life
And giggle through the day
They think the world's a brand new shiny toy
And if while dreaming in the clouds
They fall and go kersplatt
Although they're down and bent in half
They brush right off and start to laugh
Can you imagine that?

Let me pause here to note that the modern age rejected faith and the supernatural in favor of a supposedly rational, scientific one-dimensional materialistic naturalism. In the disillusionment and poverty of spirit that resulted, the secular response has often been a form of Romanticism that exalts emotion, irrationality, and artistic imagination as a path back to the meaning of life. I'm not endorsing this approach: by itself, human emotion is no better than human reason if cut off from the higher dimension of faith in God. If I have any criticism of the Mary Poppins stories, it would be this.
Nevertheless, I believe that Mary Poppins appeal to imagination is valuable if we understand it in terms of faith. Faith is visualizing what God intends to do and acting in accordance with it. Faith is not opposed to reason, but it does transcend reason, because reason can only operate within the confines of the natural. Logic works on the visible, but faith opens up the invisible: "By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things which are visible." (Heb. 11:3)
By re-engaging our imagination, we re-calibrate our evaluation of what is possible. If breakthrough is the manifestation of heaven on earth, then a necessary part of the process is retraining our minds to see from heaven's perspective. Logic tells us that it is nonsense to imagine the impossible, but in so doing forgets that it is actually imagination that determines what is possible and what is impossible. "Nothing will be impossible with God." (Luke 1:37)
Firing up a faith-driven imagination is so important because depression tends to paralyze us with prayerlessness. Simply put, when we don't see a way out of our present circumstances, we don't even ask. The great lie of the darkness is that we must simply accept it. Against this Jesus prods us with the promise: "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened." (Matt. 7:7-8)
As Mary Poppin's song points out, finding the faith to ask, seek and knock requires a willingness to appear foolish:

God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise. And he chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful. God chose things despised by the world, things counted as nothing at all, and used them to bring to nothing what the world considers important. As a result, no one can ever boast in the presence of God. (1 Cor. 1:27-29 NLT)

Having hitched our hopes to the power source of heaven, to get to our breakthrough we must expand our faith by being just foolish enough to imagine the impossible.

3. Uncover the Lies

Mary Poppins next step is to uncover the villain of the story, [spoiler alert] an unscrupulous banker who pretends to want to help Michael pay off his loan when in fact he is counting on repossessing the house to drive his own greed. Mary takes the children to a fantastic animated music hall where she and Jack sing "A Cover Is Not the Book:"

A cover is not the book
So open it up and take a look
'Cause under the cover one discovers
That the king may be a crook
Chapter titles are like signs
And if you read between the lines
You'll find your first impression was mistook
For a cover is nice
But a cover is not the book

The lesson of the song is that we sometimes put our trust in those who do not deserve it, because we don't discern beyond the outward appearance. When we struggle with depression, fear, anxiety, or some other need for breakthrough, it's all too easy to turn to substitute gods that promise relief: self-destructive habits and addictions, unhealthy relationships, the empty promises of money or workaholism. They promise relief, but they are really wolves in sheep's clothing.
Underneath these idols is usually a lie that we have internalized which subverts our faith. It could be a belief we have embraced that someone or something is more powerful than God. More often, though, I think that the lie we are most tempted to believe is that God does not desire what is best for us. That God is not for us, either because his heart is not truly good, or because we somehow don't deserve his grace.
Of course, we don't deserve it; that's why it's called grace. God so loved us that he gave himself for us, not when we had done everything right, but when we were still sinners, when we were still enemies. The fact of the cross is the bedrock reality that fuels faith for every breakthrough. "Since he did not spare even his own Son but gave him up for us all, won’t he also give us everything else?" (Rom. 8:32)
I'm convinced that the primary reason God delays releasing breakthrough is to work through the process of delivering us from the Lie. Heaven can't come to earth until we get the Hell out, literally. Waiting for the promise tests our trust in the promise-maker. It uncovers the beliefs we have internalized about ourselves and about the heart of the Father. Whatever healing or deliverance we may need pales in comparison to our need to get right on our relationship with him.
Jesus modeled this for us when he was tempted by the devil. "If you really are the Son of God," said the Accuser, "turn this stone into bread." The temptation wasn't really about bread, it was about getting Jesus to question whether he was the Son—which is another way of saying, getting Jesus to doubt the heart of the Father. To rush the miracle would have been to make relationship dependent on breakthrough rather than breakthrough an expression of relationship. Jesus answers the way we must learn to answer: "It is written, man shall not live by bread alone but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God." (Matt. 4:3-4)
Getting to breakthrough requires more than reading the Word of God or even quoting the Word of God. It is learning to live on the Word of God—to find in it the heart of the Father, which requires digging up the deeply rooted lies that have gone down into our hearts. "I am a son or daughter of God, and He is a good Father. He loves me, he is for me, not against me, and he will do what is best for me in every season of life with perfect timing."
As we learn to distrust the wolves we will learn to trust the shepherd. When we uncover the lies we have believed, we make room for the Word of God that brings the breakthrough.

4. Turn Downside Up

As the Banks children strive to find a way to help their father pay his debt, they accidentally break a prized china bowl that had belonged to their mother. The chipped dish serves as a metaphor for the brokenness of their family since her death. Mary Poppins offers to take it to Topsy, one of her magical cousins, who is able to fix anything.
When they first arrive Topsy is unable to help because her entire shop has "turned turtle"—upside down, like a turtle on its shell—which apparently happens to her every second Wednesday.
However, during the course of Mary's visit Topsy ends up standing on her head—which of course makes her upside down world seem right side up again. With Mary's help everyone embraces this new perspective, singing in "Turning Turtle:"

You see, when the world turns upside down,
the best thing is turn right along with it....
When you change the view from where you stood
The things you view will change for good.

Like Topsy, the problems we face when we are in need of breakthrough disrupt our sense of "normal" and can leave us feeling paralyzed to take any action to fix the broken things in our lives. Mary's message of a change in perspective reminds us that God is at work even before our miracle, working for our good even in the midst of our problems, but we may have to change our perspective to see it:

Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing. (James 1:3-4)

Rejoicing in our troubles does not mean that we rejoice about our troubles. Even Jesus wept when his friend Lazarus died. Rather, rejoicing is the considered result of trusting the Father's heart (step 3) to bring breakthrough in his perfect timing, so that we can be free to view our troubles from a new perspective by asking the question: what can God accomplish in and through me during this trial that could not have happened otherwise?
The man who lost his job may discover he has an opportunity to spend more time with his family. A woman who is betrayed by a friend may become more sensitive to how she has treated others herself. A child who struggles with an illness may develop a greater prayer life and a greater awareness of the hurts of others.
It's important to understand that these life lessons do not compensate for our pain. God does not bring evil into the world just to teach us character. Rather, the fact that God can work even in spite of the evil is another way that we experience the kindness of the Father toward us. When Joseph's brothers betrayed him, Joseph did not excuse their wrong behavior as "God's will," but he did perceive "You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good, for the saving of many lives as it is this day." (Gen. 50:20)
Moreover, the new opportunities that we discover during a season of waiting often become the doors through which we enter into new joy for ourselves and new usefulness to the Kingdom of God after our breakthrough:

All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. For the more we suffer for Christ, the more God will shower us with his comfort through Christ. (2 Cor. 1:3-5)

When it seems like life has turned you upside down, look for new opportunities for growth and ministry to present themselves in the midst of your troubles. Change your perspective to downside up and your season of waiting before your breakthrough can become your preparation for greater impact after your breakthrough.

5. Follow the Light

On their way home the Banks children become lost in the fog of a London night, literally and metaphorically trying to find their way home in the dark. Jack calls out his fellow Learies to lead the way by lighting one lamp at a time while they dance and sing "Trip a Little Light Fantastic:"

Let's say you're lost in a park, sure
You can give in to the dark or
You can trip a little light fantastic with me
When you're alone in your room
Your choice's just embrace the gloom
Or you can trip a little light fantastic with me

The message here is that, while waiting for breakthrough, we often feel like we are completely surrounded by the darkness; depression, hurt and anxiety become a fog in which we are afraid to move. Yet if we pay attention, we may discover that we do have some light—not enough to get all the way home, but enough to take the next step. If we follow that light, then the next lamp is lit, and the next, and the next.
Scripture describes the Christian life not as a set of religious rules or philosophical principles but rather as a "walk" led step by step by a living relationship with the Holy Spirit. "The mature children of God are those who are moved by the impulses of the Holy Spirit." (Rom. 8:14 TPT) These inner promptings of the Spirit lead us away from the darkness:

For once you were full of darkness, but now you have light from the Lord. So live as people of light! For this light within you produces only what is good and right and true. Carefully determine what pleases the Lord. (Eph. 5:9-10)

But the key to staying out of the darkness is to use the light available:

So be careful how you live. Don’t live like fools, but like those who are wise. Make the most of every opportunity in these evil days. Don’t act thoughtlessly, but understand what the Lord wants you to do. (Eph. 5:15-17)

Part of following the light is sharing whatever light you have with others. When we are needing a miracle, it's easy to believe we have nothing to give to those around us. However, it's often those who are barely clinging to the light themselves whom God uses to bring light to others. As we share our small light with others, they share their small light with us, and together the light becomes bright. As the Learies sing with Mary Poppins,

So when life is getting scary, be your own illuminary
Who can shine the light for all the world to see
As you trip a little light fantastic with me

As the Banks children share their light with their father, he comes to the recognition that he has all he needs in the love of his family, regardless of whether they lose the house. This inner breakthrough is what leads the way to their outer breakthrough of provision to save their house. But the turning point is their commitment to follow the light they already have rather than give in to the darkness.

Nowhere to Go But Up

Ultimately, Mary Poppins represents the work of the Holy Spirit. She comes to dwell in the house, prompting and guiding us into receiving the breakthrough from heaven we need (although whereas Mary comes temporarily, the Spirit never leaves us). Just as Mary leads the Banks family into inner healing of their grief and outer release of their bondage to debt, the Spirit works in each of us to impart truth that sets us free inside while awakening the faith and love that connect heaven and earth until our breakthrough comes.
The film ends with the whole community around Cherry Tree Lane floating up into the sky on magical balloons singing "Nowhere to Go But Up:"

Life's a balloon
That tumbles or rises
Depending on what is inside
Fill it with hope
And playful surprises
And oh, deary ducks
Then you're in for a ride

Let the past take a bow
The forever is now
And there's nowhere to go but up, up
There's nowhere to go but up

This final image of defying gravity shows us the essence of breakthrough: it's not that they float away from the earth into heaven as an escape from their problems. It's that heaven has so invaded them that they are no longer constrained by the limitations of earth. As Jesus taught us to pray,

Our Father, dwelling in the heavenly realms,
may the glory of your name
be the center on which our lives turn.
Manifest your kingdom realm,
and cause your every purpose to be fulfilled on earth,
just as it is fulfilled in heaven. (Matt. 6:9-10 TPT)

When heaven breaks through and comes down, there's nowhere to go but up.

Dark Ride into Tomorrow

2018-12-17T08:33:00.002-06:00

With a top speed of only 28mph, Space Mountain is actually almost the slowest rides in Walt Disney World, yet for millions of guests the iconic indoor roller coaster is one of the greatest thrills of a visit to the Magic Kingdom. Only the Barnstormer, a Goofy-themed ride intended for small children, is slower. Most of us who drive find our patience tested by being forced to drive under 30mph, perhaps for a school zone. So why does this imaginary visit to outer space feel so different?

My guess is that there are three simple factors:

It's dark, so you can't see what's coming.
The curves and drops are sudden.
You're not in control.

Of the three, the last is probably the key. I can never recall as a child being uncomfortable riding in a car, but I've noticed that the longer I've been a driver, the less I like being a passenger. When I'm at the wheel, I struggle to stay below the speed limit, but when someone else is driving, I frequently feel like they must be going too fast.

It's fitting, then, that Space Mountain is the centerpiece of Tomorrowland, because isn't that what we find difficult about our tomorrows? When life is predictable, and the future seems clear, we're fine, but when things get dark and we can't see what's coming, fear comes in. When things keep going more or less in the same direction, we feel safe, but when the curves and drops are sudden, we get anxious. And most of all, when we are in control of the decisions, speed is not an issue, but when we have to let go, even 28mph feels too fast.

Almost four years ago, I answered what I believed to be a call from God and signed up for seminary. It was a daunting task, but it rarely felt overwhelming, even through the countless long nights of reading and writing papers after a full day of work and family life. Oddly enough, I'm more anxious now at the end, days away from graduation. Through a series of events mostly outside my control, I'm less certain than ever what will come next in my life after school is done. I'm having to learn once again to trust that God is in control—and that that is better than me being in control, even in the dark. Especially in the dark.

Proverbs 27:1 warns us, "Don’t brag about tomorrow, since you don’t know what the day will bring." Even when we think we know the future, it can surprise us. Jesus teaches us to focus instead on trusting God right now, today:

"So don’t worry about these things, saying, ‘What will we eat? What will we drink? What will we wear?’ These things dominate the thoughts of unbelievers, but your heavenly Father already knows all your needs. Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need. So don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today." (Matt. 6:31-34)

The Apostle Paul learned that although he was often not in control of his future, God was present with him no matter what, and that presence made all the difference. That's why he was able to assert, "I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love." (Rom. 8:38)

When we learn to yield control of our future to God, life becomes an adventure ride. I love the words of Joshua 3:5: "Then Joshua told the people, “Purify yourselves, for tomorrow the Lord will do great wonders among you.” That's a promise that can apply for ourselves today, if we are willing to commit ourselves fully into God's hand in obedience and surrender. No one knows what tomorrow holds, but get ready: our God will do great wonders.

It will be dark. The curves will be sudden. We won't be in control. And the ride will be great. Let's go to Space Mountain.

Winnie the Pooh and Plussing the Queue: Seasons of Waiting

2018-12-10T07:30:00.000-06:00

The number one complaint I hear from adults about Walt Disney World is the time spent standing in lines. (Interestingly, I've never heard a child return from a trip to Disney and mention the lines at all.) A few years back I started to hear a new goal Disney Imagineers were working toward: "plus the queue."

Plussing the queue means adding some type of fun activity to the line for an attraction so that waiting becomes an experience in itself. I first experienced this in the line for The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh in the Magic Kingdom. Now, while waiting to board the classic ride that brings to life A.A. Milne's beloved stories, park guests can also interact with various elements from the Hundred Acre Wood: Tending to Rabbit's garden, buzzing along with Pooh's bees, or uncovering Tigger from a wall of virtual honey. The first time we went through, our children didn't want to leave the line to get on the ride.

The reality is that we all spend time "waiting in line," not just at theme parks. I'm thinking here not only of those times when we are literally in a queue at the Post Office or in a traffic jam, but also of those extended transitional seasons when we feel like life has been put on hold. Often the story goes something like this: we experience a spiritual awakening, followed by a strong sense of a dream, a vision, or a calling from God. Naturally we assume the calling is something that will happen right away. But instead, something happens to block our progress. For reasons we don't choose and can't control, we find ourselves caught in a tension: Unable to move forward due to circumstances, but unable to shake the feeling that this really was what God called us to do.

Gradually what I'm learning is that these Seasons of Waiting are a vital part of spiritual formation. "Let perseverance finish its work," writes James, "so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." Waiting is not opposed to God's call on our lives: it is God's training program, a divine school for developing the character we will need to successfully complete the mission when our time finally comes.

But there is something more than character development going on while we wait in line for life to happen—something deeper. What these Seasons of Waiting are ultimately about is learning to practice the presence of God. In waiting, we come to know that God isn't out there, somewhere, in our future, when we're in the pulpit, or on the mission field, or launching our own business, or whatever it is that we associate with God's presence. God is here, in the waiting. And if we don't learn to enjoy that presence now, we never will.

Which brings us back to our friend Winnie the Pooh. No one is quite so good at waiting as the Bear of Very Little Brain. “People say nothing is impossible, but I do nothing every day,” said he. And of course, the key to Pooh's success is that he understands the whole purpose for his being is not to get somewhere or to do something, but to be with someone, namely Christopher Robin.

So wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
"What would I do?" I said to Pooh,
"It it wasn't or you," and Pooh said: "True,
It isn't much fun for One, but Two
Can stick together," says Pooh, says he.
"That's how it is," says Pooh.
–from "Us Two" by A.A. Milne

So the next time you find yourself stuck in line for a Season of Waiting, you can complain about the wasted time, or you can "plus the queue." Interact with those around you. Enjoy doing nothing. Learn character. And most of all, learn to practice the presence of God. Waiting isn't much fun for One, but Two can stick together. And there really isn't anything at the end of the line more important than that.

Of Feathers and Faith

2018-11-03T22:07:00.000-05:00

One of the most popular rides in Disney World's Magic Kingdom is "Dumbo the Flying Elephant;" so popular, in fact, that Disney recently doubled capacity by moving the ride out of Fantasyland into it's own Storybook Circus area, complete with a Big Top play area for children waiting in line to ride.

Over the entrance to the ride area you will see Dumbo's friend and mentor, Timothy Q. Mouse, holding a feather. Those who are familiar with the 1941 Disney classic film will know the feather's significance. Dumbo is born with unusually large ears and relatively small body (for an elephant), which causes others to ridicule him, but which gives him enough surface-area-to-weight ratio to fly (OK, the math is a little fuzzy). The problem is, Dumbo doesn't believe in his own ability, and is too afraid to try. Timothy comes up with a solution: He finds a random feather and convinces the petulant pachyderm that the feather is magic. His confidence restored, Dumbo takes flight—until the crisis moment when he loses hold of the feather. Dumbo nearly plummets to his death before Timothy convinces him to unfurl his ears and believe in himself once again.

Dumbo's feather is an iconic symbol for the humanistic version of faith: A mystical bit of fairy dust that empowers you to believe in yourself. In our disenchanted age of materialistic naturalism, this is the only form of "magic" many can believe in or tolerate. "Strictly speaking it's not necessary, but if it makes you feel better about yourself, go for it" is the mentality.

There's nothing wrong with developing one's self-confidence as far as that goes. However, there is something badly wrong when Christians substitute feather-faith for the real deal. Biblical faith is precisely not 'believing in yourself'; it is looking to the faithfulness of Jesus, the one who was raised from the dead. "Let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith. Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne." (Heb. 12:1-2)

This does not mean that we sit on the ground (to continue the analogy) and say, "I cannot fly, but I trust in Jesus to fly for me." Rather, the goal is to recognize that in Jesus, I can fly, just as Timothy Mouse can fly when he is sitting inside Dumbo's cap. To put it literally, the Christian life is not saying "I will always be a sinner but I trust Jesus to be righteous for me." Rather it is believing "On my own I cannot overcome sin, but in Christ, I have the power to live in victory over sin and be filled with the love of God."

This is the great secret of life in Christ. "My old self has been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. So I live in this earthly body by trusting in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." (Gal. 2:20) To be "in Christ" means being united with him both in his death and in his resurrection: "Since we have died to sin, how can we continue to live in it? Or have you forgotten that when we were joined with Christ Jesus in baptism, we joined him in his death? For we died and were buried with Christ by baptism. And just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glorious power of the Father, now we also may live new lives." (Rom. 6:2-4)

In fact, every rider who gets on Dumbo the Flying Elephant experiences this in a way: by staying seated inside the "elephant," we are able to fly through the skies over Disney World. We do this not by believing in ourselves, but by trusting in the ride—trusting enough to get inside and go where it goes. "For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God." (Rom. 8:14)

So the next time you ride Dumbo, take it as a reminder: Let go of your feather-faith. Take hold instead of the faithfulness of Christ.

Kristen Bell: Thank you for teaching our daughters. Here's another way to read Snow White.

2018-10-20T20:23:00.003-05:00

Actress Kristen Bell, the voice of Anna in Disney's Frozen, has concerns about the message Snow White sends about sexual consent. She recently told Parents magazine that when she reads the story to her daughters, she raises the question: "Don't you think that it's weird that the prince kisses Snow White without her permission? Because you can not kiss someone if they're sleeping!" She defended her comments against critics on Twitter, asserting "I'm a mom who wants my girls to possess critical thinking."

First of all, I want to say 'Thank you' to Kristen Bell. Thank you in the first place for reading to your children; we need more parents who do that. Thank you even more for teaching your children critical thinking. That's a lost art as well. Thank you in addition for being willing to speak out publicly about the need to train up our daughters (and our sons) to protect and respect one another's sexuality. It's essential to our humanity to recognize that sexuality is always a gift to be given, never an object to be taken.

It's especially fitting to me that the voice of Anna should take the lead here. As I wrote in The Most Important Song in Frozen, Anna's character is an example of a girl who must learn to guard her heart against those who would seek to deceive, manipulate and abuse her. Bravo Anna, and bravo Kristen.

With that said, I would like to offer Ms. Bell (and other concerned parents) three interpretive tools that may change the way you read Snow White.

1. The Literal Reading

To begin with, on the most literal level, Snow White isn't just asleep. She's dead. Technically, within the story, she is under a spell of "living death." This spell can only be broken by true love's kiss, so the Prince is not just "getting" a kiss, he's giving her life. The literal correspondent would not be some frat boy kissing a sleeping girl at a college party; the literal correspondent in our non-magical world would be an EMT administering mouth to mouth resuscitation. Nobody argues that an EMT should have had consent before saving someone's life.

2. The Symbolic Reading

Of course, the discontinuity of this literal line of argument only makes it more obvious that interpreting a Fairy Tale like Snow White on a realistic level is missing the point entirely. Fairy Tales by their very nature signal to us that we are dealing with a world of symbols and allegory, not a direct representation of our own world.

Modern stories tend to use psychological realism even when they use elements of fantasy. Frozen is a great example of this: The internal logic of Elsa and Anna's relationships with their parents, with one another, and with men is the same as the relationships of people in our world, even if they happen to throw in some magical ice powers and talking snowmen.

In these modern stories, the typical approach to plot is to have the character go through a series of external events that lead her through an arc of internal change. Anna starts off too trusting and learns to be more cautious; Elsa starts off too self-contained and learns to be more open.

In contrast, many older stories follow a symbolic logic in which the characters do not demonstrate any internal change. Instead, they represent a constant value throughout the story. The plot progresses not by changing who they are on the inside but by revealing who they are on the outside.

For example, Snow White is always good but she starts off rejected in the forest and ends up honored in the castle. Cinderella is always beautiful inside, but starts off dressed in rags and ends up dressed as royalty. Conversely, Snow White's stepmother is always a bad person on the inside, but she starts off a beautiful queen and ends up a hideous witch.

This doesn't mean that pre-modern tale-tellers did not recognize that a person could be rich, beautiful and royal and still be a bad person on the inside, or vice versa. It simply means that they preferred to tell stories in an incarnated, embodied, symbolic way in which a character's external appearance is gradually revealed to correspond to their inner reality.

If we read Snow White holistically using this symbolic logic, it becomes evident that Snow White's character does symbolically give consent to the Prince. The whole story starts with Snow White singing over a wishing well, "I'm wishing for the one I love." Immediately the Prince appears, literally drawn by her wishing, and he falls in love with her. He joins in, singing with her over the same well, "I'm wishing for the one I love." They proceed to sing in a duet of mutual wishing.

Of course this symbolic movement is not represented by a psychologically realistic process of relational development: We never see a conversation between Snow White and the Prince. But that is because this is not that kind of storytelling. We are not privy to the inner worlds of the characters; instead we are supposed to infer their inner essence from the external symbols assigned to them, and all of these point to the idea that Snow White is an equal participant along with the Prince in seeking this relationship.

Because of their symbolic connection the Prince continues to be drawn to her until finally he finds her in her state of living death. Their kiss represents the consummation of a drawing together that was symbolically initiated by her wish for him. This is visibly confirmed after the Queen's evil spell is broken: Snow White could have slapped the Prince the moment she awoke. The fact that she embraces him immediately makes it clear that she approves and agrees with what he has done.

By the way, this symbolic reading helps to answer the other question Kristen Bell says she asks with her children when they read Snow White: "Why would someone accept food from a stranger?" On a literal level, it seems foolish for Snow White to accept the apple. But on the symbolic level, the witch promises her that this is a "wishing apple," and Snow White is driven by her wish for "the one I love." At the symbolic level, the great irony of the story is that the witch's claim turns out to be true: Through the apple, Snow White eventually ends up receiving her wish. Far from being a story about a Prince who violates consent, one could read this as a story about a Princess whose own desires are even more powerful than the grave.

3. The Allegorical Reading

Finally, it's worth noting that a story like Snow White in its original context would not be understood as ultimately about a romantic relationship at all, even though that is the symbolic form.

In a previous age when our culture was universally biblically literate (whether Disney's 1938 or the centuries earlier context of the source tale), no one could have missed the biblical allusion of a poisoned apple that leads to sleeping death as a reference to the original fall of humankind into Sin and Death when Adam and Eve ate the fruit in the Garden of Eden. As I wrote in a recent devotion about Snow White, the Prince here is a type for Jesus Christ as the bridegroom of the Church who promises rescue from the power of death by virtue of his own resurrection.

In this way Snow White participates in the long tradition of Romantic literature in which a pure longing of a lover for the beloved is used as a picture of the soul's desire for God and of God's gracious action to seek out and restore fallen humanity. The sexuality if these stories was deliberately minimized (e.g. the Prince basically giving Snow White a peck on the lips, not some kind of passionate physical embrace) because they are intended to point to the spiritual realm. (Our modern tendency to tell stories in which people are "saved" simply because they find their human "soul mate" is a dim echo of this literary tradition that has forgotten the roots from which it came.) In this kind of allegorical reading, it's simply a category error to read it as instructive for how two human beings should pursue a romantic or sexual relationship.

What about misunderstandings?

Of course it could be argued that children are not capable of grasping the symbolic and allegorical levels of interpretation and that, even if it is not intended, Snow White could lead to a misunderstanding that it's OK to engage in sexual conduct without consent.

That's why I have no problem with Kristen Bell asking her daughter's the questions that she does. Better safe than sorry.

However, in the process of teaching her children "critical thinking," I trust that as they get older, she will also ask them other questions: Symbolic questions like "what does the mirror represent in the story?" or "why are the dwarves represented as miners for hidden jewels?" Allegorical questions like "what does it mean for the human condition that the queen starts off desiring to be the most beautiful but ends up making herself the most hideous?" or "what does it say about the deepest longings of the human soul that we consistently refer to death as sleep?"

In short, I hope that Ms. Bell, her children, and all of us as readers and consumers of film, can learn to appreciate stories like Snow White on their own terms. We just might discover that, in all that we've gained in a world that can tell beautiful stories like Frozen, we might have forgotten a few things, too.

Mining for Beauty, Virtue and Grace

2018-10-20T16:31:00.002-05:00

A few years back Disney World's Magic Kingdom took out "Snow White's Scary Adventure" and later added a new roller coaster, "The Seven Dwarfs Mine Train." While the new attraction has more ride and less story, the train still makes a stop at the Dwarves Cottage to reveal a tableaux which may be my favorite scene in Walt Disney's original animated feature film: Inside, the beautiful Snow White dances to a happy tune, winning the hearts of her dwarvish hosts. Outside, a wizened old woman knocks with a basket full of apples.

Of course, those who know the story recognize that this is really Snow White's stepmother, disguising her cold beauty in the form of the wicked witch. Informed by her faithful Magic Mirror that she is no longer "the fairest one of all," the vain Queen is determined not to be upstaged by her demure stepdaughter. She prepares a poisoned apple with a spell of "living death" which puts Snow White into a state of perpetual sleep—until she is awakened by True Love's Kiss.

The great irony of the story is that the Queen, so obsessed with being the most beautiful, ends up transforming herself into something so hideous. She is a picture of the effects of the vices of sin. The God-given beauty of human nature is twisted and corrupted from within by pride, envy, jealousy and hatred.

Snow White, on the other hand, demonstrates the kindness and grace that match outer beauty with inner virtue. She wins over Grumpy and the rest of the dwarves by her humble service and joyful self-giving—cooking their dinner, cleaning their cottage, singing and dancing all the while. The Apostle Peter called this "the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God." (1 Pet. 3:4)

Nevertheless, Snow White's virtues are not enough to keep her from all harm. Like Eve the Garden of Eden, she falls for the temptation of the deadly apple. Her coffin-like sleep, awaiting the kiss of her prince, is a picture of the Christian in physical death, awaiting the return of Christ.

Thus, Snow White's tale brings together two complimentary sides of the gospel: On the one hand is our future hope of rescue from the spell of death, guaranteed not by our good works but by the resurrection power of Jesus Christ. On the other, the transforming power of the Holy Spirit within, that empowers us to overcome our vices and develop the virtues.

Which brings us back to the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train. What the new ride highlights is the daily work of the diminutive diggers: Like the Queen, they are obsessed with beauty—but rather than look for it in a mirror, they seek it in the shining jewels in the depths of the earth. They do not create this beauty, but they do labor long hours to uncover it.

In the ancient scriptures we read, "Tune your ears to wisdom, and concentrate on understanding. Cry out for insight, and ask for understanding. Search for them as you would for silver; seek them like hidden treasures. Then you will understand what it means to fear the Lord, and you will gain knowledge of God." (Prov. 2:2-5)

Without seeking for God's wisdom, each of us is liable to become like the wicked Queen, overwhelmed with our own vices, twisted by our pride into the darkest version of ourselves. But if we dig deep for understanding, we find God's grace ready to help us, showing us the path of inner virtue and joy followed by Snow White. In those mines of grace we uncover the greatest jewel of all: Faith in Jesus Christ, the one True Love, who offers us the hope of eternal life.

Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to work we go!

Remember Death: Disney's Haunted Mansion

2018-10-13T21:34:00.001-05:00

The Haunted Mansion is particularly popular during the month of October at Disney World's Magic Kingdom. The classic dark ride seeks to walk the line between truly scary and family-friendly fun.

On the one hand, the back-story premise of the house is rather dark: A woman who consecutively murders seven husbands, resulting in a house that is spiritually marked by bloodshed. Early in the ride there is a séance scene that makes me uncomfortable: I take the occult seriously enough not to want to be a part of it even in jest.

However, by the end of the ride the tone has turned much lighter. The un-entombed bodies in the graveyard are enjoying a party, not truly threatening anyone, and the over-dramatized narrator makes it clear that the whole effect is a tongue and cheek joke rather than a true experience of horror. By the time guests leave with a "hitchhiking ghost," any sense of evil has been replaced by playful fun.

The Haunted Mansion causes us to ask the question: Why are we so fascinated with death? Whether we are flirting with the dark side of our fears, or seeking to defuse those fears by turning them into a joke, we cannot escape the uncanniness of death. If humanity were a mere animal, all body and no spirit as some claim, our interest in death would make no sense. As it is, our sense of being both repulsed by death and drawn to it in creations like the Haunted Mansion teaches us two things.

First, we have a longing for justice. The whole concept of a "haunting" arises from our deep-down belief that some things are so evil—including murder—that they must be made right, even beyond the grave. We imagine the spirits of the dead haunting the land of the living, because our own spirits do not sit right with violence and bloodshed. In that sense, The Haunted Mansion points us toward the Final Judgment, when our faith assures us that the Judge of the Universe will punish the wrong and reward the right. As the Apostle Paul wrote to the Romans, "And this is the message I proclaim—that the day is coming when God, through Christ Jesus, will judge everyone’s secret life." (Rom. 2:16) No one gets away with murder.

Second, we hope for not merely life after death, as disembodied spirits; we hope for the resurrection. The Church has often not done a good job of teaching this doctrine, but we confess together in the Apostle's Creed, "I believe in the resurrection of the body." The reason is simple: Jesus Christ himself has already pioneered the way for us. Jesus rose not as zombie, nor angel, nor spirit, but as a fully embodied, fully alive man, capable of enjoying food and touching those whom he loved. To be sure, his body was transformed and glorified, but his followers had no doubt the tomb was empty that first Easter morning. "But in fact, Christ has been raised from the dead. He is the first of a great harvest of all who have died." (1 Cor. 15:20)

Outside the Haunted Mansion is a gift shop named with the classic Latin phrase, memento mori—"remember death." It is a truth of the Christian faith that all of us should be mindful of death in order to prepare our souls for the final judgment. However, the greater truth that this ride reminds us of is that, because of Jesus, we can have the last laugh when it comes to death. "Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled:
“Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?”
(1 Cor. 15:54-55)

Always Try the Sword

2018-10-06T21:07:00.000-05:00

As you pass through Cinderella's Castle into the Fantasyland realm of Disney World's Magic Kingdom, your eye is drawn to the spinning lights of King Arthur's Carousel. Almost unnoticed beside the prancing horses and gleaming carriages is an unassuming little rock, topped by an anvil, and protruding from the anvil is—the Sword in the Stone.

If you are familiar with the legend of King Arthur, you will know that this represents the magical sword given as a sign at a time when England had no king. The heir to the throne has been kept in hiding from his infancy under an assumed identity because his enemies. A prophecy states, "Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil is rightwise King born of England."

Whenever my family has visited Disney World, my wife and I always encourage the children to try to pull the sword out. They pose for pictures, pulling with all their might. We've heard that there is a button somewhere that a Disney Cast Member can push that will release the sword, and every once in a while they do, followed by a special celebration for the lucky Guest, although we've never seen it happen. Still, it's worth a try!

What is surprising to me is how many Guests walk past the sword and don't even make the attempt; in fact, they don't even seem to notice. There's not a lot of fanfare around the sword to draw attention to it. It's not considered a major park attraction.

Perhaps it's fitting that the sword goes unnoticed. In the Disney movie version of the Arthur legend, the Sword in the Stone is forgotten. After years of no one being able to pull it, the prophecy has been forgotten and the stone lies neglected, overgrown with vines. Arthur himself grows up as a humble servant, little knowing his true identity as king. Indeed, the moment he first pulls the sword from the stone, he is simply looking for a replacement for the lost sword of his dominating bully of a foster brother.

The legend of Arthur reminds us of the story of Jesus. Human beings were created to be the rightful rulers of the world, the "kings and queens" of Creation under the righteous reign of God. But because of our sin, we fell from grace, and the world languished with no rightful rulers. When Jesus comes as the Son of God and Son of Man to restore the Kingdom of God on earth, no one recognizes him. He is born in a stable manger, not a palace. He is a friend to the poor, not the wealthy. He is despised and rejected. Yet the power of the Holy Spirit, which marks him at first at his baptism and ultimately in his resurrection from the dead, is the "sword in the stone" that proves Jesus's claim to the be the Christ, the "rightwise King born of the whole world."

Yet the story of Arthur points not only to Christ; it is also our story. Because Jesus has been raised from the dead, the power of the Holy Spirit is available to all, and the promise of the Spirit is that every man, woman and child can be restored to our original status as princes and princesses of the whole world. "But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God." (John 1:12) "And since we are his children, we are his heirs. In fact, together with Christ we are heirs of God’s glory." (Rom. 8:17)

To be the heirs of the world does not mean the power to lord it over others and make them serve us. "Jesus called them together and said, “You know that the rulers in this world lord it over their people, and officials flaunt their authority over those under them. But among you it will be different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant." (Matt. 20:25-26)

Rather, the power of Christians is to be used to defeat and rule over the forces of evil that used to enslave us. "You used to live in sin, just like the rest of the world, obeying the devil—the commander of the powers in the unseen world. He is the spirit at work in the hearts of those who refuse to obey God....But God is so rich in mercy, and he loved us so much, that even though we were dead because of our sins, he gave us life when he raised Christ from the dead....For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ Jesus." (Eph. 2:2, 4-6)

In order to activate the power of God in us as rulers over Sin, we have the "sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." (6:17) "So I say, let the Holy Spirit guide your lives. Then you won’t be doing what your sinful nature craves....But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." (Gal. 5:16, 22-23)

The sad thing is that many Christians never pull this sword from the stone. They have put their faith in Jesus for the forgiveness of sins, but they don't put their faith in Jesus to also give them the power of the Holy Spirit. They live powerless, defeated lives, hoping for one day when they will go to heaven and be free, not understanding that God desires for them to live free here and now.

The next time you walk into Fantasyland, try to pull the sword from the stone. Who knows, it might come out! But in your Christian walk, grasp hold of the sword of the Spirit. You are the sons and daughters of God. It is your right and privilege to wield the power of God over sin. In Christ, you are the rightborn kings and queens of the world!

Cinderella's Reign of Grace

2018-09-29T17:23:00.002-05:00

Amidst the heart of Disney World's Magic Kingdom rise the 27 towers of Cinderella's Castle, the most iconic landmark in the Disney Parks. Inside guests dine at Cinderella's Royal Table restaurant, where every boy is a prince and every girl a princess. Our family enjoyed breakfast there for the first time when my children were still quite young, and I still recall how gracious "Cinderella" was when as she welcomed them into her royal home in her classic sky blue dress and shining tiara. As you would expect, the reign of Cinderella is kind, gentle and good.

Or would you expect it? If we stop and consider her story for a moment, Cinderella's demeanor is more than a little surprising. Along the corridor beneath the castle are five intricate Italian glass mosaics that retell the story of Cinderella's rise to the palace. In the first, we see the young girl dressed in tattered rags, tending the fire among her namesake "cinders" and ashes, a reminder of her traumatic beginnings. Cinderella is an orphan, having suffered the loss of both mother and father. Her stepmother, who should have loved and cared for her, instead abused her, giving her the status of a slave within her own home and allowing her two stepsisters to torment her mercilessly.

Not a few people in similar circumstances would have been overcome with anger and bitterness, depression and despair. In Disney's film version of the story, however, Cinderella maintains a song in her heart—in no small part due to her serving spirit of genuine humility and kindness. Because she sets her heart to voluntarily serve others with kindness, she becomes immune to the dehumanizing effects of their unkindness towards her.

Nevertheless, Cinderella seems doomed to be excluded from the Prince's ball to which every young maiden has been invited. Cinderella has worked tirelessly to produce her own beautiful dress, but her wicked stepmother allows the sisters to destroy it. At this, her lowest point, Cinderella at last seems to give up all hope, but at this very moment a Fairy Godmother appears to provide her with an even more beautiful gown along with the pumpkin-turned-coach.

Cinderella's magical transformation is a picture for us of God's saving grace. When we were clothed in the tattered rags of sin, excluded from God's presence by the forces of evil that had come to dominate us, God steps in and robes us in the righteousness of Christ, providing us as a free gift with all that we need to enter into the joyous presence of God.

Let me be very clear: I am not suggesting that Cinderella earns the fairy-tale transformation by her hard work and good attitude, nor by extension am I claiming that there is anything we can do to earn God's grace. The scriptures tell us in Ephesians 2:8-9, "by grace are you saved through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God, lest anyone should boast."

Rather, what Cinderella pictures for us is that we receive God's grace through a heart of humility. As Jesus taught, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God." Not because God loves the poor more, but because the poor are the ones willing to receive what God offers. This humble receiving of God's grace as a gift has traditionally been called "repentance." Jesus's message for all was "repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." One of the classic symbols of repentance is placing ashes or "cinders" upon oneself.

In the scenes that follow, Cinderella wins the heart of the prince at the ball, but must flee before the clock strikes midnight and the spell wears off, leaving behind one of her magical crystal slippers. The prince proceeds to commission a search throughout the land for the girl belonging to the slipper. Although the prideful and ambitious stepsisters try in vain to make the shoe fit, in the end it is destroyed. Yet Cinderella is able to prove her genuine claim to the Prince's heart by producing the other slipper, the magical mark of her acceptance.

This second half of the story corresponds to our pilgrimage through this lifetime after we receive God's grace. Although we cherish moments of love and closeness with Jesus Christ, heaven's prince, those times of joy often seem to be cut short, and our days are filled with many more trials and griefs. Prideful and arrogant people around us seem to continue to enjoy the pleasures of this world, while we suffer. It would be tempting to think that we have believed in vain. Yet we hold on to God's grace as our most cherished possession, knowing that the Prince will come again so that we can be together in Jesus's presence forever. When he appears, it will not be the rich or the powerful who will gain approval, but those who "fit the slipper"--those who have humbly received God's grace by faith.

The final scene of Cinderella--her royal wedding--reminds us of this beautiful poem from near the end of the final book of the Bible:

“Praise the Lord!
For the Lord our God, the Almighty, reigns.
Let us be glad and rejoice,
and let us give honor to him.
For the time has come for the wedding feast of the Lamb,
and his bride has prepared herself.
She has been given the finest of pure white linen to wear.”
For the fine linen represents the good deeds of God’s holy people.
And the angel said to me, “Write this: Blessed are those who are invited to the wedding feast of the Lamb.”

The next time you walk through Cinderella's Castle, remember what it represents: not the wealth and power of the arrogant, but the promise of God's presence with the poor and lowly, the love of Christ that searches out those who repentantly receive God's grace. The reign of Cinderella is gracious, indeed.

The Pirate's Curse and the Kingdom Pearl

2018-09-22T15:53:00.002-05:00

He stands behind the ship's helm, sails shredded, whipped by the rain, straining in vain against the howling wind: the skeleton pirate captain in the opening vignette of Disney World's Pirates of the Caribbean. It's my favorite moment in the famous ride, set in the heart of the Magic Kingdom's Adventureland: haunting and mysterious, dark and foreboding, without a word the scene tells a whole story of one cursed to a living death, forever sailing on an unforgiving sea, never reaching his destination.

Pirates of the Caribbean—both the original ride, and the subsequent movies—are a bit of a moral muddle. In one sense, it is clear enough that pirates are bad people. In the second scene of the ride, we see three long dead pirates surrounding a buried treasure, and if you pay close enough attention, you understand that they murdered one another, mutually betrayed as each tried to keep the treasure for himself. The remainder of the ride seems to tell the story of a later group of pirates who come seeking this treasure by raiding an island city. They torture its men and enslave its women. Triumphant, they descend into a disgusting level of dissipation as they fill themselves with rum, ending up drunk out of their minds, literally surrounded by the pigs. Destruction follows, and in the end the whole city is aflame as with the fires of hell, while the pirates are locked up in prison.

The whole ride is structured as a descent and return—riders go down underground, into the watery darkness, to see for themselves the natural consequences of pursuing ill-gotten treasure. The cursed lives of the pirates serves as a moralistic warning: don't get drawn in by the allure of gold and pleasure, or you too will lose your humanity, your dignity, your freedom and ultimately your soul. We return to the surface perhaps wiser for having faced the horror below.

And yet, it's hard not to identify with the pirates. We know they are the villains, yet we cheer for them. In the next to last scene of the ride, when the jailed pirates are trying to lure over the dog holding the keys to their cell, we find ourselves cheering for them; we want the dog to move, we want the prisoners to escape. And in the final scene of the ride, where the enormous treasure trove is at last revealed, sparkling full of gold coins and jewels, we're fascinated. For all the warnings, the treasure calls to us as well.

The Disney Pirate movies attempt to deal with this moral muddle in a predictable way: they portray the pirates as virtuous because they are authentic, "true to themselves," in contrast to a stuffy, corrupt, pretentious English society. In these films pirates may be bad but at least they're not hypocrites. The problem with this false dichotomy is that it does nothing to address what the original Pirates ride got right: human history more than confirms that when we pursue selfish treasures, we end up betraying ourselves and one another with increasingly destructive behaviors. Just because its bad to be a hypocrite doesn't make it good to be a plundering, pillaging pirate.

Jesus suggests a better alternative. He tells these parables to his disciples in Matthew's gospel: “Heaven’s kingdom realm can be illustrated like this: A person discovered that there was hidden treasure in a field. Upon finding it, he hid it again. Because of uncovering such treasure, he was overjoyed and sold all that he possessed to buy the entire field just so he could have the treasure. Heaven’s kingdom realm is also like a jewel merchant in search of rare pearls. When he discovered one very precious and exquisite pearl, he immediately gave up all he had in exchange for it.”

Jesus embraces our inner treasure-hunter. The problem with our sinful pursuits is not that we desire too much, but too little. We chase after the rum of illicit pleasures and the rusted gold of worldly success, when we should be seeking one great pearl: the pearl of the kingdom of God. We are created to find our satisfaction in intimate relationship to our Creator God through Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit. Pursuing that relationship is the ultimate adventure.

Jesus offers us a place on that voyage but we must sell out, trading in all other treasures. We fool ourselves when we believe we can reach for lesser jewels and still grasp hold of the high calling of holiness. For those willing to pay the price, he offers life—eternal life, and abundant life.

Marc Davis's original sketch for the dog scene

Which brings us back to those pirates in the jail cell. We cheer for them because they are us: we've all been imprisoned by our own desires to some degree or another. We're all under the curse of our own stolen treasures. But the good news of Pirates of the Caribbean is that scruffy little dog. I say, that dog is grace. A free gift from God; we don't deserve it, but there it is, holding the keys, offering us escape, offering us a new beginning. Jesus proclaims, "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, and he has anointed me to be hope for the poor, freedom for the brokenhearted, and new eyes for the blind, and to preach to prisoners, ‘You are set free!’" (Luke 4:18-19 TPT)

Take that key and set off on a new voyage: the quest for the pearl of great price.

More thoughts on Pirates: Where Tears Come From

Briar Patch Baptism

2018-09-09T00:10:00.000-05:00

No attraction in Disney World tells the story of the gospel better than Splash Mountain in the Magic Kingdom, which embodies the tale of Brer Rabbit. Riders are literally baptized at the climactic moment of the story, and Christians could learn a lot about the meaning of baptism from the way the experience unfolds.

As the riders settle in to their floating logs and set off, we find Brer Rabbit setting off on a journey of his own; he has a safe, happy little home in the woods, but he decides to set off on his own, disregarding the danger. Jesus's image of the prodigal son comes to mind, arrogantly leaving the loving father's house—an image itself points even further back to the story of Adam and Eve being exiled from their home in the garden of Eden because of their sin. As we set off with Brer Rabbit, we are not on a hero's journey that will end with him slaying the dragon, but on the human journey—a journey of sin and redemption that is bound to get worse before it gets better.

Riders bump along in the log flume around the curves and down into the depths of the mountain. As they go, Brer Rabbit gets into scrapes with his enemies, the enormous but bumbling Brer Bear and the conniving but overconfident Brer Fox. Each time they catch the rascally rabbit, he manages to escape, making a mockery of them in the process. Each of us likewise tend to believe we can cope with the problems of life with our own efforts—our own goodness, our own intelligence, or our own hard work—and like Brer Rabbit, we are partly successful, so we tend to become overconfident. Until we get caught.

The penultimate moment for riders is the slow climb up the mountain after Brer Rabbit is finally caught by Bear and Fox, to the sound of ominous music in the shadow of two vultures who represent death. This is where Brer Rabbit's journey of selfish independence ends—with the noose. Yet at the last moment, he persuades Bear and Fox to "kill" him instead by throwing him into the briar patch through a ploy of reverse psychology. "Not the briar patch," he cries, "anything but the briar patch!"

Down they throw him into the Briar Patch, and down the riders plunge, under the giant thorns, splashing into a wall of water that soaks everyone thoroughly as Brer Rabbit cries happily, "I was born and bred in the briar patch!"

So what is going on here? Is this just another example of Brer Rabbit outwitting his enemies with his trickster ways? It would seem that something deeper has occurred, because as the ride comes to its happy end, Brer Rabbit has left behind his wandering ways and returned to his home. The whole community of woodland creatures are celebrating his return on a "zip-a-dee doo-dah day."

In truth, Brer Rabbit's plunge into the briar patch is an embrace of death to self. Briars and thorns are an ancient symbol of the corruption and death that has come into the world through human sin. He is transformed from within, not by escaping from death one more time, but by passing right through the midst of it. Here the old self can be cast aside, and the new, restored self can emerge.

The beauty of the fact that Splash Mountain marries Brer Rabbit's conversion moment with a literal baptism is that this is precisely what Christian baptism is supposed to enact. Baptism is much more than a public proclamation of faith in Jesus, or even a religious cleansing that cleans away our guilt. Instead, baptism is intended to be a joining together with Jesus in his death—and through his death, a joining together in his resurrection.

The Apostle Paul wrote to the Romans, "Sharing in his death by our baptism means that we were co-buried and entombed with him, so that when the Father’s glory raised Christ from the dead, we were also raised with him. We have been co-resurrected with him so that we could be empowered to walk in the freshness of new life." (Rom. 6:4 TPT)

Jesus put it even more bluntly: “If you truly want to follow me, you should at once completely reject and disown your own life. And you must be willing to share my cross and experience it as your own, as you continually surrender to my ways. For if you choose self-sacrifice and lose your lives for my glory, you will continually discover true life. But if you choose to keep your lives for yourselves, you will forfeit what you try to keep." (Matt. 16:24-25 TPT)

In other words, the way to life is not to escape from the briar patch, but to pass right through the middle of it. With Brer Rabbit we cry "I was born and raised in the briar patch!"—born again, that is, and raised to new life, by embracing the experience of the cross.

The next time you are confronted by the powers of evil that seek to draw you away from your true home and capture you in their grip, remember Splash Mountain. Remember your baptism. Remember that the path to your truest life is right through the middle of the waters of death.

Welcome to Yesterday, Tomorrow, and Fantasy

2018-09-02T19:19:00.000-05:00

'Now faith brings our hopes into reality and becomes the foundation needed to acquire the things we long for. It is all the evidence required to prove what is still unseen. This testimony of faith is what previous generations were commended for. Faith empowers us to see that the universe was created and beautifully coordinated by the power of God’s words! He spoke and the invisible realm gave birth to all that is seen." Hebrews 11:1-3 The Passion Translation

If you look up between the arches as you walk into the entrance gate at Disney World's Magic Kingdom, you'll see a circular plaque set into the wall engraved with a deceptively simple phrase. Penned by one of my personal heroes, legendary Disney writer Marty Sklar, it reads: "Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow and fantasy."

There are two reasons for leaving behind "today." One is what is commonly known as "escape;" the desire to get away from the demands and pressures of the day to day world for a season. Many come to the Magic Kingdom for just such a reason: they view a "vacation" as a way to be distracted from worries and cares of the "real" world.

However, there is another path away from "today." A few leave the ordinary world, not to escape from it, but to free themselves to see it from a new perspective. They float down the rivers of Frontierland to the "yesterday," of the American West, not to avoid the modern world but to retrieve the pioneering spirit of the past, a hidden treasure with which to face the problems of the present. They climb Space Mountain to the world of "tomorrow," not for idle dreams, but to find a spark of vision to ignite the possibilities of today. They ride King Arthur's Carousel into the realm of Fantasyland, not to spin in circles of forgetfulness, but to restore the rhythms of timeless values, and remember the unchanging truths of the human spirit. In a word, they "enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow and fantasy" in order to return to the world of today transformed.

As Christians, we could write the words of Marty Sklar's entrance plaque across the opening pages of our Bibles with a one-word substitution: "Here you leave today to enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow and faith." The scriptures take us back to the time of Jesus, back to the time of ancient kings, even back to the foundation of the world, not simply as so much dusty history but rather as a way to uncover the true nature of the world around us. The prophets project us forward to the Age to Come, the promised New Heaven and New Earth, not as mere fancy but as a real, solid hope, the kind of hope that gives us strength to endure through trials. The spiritual truths of God's Word cause us to see beyond our ordinary eyesight to the dimension of faith. If fantasy is the realm o human imagination, faith is the realm of God's imagination. By faith we are empowered to envision a better world, and in doing so, gain the divine courage and power to bring that better world to pass.

The next time you feel stuck in the world of "today," pause for a moment. Open up your Bible with a heart expecting the Holy Spirit to speak. Walk through the gateway into the worlds within its pages. You might be surprised what new thing you bring back. Indeed, the new thing might be you.

Note: This devotion is part of a series of #disneydevos inspired by biblical reflections on our trips to Disney.

The Castle on Main Street

2018-09-01T14:58:00.002-05:00

Our "incredible" crew on Main Street in 2014.

“You won’t be able to say, ‘Here it is!’ or ‘It’s over there!’ For the Kingdom of God is already among you.” Luke 17:21 NLT

There’s nothing quite like the first time you see Cinderella’s Castle at the heart of the Magic Kingdom in Disney World. Its slender blue turrets rising into the sunny skies, banners flying in the breeze, the castle feels like a dream come true, a memory of long-ago days of kings and queens, knights and fair maidens, sorcerers and dragons, somehow standing as real as the massive grey stones that make up its battlements. It’s the castle that truly makes it a “Magic Kingdom.”

And yet what makes the Castle stand out all the more is the fact that it sits so mysteriously and yet so comfortably right at the end of Main Street U.S.A., framed on either side by the rows of quaint storefronts and flickering gas streetlights that are utterly American. Elsewhere in the Magic Kingdom, Disney planners cleverly used sight lines to hide other areas of the park; when you stand in Adventureland, for example, you don’t see neighboring Frontierland, or Fantasyland from Tomorrowland. The goal is to preserve the illusion that each land is a separate world. And yet, here at the heart of the park there is no effort to hide the fantasy world of the castle from the down-home world of Main Street; quite the contrary, the whole effect of Main Street is to lead your eye right up to Cinderella’s glittering gates.

It’s hard to miss the message: the Kingdom is Here. The magic is not in some other world; it has come to our world. Right here, in the midst of the everyday world of shops and bakeries, fire stations and town halls, paved streets and sidewalks, rises the fairytale realm made real. It’s a bizarre juxtaposition, a strange mixing of seeming opposites, and yet it seems to fit. It feels right, as if our hearts are made to say, “Yes, there should be a Castle on Main Street.” Not just this Main Street; every Main Street. There is a castle waiting to be seen in the center of every city and town, if we just have eyes to see it.

When Jesus first began to preach, he walked down the Main Streets of his own day, the everyday ordinary villages and towns of his country, telling everyone: “The Kingdom of Heaven is near.” The kingdom is among you, right here, right now. Jesus did not say “I know how you can get to the Kingdom of Heaven.” He told them, heaven is coming here.

As followers of Jesus, our goal is not simply to get to heaven when we die. We are not pilgrims climbing a mountain, hoping to make it up some day to the castle in the sky where the king lives. Instead, we believe in a King who came down to us. He brings the kingdom here, putting his castle on the end of our Main Street. That means as you go about your everyday life, going to school or work or play, you can practice the presence of the kingdom. Everywhere you go, you can expect to experience the power and presence of God, and you can treat others according to the law of love, the law of the kingdom. As you do, keep your eyes open, and you just might start to see the Castle on Main Street.

Note: This is the first in a series of devotional thoughts based on our visits to Disney World. -Ken

Saving What We Love

2017-12-30T23:39:00.002-06:00

The Last Jedi, Episode VIII of the Star Wars saga, breaks new ground in many ways. But at it's core, the film continues a message that has been embedded in the galaxy far, far away from the beginning, a message that is put into words by new character Rose Tico: "We're not going to win this war by fighting what we hate, but saving what we love."

Writer/Director Rian Johnson plays this theme out on many levels:

On the military level, hotshot space pilot Poe Dameron starts off winning a Pyrrhic victory, defeating a massive enemy cruiser but at the cost of a whole fleet of Resistance bombers. Through a series of failures he is humbled to see the wisdom of the Resistance leadership's plan to sneak away and survive in cloaked transports, rather than make a heroic but useless stand against the First Order's superior fleet.

On the individual level, Finn sets off on a suicide mission to destroy the battering ram gun that the First Order uses to break through the doors of the final Resistance hideout, flying right into its deadly rays to reach the point where he can shoot down its mouth. At the critical moment, he is knocked off course by his new friend Rose. He complains that she stopped him, but she counters that she saved him.

On the Jedi level, Luke Skywalker (the titular "last Jedi") refuses to accept the call of the Resistance to come and fight against Kylo Ren. But he does sacrifice his life on a Force-aided ploy to fool Kylo long enough to allow the remnant of the Resistance to escape.

For the central character Rey, we see an arc in which she stars off hating Kylo Ren and seeking his destruction, but later connecting with him and realizing she has a duty to try to save what is still good in him, and still later walking away from the fight with him to save her friends in the nick of time.

The result of all this "saving what we love" is a tiny remnant of Resistance fighters on the Millennium Falcon, along with the books of the Jedi she has spirited away from Luke's island. They become the "seed of hope," and in the final scene of the movie we see how this seed may come to harvest: young children, the galaxy's next generation, beginning to manifest the powers of the Jedi and inspired toward the light by the deeds of the Resistance heroes.

So what about you? What is there in your life that you are so focused on hating, fearing, defeating or destroying that you have no time left to focus on the things that you should be loving, cherishing, building up and saving?

Are you more focused on opposing a national political position than on building a local community?
Are you more focused on winning an argument with your spouse than in building your relationship?
Are you more focused on correcting a fault in your child than in encouraging his or her gifts?
Are you more focused on outflanking a faction in your church whom you believe are headed in the wrong direction than in witnessing to the love of God and the truth of the gospel to those around you in need?

Jesus warned that judgment would come to the world—but that was not the focus of his mission. "For God did not send the Son into the world to judge the world, but that the world might be saved through Him." Thus we are commended to pray for the salvation of others continually because "This is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth. For there is one God, and one mediator also between God and men, the man Christ Jesus."

In other words, "We're not going to win this war by fighting what we hate, but saving what we love."

Three Lessons for a Dying Church from The Last Jedi

2017-12-30T19:43:00.001-06:00

The Last Jedi, Episode VIII of the Star Wars saga, picks up where last years' The Force Awakens left off: with the fledgling Jedi Rey seeking aid from the elusive last Jedi Master, Luke Skywalker. However, for reasons that unfold during the movie, Rey finds Luke unwilling to help the Resistance himself, and unwilling to train another apprentice. Instead, he offers her three lessons which he says will explain to her why the Jedi need to end.

More than in any previous Star Wars film (with the possible exception of Rogue One), the Force is treated as a religion in The Last Jedi, drawing comparisons to real-world religions. The lessons Luke teaches may be of interest to Christians in the Western church as well. While Christianity is growing rapidly in the Global South, in Europe the Church seems to be all but dead, and the declining American Church can feel like Luke's hermitage: a place where one goes to die.

1. Who has the Light?

In Lesson One, which takes place at dawn, Luke helps Rey understand the true nature of "the Force," an all-pervasive energy that binds together the in-between spaces of the entire universe. He then explains: "To say if the Jedi die the light dies is vanity, don't you see that?"

While the Christian God is clearly distinct from Star Wars' pantheistic Force, the Church can learn something from Luke's Lesson One as well. God cannot be contained in one manifestation of the institutional church. To be sure, Jesus affirms that "upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." As the Body and Bride of Christ, the Universal Church cannot be defeated. And yet, the history of missions is a long series of seeming defeats for the church. Just as the light seemed to die out in one place, the Church becomes strong in another. As one movement loses vitality, the Holy Spirit brings revival, or raises up a new movement that takes on radically different forms but preserves the core of the gospel. To think that the decline or even the annihilation of the American Church as we have known it would mean the end of the Light of Christ would be to vastly underestimate the power and position of Jesus.

2. Does the Light lead to the Dark?

In Lesson Two, which takes place at midday, Luke reviews the history of the Jedi. Despite their reputation as great heroes, the truth is the Jedi have allowed and even contributed to some of the greatest evils to arise in the galaxy. Luke summarizes, "The legacy of The Jedi is failure, hypocrisy, hubris." Later we learn that Luke isn't just observing history: he blames his own personal hubris for the training of the emerging Sith Lord Kylo Ren (Ben Solo), and his own fear and failure as the final straw that tipped Ben to the Dark Side.

It has become commonplace for Christians in today's culture—especially among the younger generation--to be ashamed of the past failures of the institutional church: participation in racism, class oppression, and the abuse of women, along with the Crusades and other religious wars.

Part of Luke's lesson is based on the Taoist form of dualism that Star Wars draws from. If Light and Dark exist in balance, then it follows that making the Light stronger will only end up making the Dark stronger. Supreme Leader Snoke makes this point from the opposite direction when explains to Kylo Ren, "I warned you that as you grew in the Dark Side you would call forth your equal in the Light [Rey]."

Christians reject this form of dualism, believing that God's goodness is the only absolute and evil is a corruption or perversion of the good, not an eternal power in its own right. In the end God will make all things new and there will be no more "Dark Side," only the Light of His presence. "God is light," wrote John, "and in Him is no darkness at all."

Nevertheless, Christian redemption history does reflect Skywalker's lesson after a fashion. Paul wrote to the Romans that Israel's status as God's chosen people, the possessors of the revealed Light of God's Law in the Torah, only made it worse that they as a nation fell into sin and idolatry. As the prophet Nathan told King David when he committed adultery and murder, "you have given occasion for the enemies of God to blaspheme." We see the same dynamic at work on a smaller scale when a Christian leader falls into sin: it not only destroys his life, but also the lives of many who assume the message was as faulty as the messenger.

The bottom line of this lesson is that Christians must have the humility to accept our own human role in bringing about evil in the world. We fall into error when we think that we must defend the perfection of the church in order to defend faith in God. Quite the contrary: it is the depth of the church's sin that exalts the gracious redeeming act of God. As St. Paul himself wrote, "Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the worst."

3. Who is responsible for the next generation?

Oddly enough The Last Jedi never gets around to giving Luke's third lesson. According to sources, the Lesson Three scene was filmed but was cut from the final film. In it, Luke creates an elaborate ruse to contrast the Jedi devotion to "the Balance" of the Force vs. the simple need to take action against the evils in the world. The parallel message for post-modern Christians might be, "forget about the institutional Church, forget about finding the right theology or the correct interpretation of the Bible, just go out and do something good for your neighbor in need."

However, while this deleted scene may make an appearance on the Blu-Ray release, I prefer to see the movie in its theatrical form as having it's own third lesson in a surprising form. Rather than have Luke deliver the rest of his pessimistic message to Rey, the film has Luke become the recipient of a lesson himself when his former teacher Yoda appears as a "Force ghost" as night approaches.

Luke has determined to end the Jedi order once and for all by burning the last copies of the sacred Jedi texts that have been preserved in a tree on the island for millennia, but as soon as he does he regrets his action. Before he can rush in to save the books, though, Yoda himself brings a lightening storm that explodes the tree. He then explains to Luke that, although the books contained useful information, they had nothing to teach that Rey does not already possess, and he chides Luke for failure to pay attention to "the Living Force," in the present moment. (As a matter of fact, we later learn that Rey snatched the books before she left the island, and they are safely on board the Millennium Falcon at the end of the movie, ready to be used to start a new generation of Jedi.)

Yoda goes on to tell Luke that he must pass on to Rey not only his strengths and his learning but also he weaknesses and failures. "We are what they grow beyond—that is the true burden of every Master," Yoda says. In the end, Luke is not responsible for Rey. He cannot make her become anything, good or bad. He can only offer himself, and the more authentically he does this, the greater starting place he can give to her.

The Church, especially our leaders and our older generations, would do well to heed this third lesson as well. We are responsible to pass down to the next generation our sacred texts—the Holy Bible—and as much as we can of our interpretation of those scriptures, the accumulated wisdom of the Church's experience, reasoning and tradition.

Nevertheless, we must also keep in mind that the next generation of believers also have within them the living presence of the Holy Spirit. It is the Spirit that illuminates the scriptures, and provides the power to bring them to life, not us, our teachings, or our institutions. As Jesus warned the first apostles, "Do not leave Jerusalem until the Father sends you the gift he promised, as I told you before. John baptized with water, but in just a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.”

When we recognize our position relative to the Holy Spirit, we are freed to simply share ourselves with the next generation—our victories and wisdom, and also our failures and follies. In giving ourselves authentically to the fellowship of the church, we can become "what they grow beyond."

Remember Me

2017-12-08T17:44:00.000-06:00

The Blessing and the Curse of Memory in Pixar's Coco

A family story set around the Day of the Dead may seem like an odd choice, but Disney Pixar's newest feature succeeds in turning these skeletons into a warm-hearted meditation on the meaning of memory, with all it's curses and its blessings. Coco is an unexpectedly beautiful film: the color palette alone has a magical quality, reminiscent of the gorgeous lantern-lighting scene in Tangled. And as we've come to expect from Pixar, it's a tear-jerker—perhaps even more so than Up or Inside Out, if that is possible. As my friend and film expert Will Adams put it, "This movie was created in a lab by scientists to overwhelm the part of your brain that makes you happy cry." Much of that emotional power comes from the music, a key theme in the film, supported by the lyrics of Frozen power-writing-duo Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez. Yet beyond the sights and sounds lies a more complex message about identity that needs to be grasped by all who want to live the "blessed" life.

Beyond the Isolated Individual

The practices of ancestor veneration depicted in Coco (as well as other recent animated features Kubo and the Two Strings and The Book of Life) can seem quite stifling in a culture that values individual self-determination above all. While such belief systems can have problems (such as constant fear of displeasing the ancestors), Westerners should have the humility to admit that our materialistic individualism has its own difficulties. As sociologist Robert Putnam warned in Bowling Alone, personal autonomy can come at the cost of fragmenting our communal and family bonds. We sit behind our individualized screens listening to our individualized headphones extolling our individual "freedom" while we drown in a sea of anxiety, depression, isolation and loneliness. We need not go as far as ancestor worship to admit that we might have something to learn from others.

Reconciling the Past

Coco's main character, Miguel, has grown up in a family of shoemakers who have strictly forbidden all music for generations—ever since a great-grandfather walked out on his wife and child to pursue fame and fortune as a musician. Miguel falls under a "family curse" when he defies them to follow his secret passion to become a singer on the eve of Dia de los Muertas, the Day of the Dead—the one day each year when a bridge is opened between the spirit realm and ours. Miguel is trapped in the spirit world and will become a permanent resident there if he does not gain the blessing of at least one of his ancestors, and none of them are willing to grant it without the condition that he give up music. Miguel sets off on a quest to find the spirit of his alienated great-grandfather. Along the way, the whole family must find a way to make peace with the hurts of their past.

At the psychological level, Miguel's quest becomes a symbol for the need we all have to face the conflicts in our past. Divorce and other family conflicts create rifts that we ignore at our own peril. Children can temporarily choose sides, identifying themselves more with one set of ancestors than another; but eventually, we have to recognize that we are made up of both sides. What Miguel sees as being different from the rest of his family turns out to just be an expression of another part of his family, like a recessive gene that turns up unexpectedly. As parents, the lesson is that it is far better to show children how to choose the best version of all their parts than to try to repress those parts that are deemed "bad."

Transferred to a New Tree

However, Christians should consider the possibility that Coco's message is more than a psychological parable. No, we do not believe in skeleton-people who cross over a magic bridge one day a year. But the worldview presented by the Bible does give greater weight to the spiritual influence of ancestors than the modern, materialistic mindset tends to admit. As Shakespeare's Hamlet said, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." In Exodus the Lord speaks of "visiting the iniquity of fathers on the children and on the grandchildren to the third and fourth generations." Both Nehemiah and Daniel practiced prayers of confessing the sins of their forefathers.

Most importantly, the New Testament teaches that all humanity shares in the "curse" of our first ancestor's fall. However, by faith we are able to enter into the "blessing" first promised to Abraham's family and ultimately fulfilled in Jesus Christ. "For if by the transgression of the one, death reigned through the one, much more those who receive the abundance of grace and of the gift of righteousness will reign in life through the One, Jesus Christ." (Rom. 5:17) In other words, we are not told that our family tree has no effect on us because we are autonomous individuals; rather, we are told that we can be transferred from one family tree to another. In Christ we become inheritors of all the promises of God: "But when the fullness of the time came, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the Law, so that He might redeem those who were under the Law, that we might receive the adoption as sons. Because you are sons, God has sent forth the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” Therefore you are no longer a slave, but a son; and if a son, then an heir through God." (Gal. 4:4-7)

Remember Me

Miguel is ultimately able to reconnect the broken pieces of his family and his own identity through the power of music to restore memory. As the lyrics of the film's theme song says, "If you close your eyes and let the music play; Keep our love alive, I'll never fade away." The practice of remembering is literally re-membering; we become whole again as we reconnect with the past.

As Christians, we practice this re-membering through music and worship, but even more so through the sacrament of Holy Communion. "Do this," says Jesus, "in remembrance of me." The breaking of the bread, the pouring of the wine, bring us once again into the living presence of Christ, only in our case it is not our remembering that keeps Jesus from fading away, but he who sustains us in life. In receiving the elements we are reminded that our identity is no longer rooted in our earthly family tree, but we have been reconstituted as the people of God, the sons and daughters of Abraham. Not once a year on the Day of the Dead, but every time we come to the Lord's table the Jesus declares over us: "You are no longer under the curse. Come and enter into my blessing. Remember me."

Stardust

2017-07-16T20:45:00.001-05:00

This morning I had the opportunity to preach a message on Faith, Hope and Love illustrated through the movie Rogue One, including some of the thoughts I shared in an earlier post. However, there is one key symbol in this Star Wars story that I did not have time to address: the name, "Stardust." When we unfold it's meaning, I believe we can discover something about our own identity as those created in the image of God.

To set the stage, we first need to look at the symbol of "kyber crystals" in the Rogue One story. These living crystals that resonate with the power of the Force have been used for a thousand years by the Jedi for the construction of their lightsabers. And yet, in the time of Rogue One, the Jedi have fallen due to the betrayal of Darth Vader, a fact that is powerfully visualized by the giant Jedi statues we see lying face down in the sand on Jedha, the home world of the Jedi Temple, which has now fallen under Imperial control. The guardians of the temple now stand by powerless as the Empire steals the last remaining kyber crystals. We soon discover that these crystals are now being used to power the recently constructed Death Star.

The rise of the Death Star in the Star Wars world is a picture of the rise of the modern Enlightenment era in our world. God has been declared dead. Faith is a thing of the past. The symbols and structures of religion have fallen. Christian humanism understood science is a gift enabling humans to fulfill their calling as participants with God in the perfection of creation, but it has been replaced by the rise of a secular humanist faith that turns science, progress, and technology into weapons by which to cast down the old order. The stars above are no longer the heavens of God, they are the colony of human power. Power once distributed, however imperfectly, between the domains of family, church, and community is increasingly concentrated into the Imperial State. We are assured at every turn that by casting off the restraints of old fashioned religion and morality, we will enter into the golden age of truth, freedom, and peace.

Yet these forces of modernity that promised to liberate us have instead constructed technological terrors that threaten to enslave us. Along with our modern power grids, communication systems, and medicines, have come nuclear missiles, hackers, and biological weapons of mass destruction. The information systems that connect us also manipulate, divide, and consume us. The dream of modern humanism has become the nightmare of dehumanization.

Of course, some still believe that the Enlightenment revolution simply hasn't gone far enough. The problem isn't too much power for the forces of Empire, it is too little. Their mindset is captured by Director Krennic, mastermind of the Death Star, as he seeks to persuade Jyn's father, the reluctant scientist Galen Erso, to continue work on the Death Star:
Krennic: "We were on the verge of greatness. We were this close to providing peace and security for the galaxy."
Erso: "You're confusing peace with terror."
Krennic: "Well, you have to start somewhere."

What does all this have to do with Stardust? We learn in a line from Chirrut Imwe, the blind guardian who remains faithful to the Force despite the fall of the temple, that "the strongest stars have hearts of kyber." The sources of power it seems are grown in the heavens above. The Death Star is the dark side replacement for these light-giving origins.

Which brings us back to Jyn Erso. As a little girl, her father's nickname for her is Stardust. Before she is murdered, Jyn's mother gives her a pendant of kyber crystal that she keeps over heart all her life. Jyn falls for a season into hopeless despair after the loss of her parents, but her faith is renewed by a message from her father which assures her of his love as he calls her his Stardust. When Jyn catches up to him just before his death, his last words are, "I love you Stardust."

The implication is twofold. First, Jyn is restored in her relationship to her earthly father through the love expressed in the name Stardust. But second, through the interlinked symbol of the kyber crystal, she is reminded that she herself comes, as it were, from the heart of the stars—that she is linked to the heavens above. In Christian terms, Jyn is being reminded that she is a child of God, possessing the spiritual life from above and not just the material clay of earth. In a word, she is created in the imago Dei, the image of God.

Reclaiming her identity as Stardust not only reminds Jyn that she is loved; it also gives her purpose and direction. When she successfully infiltrates the Imperial base along with the crew of Rogue One to steal the plans to the Death Star, she must sort through volumes of data files to find the correct project files. When she finds one codenamed Stardust, she knows this is a message to her from her father. When her friend Cassian asks, "how do you know this is the one?" Jyn answers, "I know because it's me."

Stardust, Jyn's namesake as her father's child and her identity as one linked to the heavens, is also the key to her destiny, the means by which she will be a part of defeating the evil of the Death Star.

And so it is with us: the pathway back from terrors of the Death Star world we have created is in returning to the roots of our identity as created beings, not autonomous agents. We are loved by a heavenly Father. We have a purpose and meaning beyond ourselves. We have a spiritual origin, and a heavenly destiny. We are Stardust.

Art Credit: Anna Dittmann

Guardians of the Galaxy and the Egotistical God

2017-06-02T18:47:00.001-05:00

For an action-sci-fi blockbuster with comedy overtones and an 80s retro soundtrack, Marvel Studios' Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 is surprisingly theological. Of course, those who are most familiar with the comic book company started by Stan Lee know it has always used its archetypal stories to delve deeply, if symbolically, into matters of faith and metaphysics. Guardians 2 continues this tradition by tapping into no less than three central Christian doctrines: the nature of the Trinity, the motivation for Creation, and the purpose of Incarnation. And you thought it was just talking raccoons.

The primary theme for the team of heroes continues to be the Found Family: how a group of misfits can find ties of friendship that are stronger than blood, and create the kind of community that empowers us to be fully human. The sequel takes this to the next level by creating an even greater contrast between that Found Family, whatever its flaws may be, and the potential devastation caused by abusive families of origin.

Spoiler Alert: The Quill Family Trinity

The real theological work gets done through the villain of the film, the ominously named "Ego," long-lost father of central character, Peter Quill. Ego turns out to be an extremely powerful being known as a "Celestial," a Mind that has learned over millions of years to create out of the fundamental building blocks of matter. His primary form is a living planet, but he has developed an avatar of an incarnate human body. Ego describes himself to Peter as a "small 'g' god."

Ego experiences incredible loneliness despite his power, so he incarnates himself into human form so that he can find and mate with other forms of life. His quest leads him to fall in love with Peter's mother, giving Peter both human and Celestial genes. Both Peter and Ego can manipulate a mysterious force known as the Light which empowers them to create. Together with Peter, Ego plans to transform the universe to be like the beautiful planet he has created.

So far, the surface parallels to the Christian conception of God are obvious. Ego, like God the Father, transcends physical being as a Mind, but makes himself evident through the act of creation. Peter, like God the Son, is the only begotten who shares in both human nature and divine. The Light perhaps represents the power of the Holy Spirit. The plan for a remade universe reflects the coming Kingdom of God and the promise of a New Heaven and New Earth.

The Divine Abuser?

However, the similarities are only on the surface. The more we learn about Ego, the less godly he appears. First, in Christian doctrine God did not create the universe out of loneliness. The Holy Trinity of Father, Son and Spirit enjoyed eternal fellowship and perfect joy. It was out of self-giving love, not self-seeking need, that the Creation was initiated.

Second, Ego abandons Peter and murders his mother because Ego "loves" her so much he is afraid he will abandon his own self-glorifying plans to stay with her. In Christian doctrine, Jesus abandoned his own glory, emptying himself of divine privilege, in order to seek out and save his "bride," the Church. Instead of taking life, he gave his life for us on the cross.

Third, Ego abusively attempts to force Peter to cooperate in his bid for universal power. Christian doctrine teaches that Jesus Christ willingly offered himself in oneness with the Father. Those who have maligned the cross as "divine child abuse" simply do not understand the Oneness of the Holy Trinity. God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself.

Finally, Ego's vision for recreating the universe entails destroying all other forms of life. The Christian vision of the end time is one of perfect fellowship, in which all who believe will indeed become unified with God, but not at the cost of their own individual identity. Jesus prayed that "they may be one, as we are one." That is, just the members of the Trinity share perfect oneness and yet maintain three distinct persons, so in glory humans will share in the divine nature and yet remain distinct persons enjoying one another in love.

Heresy or Counterpoint?

Perhaps Marvel intended to bash Christian belief through the perverse parody of the Trinity presented in Guardians; if so, they would not be the first to critique the faith without truly understanding it. However, as a Marvel fan, I would prefer to believe that the writers were not attacking Christianity but rather intentionally creating a contrast to the true God in order to show just how wrong false gods can be. Regardless of the intentions, Guardians ends up being a great teaching tool by providing a counterpoint to Christian faith. In this shadow version of the Trinity, we are able to more clearly discern what the true message of the gospel is like.

In the end, Ego's story is not a message about the nature of God. Rather, it is a message about humanity—namely, how we destroy ourselves and everyone around us when we make our own Ego into our god, and make the universe all about ourselves instead of about others. And although the sin nature is universal, this story particularly underscores the ways in which men lie to themselves to justify promiscuity, unfaithfulness, abuse and general egotism.

Without entirely giving away the ending, suffice to say that Peter Quill finds an unlikely alternative role model to turn to when his biological father fails him—one who demonstrates self-sacrifice rather than self-centeredness. Like Peter, humans in general and men in particular must sometimes reject the behaviors modeled by our flawed human fathers, and instead choose to emulate the perfect love of our Heavenly Father.

Pike Road Parents: Time to Go to Work

2017-05-26T18:56:00.001-05:00

We've reached the end of another busy school year, and one that proved even more eventful in Pike Road with the retirement of the innovative—and sometimes controversial—first superintendent of the PRS system, Dr. Suzanne Freeman. The search for her replacement, and the public debate it sparked over the future of the Pike Road Way, stirred up a tremendous amount of engagement from parents and the community in general. What to make of it?

The Story of the Pike Road Way

For those unfamiliar, the "Pike Road Way" represents a trailblazing culture spearheaded by Dr. Freeman that includes a learner-centered rather than teacher or content-centered model of education, Project-Based Learning, and a curiosity-driven approach that seeks to inspire students to own their own learning. The Pike Road Way holds up the ability to use subject content creatively as the true indicator of successful mastery, rather than the ability merely to regurgitate knowledge of static content on quantitative tests. This approached eschews traditional textbooks, homework, numeric grades, and fixed curricula, to the delight of some and the bewilderment of many who simply could not picture school being school without the industrialized model that has driven education since the early 1900s.

This radically new model generated a lot of enthusiasm in the early days of the school, despite severe overcrowding from opening day of the school. Parents saw creativity come alive, students demonstrated a new enthusiasm for learning, and amazing projects were developed. Not a few parents said, "I wish school had been like this for me."

However, for some that enthusiasm began to wane in the second year as more parents began to perceive two key problems: a lack of clearly communicated assessments, and discipline issues described by many as a systemic lack of respect. In a word, parents didn't know what was going on with their kid's learning, and they didn't like what they heard about how certain students—and sometimes entire classes—behaved towards adults and towards rules in general.

Leaving Traditional Methods Leaves Holes

The two problems were, in fact, interrelated. In adapting an entirely new model of education and assessment, vacuums were created that were not immediately evident. Pike Road came to realize how much parents had depended on textbooks, homework papers, and test grades to understand what was going on at school. The technology the school had chosen for assessment proved inefficient for teachers and ineffective for parents. It became evident that a new technology partner was needed to better communicate student progress, along with new ways of thinking that would include parents earlier in the process so that they remained informed of what their learner was studying and how they were progressing.

The other vacuum was more serious. In traditional schools, grades and worksheets are not only tools of learning; they are also means of enforcement. The threat of bad grades is used to keep bad behavior in line, and busy-work is often prescribed to keep students quiet. A truly learner-centered environment could not tolerate continuing to use grades as a club to beat students with, and a project-based classroom does not lend itself to keeping children quiet and orderly. Indeed, a school dedicated to developing creativity could hardly avoid having to develop new norms of what it means to be a "well-behaved" student.

For some critics who had never embraced the Pike Road Way, each report of problems was grasped upon as an opportunity to condemn the whole system. However, even among those who saw the value in Project Based Learning, there was a deep concern that creativity needed to be balanced with structure. They saw the need for a culture of respect to match the new culture of curiosity.

A Concern Movement Arises

To be sure, everyone acknowledge that there were great teachers who modeled excellent parent communication, and whose classrooms always seemed to be well in order. However, that was small comfort to parents who did not feel that their son or daughter was experiencing that environment. On the contrary, the fact that some teachers were able to function so well in the new system only proved the point that action was needed from the administration to ensure that best practices were being followed consistently across all grades and classrooms.

Since Dr. Freeman had announced her retirement in the midst of this timeframe, the public response focused on who the school board would choose for her replacement. The choice of new superintendent became a proxy vote of confidence or no confidence in the Pike Road Way. Would the board find an equally innovative educational reformer who would continue in the direction set by Dr. Freeman--but perhaps fail to take a strong hand toward discipline problems? Reverse course and bring in a strongly traditionalist leader who could handle discipline, but who might not support learner-centered innovation? Or find a way to synthesize the two together?

Some parents took a very respectful approach to raising their concerns with administrators and board members. I'm particularly proud of my friend Chris Myers, who led a concerned parents group; at their first meeting he emphasized that the group would seek to find solutions, not just complain about problems, and would focus on issues, not personalities. I joined in with his group and expressed my own concerns in various ways; although I was, and am, a firm believer in the principles of the Pike Road Way, I had seen first hand the need for some improvements.

The Positivity Counter Movement

However, others were less cautious with their words, mounting personal attacks against Dr. Freeman or even members of the board. When one disgruntled former employee gave a negative interview to local media, the scales seemed to tip. Parents who had previously not been vocal mounted a counter campaign under the hashtag #bringthepositive to highlight all the good that was being done at the school. Scores came out on a teacher in-service day to line the drive into the school carrying signs of support. There was genuine concern to lift the hearts of the hard-working teachers of PRS who had become discouraged by the barrage of negative publicity, which had not been aimed at them but which they had understandably taken quite personally. I joined in this movement as well, and it continue to be important to me that our great teachers know that they are supported by parents.

In the end, I believe a balanced synthesis emerged for the majority of parents: project-based, learner-centered education was the right direction, but real work remains to be done on developing the right structures for effective assessment and consistent behavioral norms.

Although it is too soon to know much about how the new regime will be received, my sense is that parents are broadly satisfied that the board's choice of Dr. Chuck Ledbetter fits well with this synthesis. His track record and interview presentation showed signs of the ability to provide both innovation and structure. PRS appears to be positioned to continue along the trail blazed by Dr. Freeman, while shoring up its areas of weakness through a process of continuous improvement.

Assessing Dr. Freeman's Legacy

Suzanne Freeman seems to be the kind of leader people either love or hate. Some said she showed the determined to do what was best for children regardless of the critics. Others said she was inflexible in her commitment to radical theories and insensitive to valid feedback.

I think perhaps those are two sides of the same coin. Through observing PRS, I have come to the conclusion that to be a truly innovative leader requires incredibly thick skin. Making incremental improvements is popular, but creating entirely new paradigms invites persecution. Leaders who create the future must be anchored by a crystal clear vision that the average person simply cannot yet see, and they must hold fast to it in the inevitably storm of misunderstanding and criticism that will tear down all but the most stubborn true believers.

It only makes sense that the same thick skin that makes real innovation possible, may also render a leader insensitive at times to valid complaints, and devotion to a vision for the future may result in blind spots with regard to the problems of the present.

I don't have to be one who considers Dr. Freeman a living saint to appreciate that, while all leaders have both strengths and weaknesses, Pike Road has been incredibly blessed by her dedication and imagination. As a parent, I am deeply grateful for the positive impact the Pike Road Way has already had on my children, and the tremendous opportunities that are in front of them which would not have been possible without her vision.

I'm convinced that people who don't see it that way simply do not yet realize how outdated and dysfunctional the traditional industrial model of education truly is for the information age of today, much less how woefully inadequate it will be for the world of tomorrow. Because traditional education "worked" reasonable well for them (not so much because of what they actually learned but because of the social pathway it cut for them into college and the workforce), they assume it should work for their children as well. To that I can only say that twenty years from now I believe Dr. Freeman's legacy will vindicate itself.

So let me just say, Suzanne—thank you. Thank you, not in spite of your weaknesses, but rather because of your weaknesses, for they are only the shadows of your strengths, and those strengths indeed shine bright. Thank you for all that you did, and all that you endured. Thank you for the impact it will have for generations on our children, on our town, and on the many other schools that will benefit from following your lead. Even your mistakes will become pearls of wisdom that will bless others. To God be the glory.

Time to Go to Work

And now, to the point of my whole blog post. What's next for PRS? The easy answer is that it's time for Dr. Ledbetter to go to work, building on Dr. Freeman's foundation, fixing what needs fixed, strengthening what needs reinforcement. Hire new teachers. Set new standards. Open that new middle school. Build that high school. We'll be cheering for you from the sidelines!

To which I say, no, no, no! It is not simply time for Dr. Ledbetter to go to work. It's not just time for administrators and teachers to go to work. It is time for parents to go to work!

Did you join a concerned parents group? Good. Now join the PTSA. Did you hashtag #bringthepositive? Good. Now bring it all year long. Did you express an opinion about project based learning? Good. Now go read a book about current issues impacting education.

You've got all summer ahead of you. Read a book to your kids. Talk to them about social issues in the news. Have them work on some every-day math. Build something together. You are your own child's "lead learner." Creating a culture of life-long learning starts at home!

And when August comes back around—which it will in the blink of an eye—show up. Show up for the board meetings like you did when the superintendency was on the line. Show up for the PTSA meetings and the parent teacher conferences. Show up as volunteers in the classroom. Show up with words of encouragement for our lead learners.

Dads, let me say a word to you. About 300 of you showed up for our initial Watchdog Dads program launch. Only about 20 actually took a day off and volunteered in the school. I'm not discouraged by that; it was a good start. But we can do better next year. Unless your job does not provide vacation days, there's no reason you can't participate—if it's a priority for you. Be looking for our sign-up day this fall and be the first in line.

And what about the discipline issue? Let's be honest, our own kids are part of the problem. I know mine can be. My wife had to call me from school one day and have me Facetime with my 3rd grader who was acting disrespectfully. But it worked, and his behavior got better. We could all brush up on our own parenting and discipline skills. (As it happens I co-wrote a book on that topic, not that I'm an expert, but the biblical principles it is grounded in just might help someone.)

As for those other kids—the ones whose parents aren't involved, the ones who face the uphill battle of a broken environment—what if you took one of them under your wing? What if you became a coach in a local youth sports league, or signed up for a mentoring program, or invited that child to come to your kid's Sunday School class with you?

Here's the bottom line: if we can translate the same passion that parents brought for the future of our school over the past couple of months into an ongoing effort to partner in raising up all of our children, the sky is the limit for what Pike Road can achieve—as a school and as a community.

Dr. Freeman has retired. Dr. Ledbetter has been hired. But the Pike Road Way—that depends on you and me. Pike Road Parents, it's time to go to work.

Epiphany, Hope, and the prayerful theology of Rogue One

2016-12-31T07:22:00.000-06:00

Rogue One, the hugely successful spin-off story from the Star Wars universe released this holiday season, makes no secret that it's theme can be stated in one word: Hope. Indeed, the original 1977 Star Wars film bore the subtitle "Episode IV, A New Hope." Rogue One answers the question, both literally and symbolically, where does that hope come from? Of course, that's more than a question for "long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away;" it's a question all too appropriate for today.

[Spoilers follow.]

Like our world, Rogue One takes place in a world that has lost hope precisely because it has lost faith. The Old Republic has fallen, the Empire is in control, and the warrior-monk-like Jedi, "guardians of peace and justice for over a thousand generations," have been all but exterminated by the evil Darth Vader. We see this graphically symbolized early in the movie by enormous statues of the Jedi that have literally fallen into the sand of the moon of Jedha. This desert world is a sacred site of an ancient Jedi temple and source of the kyber crystals that power the Jedi's light sabres, now being ravished en masse by the Empire to power their new world-destroying weapon, the Death Star. The first test of this technological terror is to destroy once and for all the final remnants of the Jedi temple. The all encompassing machine of modernity has eclipsed the ancient world of arcane religion.

Yet out of this temple world emerge two characters critical to interpreting the meaning of Rogue One: unemployed guardians of the temple Chirrut Imwe and Baze Malbus. They represent two ends of the faith spectrum. Chirrut, who is blind, walks by faith and not by sight. Although not a Jedi, he is sensitive to the Force, the quasi-divine energy field that "surrounds and interpenetrates all living things and binds them together" in the Star Wars universe. Chirrut is the most openly religious figure we have seen in the Star Wars films, making a habit of praying frequently using the chant, "I am one with the Force and the Force is with me."

Baze, on the other hand, is clearly disenchanted with the Force, pragmatically preferring to refer to "luck" as an explanation for events (much like Han Solo's character early in A New Hope). Although clearly devoted to his friend Chirrut, Baze calls him a "dreamer" and a "fool." In one scene, Chirrut's impressive ability to fight blind has enabled him to defeat a squadron of storm troopers, yet he would still have been defeated by their reinforcements if Baze had not stepped into to blast them with his kyber-powered gun. When Chirrut claims "the Force did protect me," Baze insists to the contrary, "I protected you!"

Yet, in a seemingly throw-away line that I missed the first time I saw the movie, Chirrut mentions that before the defeat of the temple, Baze had been the most devout believer among its guardians. However, the idea that Baze is not simply an unbeliever, but a man who has lost his faith, is critical to the message of the whole film, as becomes clear in the crucial final battle on the world of Scarriff. There, the main characters, Jyn Erso and Casssian Andor, are attempting to steal the plans to the Death Star, including the details of a weakness intentionally engineered into the giant space station by Jyn's father. The entire planet is surrounded by a defensive energy shield, trapping the rebels on the surface, but they can still get the plans out using a massive satellite dish atop the imperial citadel. To do this, however, they need to link the communication system to their own ship via a master switch located near its landing platform.

Chirrut Imwe gives his life to flip that master switch. Praying in his Force chant, he walks out into the crossfire of battle against his friend Baze's objections. Miraculously, he survives long enough to flip the switch before sustaining a fatal wound. In his dying moments, Baze comes to his side, and Chirrut assures him that he need not fear because he will now be truly one with the force. Rather than reinforce Baze's disbelief of the Force, Chirrut's self-sacrificial death reignites his faith. Baze begins to pray where his friend left off, chanting as he goes to his own death in battle, "I am one with the Force and the Force is with me."

The first time I saw the movie, I was disappointed by this moment. Baze's conversion seems to accomplish nothing. He is not empowered to accomplish any heroic action before his death by his return to the Force. Yet I was missing the entire point. Baze's prayers are not the means to his salvation; they are his salvation. His prayer is the heroic action.

In fact, Chirrut and Baze are enacting on a personal scale what the main characters in the film are acting out on a large, symbolic scale. Let's be honest: except as a plot device, it makes no sense that Jyn and Cassian must use the enormous communications dish to relay the Death Star plans to the rebellion. Although there is a weak attempt at justification when a character refers to the massive amount of data in the files, elsewhere in the Star Wars universe we see transmissions of data across vast interplanetary reaches, even from within hyper-space travel. The completed download of the files is able to fit on a small disc that can be inserted into an R2 unit. So what's the point in all the drama about the satellite dish?

Simply this: the dish is a metaphor for prayer. It must be aligned directly upwards to send its signal. It is the direct inverse of the downward pointing dish of the Death Star's destructive power. Only if it is able to send its message up into the heavens can hope survive. The energy barrier surrounding the planet has cut off heaven from earth, and it is this barrier that the rebellion must break through—which they find a way to do only moments after Baze's death. At one point, in doubt after after giving his all to help send the signal, Cassian asks Jyn, "do you think anyone up there is listening?" Jyn assures him that there is, and it is in this faith that they are able to serenely face their own death. To pray is to have hope.

What does all this have to do with Epiphany? Only this. The traditional season of epiphany begins on Jan. 6, after the 12th night of Christmas, and ends on the day of Jesus's presentation in the temple, also known as Candlemas. In the account of this event in Luke's gospel we meet a "guardian of the temple," a man named Simon. In a time when Israel's hope had been lost, the true kingdom destroyed, and empire ruling, and the glory of God gone from the temple, Simon waited in the prophetic assurance that "he would not die until he had seen the Lord's Messiah." Upon beholding the Christ child, Simon was not saved from death. Rather, like Chirrut and Baze, Cassian and Jyn, Simon went to death willingly, for he knew that his prayers had been heard.

“Sovereign Lord,

now let your servant die in peace,

as you have promised.

I have seen your salvation,

which you have prepared for all people.
He is a light to reveal God to the nations,
and he is the glory of your people Israel!”

—Luke 2:29-32 NLT

In the child that Mary placed into his arms, Simon saw that the world had been given a New Hope. It did not matter whether he lived or died, for the hope was not merely about himself; it was about trusting that "someone up there is listening" and our faithfulness in prayer on earth below does have its faithful response in heaven above.

In a modern age of military-industrial Death Stars and political-religious Darth Vaders, when it seems that all the saints and temples have fallen, and the sky itself seems to imprison our spirits, we need people like Chirrut to renew our faith. The dreamers and fools who continue to pray.