Seeing Through The Eyes of a Child, Part IV: Learning to Love and Be Loved and Stranger Things

       After a few more weeks off, we continue the series on Seeing Through the Eyes of a Child (see last post here), by finally giving a more direct follow-up to the consideration of Season One of Stranger Things, now that we have two seasons to consider.  Now, let me acknowledge right from the start that I am pretty late to the party when it comes to commenting on Season Three of Stranger Things.  What can I say?  July has been a busy month.  And no TV show should ever be my top priority (see Principle Number One).  Anyhow, in these two later seasons, we will notice a continuation in the theme in last month's post of children growing into a new phase in life, as season two placed them in middle school, while season three deals with their growth into teenage years.

Spoilers ahead Stranger Things, Seasons 1-3

Stranger Things, Season 2:

       The second season, as sequels often do, gave many fans a great deal to debate about: some loved this, others hated that, etc.  Some of those debates are interesting and perhaps even relevant.  But, as I often try to do in my better moments, I will avoid being drawn into all of them and try to stay focused and touch on a few of the interesting ways that the themes explored by the character development in the first season was moved forward in the second.  In order to support this focus, I will refrain from considering all of the various characters and relationships that explore some similar themes, but from a variety of different perspectives. 

Two of the more interesting themes we saw in the first season came to a fascinating collision point in the second: Chief Hopper learning to love (again) and Eleven learning to be loved.  Hopper becomes a kind of surrogate (and eventually adoptive) father to the young girl, who had just recently learned what it is like to be loved, by her new friends (first season), until she finally put her life on the line to save them.  The journey that these two undergo in learning to trust and respect one another is quite interesting to watch, as they each carry with them the wounds from their past.  The eventual reconciliation that takes place in the truck on the way to close the gate, in the season finale, sums up the journey of their relationship together nicely.  His principle concern seems to be her protection, but also helping her learn and have the opportunity to live a "normal life."  Of course, the persistence of danger makes him reluctant to believe that that will ever really possible.  All of this is compounded by his fear of losing her, like he did his daughter.  The moment in which he acknowledges this and shares it with her is beautiful, not only because of his honesty and vulnerability, but even more because it is the moment that she realizes that he has come to love her as a daughter.  Despite his imperfections and failures, in him, she knows that she is loved.

Her friends had taught her the value of friendship and the wonders of having those you can trust.  But, her notion of parental love has been forever deeply wounded by her abuser, who she was taught to address as her "papa," as well as her separation from her mother.  At the end of season one, we saw both Joyce and Hopper directing a genuinely parental kind of care and concern toward her.  However, Hopper's fear-driven efforts to keep her safe lead him to keep her hidden from her friends, including this newfound surrogate mother-figure.  But it is when she learns that he has also kept her own real mother hidden, even lying to her about her being alive, that she runs away.  The discovery of her mother becomes a bridge to a new relationship, with her "sister" Kali.  The controversial seventh episode, which explores El's time with Kali and her band of outcasts does seem to serve an important purpose in the development of El's character.  It is a moment that enables her to make a choice of what she will do, not only with the abilities she has, but also with the wounds she has been dealt.  Kali teaches her that the safety that others will seek to offer her is an illusion, but she does not to have simply run and hide in fear.  Kali's solution is to go on the offensive, seeking to punish all those who have done harm to her and her friends.  She is consumed with revenge, but in a manner that is only an offensive, rather than defensive, approach to her own safety.  That is why the short dialogue when El finally chooses to leave and find her friends is so striking.  "They can't save you," to which El simply replies "No, but I can save them."   This is a beautifully heroic moment on a variety of levels.  El has chosen the selfless, heroic path of choosing to use her abilities to help her friends, rather than being consumed with revenge.  But, it is not simply a matter of choosing good over evil.  She has chosen not to live her life allowing her identity to be defined by her wounds.  She has suffered great injustices at the hands of others, but she is more than merely a victim.

Those who are consumed with revenge will tell you they have chosen the stronger path, that they are not simply victims.  But, the fact that they are fixating upon a path of revenge, shows that their own internal sense of identity has not truly moved beyond the identity of a victim.  Perhaps it is true that our mission, the actions we choose to guide our path in life, always flows out of our identity, rooted in relationship, whether we like it or not.  Kali has chosen to remain on the path that keeps her identity rooted in her victim-hood.  It is true that she has found a kind of community and friendship, in which they find degrees of strength and security with one another.  But, they foster within one another the sense of identifying as those who have been outcast by the injustices done to them.  They aide one another in the process of allowing the identity of victim to become even more deeply rooted in themselves.  The relationships they have known are marked by abuse, in one way or another.  These relationships have forged within them the identity of a victim.  This identity becomes only more deeply rooted within them, as the fruit they bear is simply one of exacting revenge on their abusers.

Like them, El has also known abuse at the hands of those who provided her the only relationships she knew for most of her childhood.  Once she escaped and discovered true friendship, and even a kind of parental love in Hopper and Joyce, she found a greater strength than that to which Kali is clinging.  She is able to truly say that she is more than just a victim, because she is a friend and a daughter.  Her return to Hawkins to save those who have taught her about real love is a moment of true triumph, because it is a return to those identities that are rooted in love.  Yes, she has been hurt.  But, she has also been loved.  In this love, she finds a new identity.  Her return does force her to go back and face her wounds, which is symbolized both by the return to Hawkins Lab and by closing the gate that she opened - a gate that bears a striking resemblance to an open and oozing wound, which unleashes havoc and horrors on those she loves most.  Her journey invites us all to ponder: What will we do with our wounds?  Will we simply seek to make others suffer for them?  Or will we confront them and allow them to be healed?  Will we allow ourselves to be loved, so that we may love, in the form of heroically selfless acts? 

Stranger Things, Season 3:

Once again, Season Three has El and Hopper parted early in the season, sending them on separate journeys destined to collide again at the conclusion at the end of the season.  And once again, this reunion at the series finale might be the most fitting place to begin from.  While the tragic loss of Hopper (unless he is somehow the "American" in the prison in the mid-credits scene) is a great loss, it gives way to explore Joyce's role as a new mother to El, as she takes her in.  She was always trying to coach Hopper in how to parent El anyway, which gives way to the beautiful and emotional conclusion, in which El reads the speech that Hopper could not bring himself to give her at the beginning of the season.  In a very straightforward manner, he acknowledges that she reawakened his heart and allowed him to love again.

Of course, it is fair to say that that process started with Joyce, when he first devoted himself to helping her find her son in Season One.  Thus, it is no surprise that most of the season focuses on exploring his relationship with Joyce.  And of course, just at the point that it is progressing to the point of them both being able to open, honest and vulnerable with one another, it all apparently ends.

Meanwhile, El's journey, also rather unsurprisingly, focuses more on her relationship with Mike and the other children.  Her growing friendship with Max is important on various levels, especially since her silly and unfounded jealousy in Season Two closed her off from her.  Now, she is free to become friends with this fellow "member of her own species," which also sets the stage for El to care more genuinely for Max, when she finds herself grieving her step-brother.  But, Max's role is also largely one of coaching her in her relationship with Mike.  As is the current trend within pop culture, the growth in the central romantic relationship features Mike learning to trust and respect her, with very little reciprocal lesson-learning on her part, other than her being "liberated."  <sigh>  Nonetheless, the lessons learned that strengthen their relationship and enable them to begin again are valuable lessons well worth learning.  In particular, the lesson regarding boundaries, while not fully developed, was refreshing.  While Hopper failed to help them learn this lesson as he had hoped, it was eventually at least partially learned by the intervention of Max, which enabled Mike to realize his selfishness in wanting to have her "all to himself."

The moment in the conclusion in which she is able to understand that he can't bring himself to tell her that he loves her to her face, so she simply tells him, "I love you too," shows us clearly that her friends and her newfound parental figures have helped her to be able to receive love deeply enough that she is able to give it in return, even when it is not expressed by the other as it ought to be.  Given that this was the girl who had to learn from them what it even means to be loved, this simple little moment is of great importance.

One final aspect to speak of is her role in helping Billy to reclaim the best of himself.  Again, the growing friendship between Max and El enables us to appreciate this a bit more deeply.  The twist is that this season enables us to realize that Max not only sees his wickedness up close, but she also cares for him with more compassion and concern than we have yet seen.  She is still his sister.  When Max and Billy entered the story in Season Two, it was an interesting move for the writers to make the grand mystery of their story and why they are "stuck together" and "family now" actually turn out to be quite ordinary.  It gives them an access point for countless people who have had similar experiences in mixed families.  The glimpse of the abusive and belittling behavior of Billy's dad in that last season gave us our first hint as to why Billy is so outrageously and unbelievably awful at being anything that resembles a decent human being.  In fact, they made him so awful - and then leaned into that awfulness at the start of the next season by showing him as a horrible lifeguard, screaming and swearing at and insulting the children he is supposed be keeping safe and then ignoring them, while he tries to set up an adulterous affair with a married woman who is probably one of their mothers - that it was unsurprising that they used him as a sort of villain.  Yet, by making him the first of "the flayed," they made him more of a victim who plays the role of a villain.  Naturally, this conveniently perfectly matches the "wounded wounder" character type they had already established for him.  Only when faced with an evil this great, do we see any semblance of decency fighting for dominance in his psyche.  It is interesting how, even if subconsciously, he is able to use El's journeys into that odd space she goes into, in order to spy on people, as a space where he can reach out to her and offer her a memory, which she is able to later use to bring him back to control over himself.  In her journey through his memories, she glimpsed some of his deep wounds.  But, she also glimpsed a deeper innocence within him, reaching deeper back into his childhood.  In a sense, she is able to give control back to that child that he once was, a child that is not yet broken by his wounds, but is secure, happy and free in the love of his mother.  This is what enables him to die a hero.

Our wounds cut us very deep. And the more that they derive from meaningful relationships in our lives the more they influence the sense of identity that carries over into our actions.  These wounds don't have to be what defines us. They can be healed. We can learn to give control to the child within, the child who is not defined by those wounds. The experience of being loved enables us to develop a secure sense of identity, out of which we can give love to others.

May we go to Love Himself, to Our Heavenly Father, in order to discover the Power of that Love that heals us and sets us free to love.

<<<Previous Thoughts on Seeing Through the Eyes of a Child

Discerning the Spirits of the Force, Episode IX: Hope Rises (Belonging, Family & Communion)

By now, a whole range of opinions and perspectives have been offered and shared about The Rise of Skywalker, the conclusion of the epic Star Wars "Skywalker Saga."  Here's my two-cents.  You can keep the change.

We recalled the fall of night (prequel trilogy), after considering some of the insights offered within the glimpses of the dark of night (Rogue One and Solo), the long dawn of a new hope (original trilogy), and now we come back to the desperate attempts of hope to rise again, amidst a mysterious new nightfall (sequel trilogy).

When Abrams first indicated his intention to make Episode IX a fitting conclusion to the entire saga, some of us were left nervously intrigued to see how he would connect it to the prequels.  Would he bring back midi-chlorians to explain Rey's origin? Would Snoke turn out to be Darth Plagueis? Would he actually have the nerve to follow through somehow on the infamous Darth Jar-Jar theory?  Interestingly enough, the basis of the Darth Plagueis theory was staring at the answer and not seeing it. The dialogue in Revenge of the Sith about Plagueis teaching his pupil the secret to cheating death was indeed foreshadowing (even if only retroactively), but in a much simpler and more obvious way, which ties the whole saga together much better.  Sure, introducing the villain of the sequel trilogy in the last episode of the prequel trilogy would have made for an interesting connection, but it would not have made the nine episodes feel like a complete whole in the end. The idea that Palpatine was dark-prophesying his own eventual return from the dead does that far more effectively. 

It was Palpatine orchestrating things all along... all over again. Admittedly, it might seem like such an easy solution to tie things together, in that it lends towards some explanations that were able to be left still quite vague.  Nonetheless, it's kind of... perfect, however "easy" it might seem.  Palpatine was always the main villain of the saga, who first entered the series (substantially anyway, with the exception of that one hologram scene) in the third episode of the original trilogy, after having been in the background, pulling the strings, while hidden from the audience - just like with this trilogy, only this time he was hidden from most of the characters as well.  His role within this final trilogy emphasizes even more how deeply connected his scheming and maneuvering for power is with his fixation on corrupting and exploiting the powerful Skywalker family.  But, why is this family so important?  Why are they such a great threat to him?  Because the most powerful weapon of all is found in the Skywalker family: Hope.

In hindsight, the sequel trilogy was about Palpatine, hidden behind the scenes, trying to destroy this hope once and for all and coming so close that he brought the whole galaxy to the brink of despair. But, this hope would rise again.  That is part of what hope does and so it is what the Skywalkers do, as well.  And the great irony is that Palpatine's own granddaughter would be the key to that rise, in more ways than one.

Running through all nine episodes was the notion of people looking to the Skywalker family for hope, and Palpatine attempting to kill that hope.  It began with young Anakin.  While many of the masters on the council were very cautious, there were also a number of Jedi who looked to Anakin for hope, believing he was the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy.  Even after his fall, the hope of his redemption was still alive, symbolized by the tears of conflict and pain on his face.  Thus, his face was covered, so that others (including himself) would believe that the menacing evil on the outside was his true identity.  The hope that Anakin seemed to hold was believed to be dead. Until a new hope rose in the form of the next generation of Skywalkers: Luke and Leia.  So great was the hope this new generation of Skywalkers would bring that one of them, Luke, would see through the mask and be adamant that hope was still alive for their father.  This new hope would reclaim their father just before his death and apparently restore the galaxy to a new era of relative peace.

Until the new scheming of Palpatine, who secretly has risen in the shadows, would begin to be put into affect, with the rise of the First Order, apparently so called in order to prepare for the Final Order (and admittedly, this is one of the parts that is harder to believe, that Palpatine remained in the shadows, while raising so vast of an army, even though he probably used clones).  But, if this new scheme was to effectively destroy hope, it had to include a personal attack on the Skywalkers.  Conveniently, the third generation is much like the previous generations: incredibly powerful - making him a quite useful pupil - but greatly conflicted and troubled.  If he could be turned, it would be the greatest weapon against the hope in the hearts of Luke and Leia.  And he too would stubbornly seek to use a mask to hide the hope found in the conflict on his face.  Ben was not the sort who would likely have fallen for Palpatine appearing as himself to lure him to the dark side, especially after the resilience that his uncle showed.  But, if he could believe that it is his own grandfather leading him down this path, he could be swayed.  And the idea that it was some other dark master (whether Palpatine or simply Snoke) deceiving him in this regard is always the only explanation that I think would have worked for me.  Why would Anakin, who was reclaimed in the end, be leading his grandson down a dark path?  It had to be a grand deception.  One remaining question I wish they would have answered is why and how the real Anakin is silenced.  It is true that we don't know much about how the "Jedi afterlife" of being "one with the Force" is supposed to work.  Nonetheless, it doesn't seem likely that if Luke, Obi-Wan, and Yoda can visit their pupils, that one as powerful as Anakin could not appear to his grandson to reveal the truth.  There may be a good explanation, I just wish Abrams had chosen to include it in the movie somewhere.  But, when the final piece of Palpatine's plan - his incredibly powerful granddaughter - entered the scene, she would actually become the final piece of the puzzle of the unraveling of his scheming.  She would assist the Skywalkers in recovering their hope, as they assist and guide her in bringing the hope within her into its full glory.

The story of Rey has always been deeply intertwined with that of the Skywalkers, just as the story of her grandfather has always been.  Some criticize the notion that she "becomes" a Skywalker, claiming that her story is about paving her own path and realizing that she doesn't need anyone to determine her identity.  I'm sorry, but that claim completely misses the point.  That kind of radical individualism fails to understand the glory of humanity, which is found in our capacity for relationship.  And while there is real danger in looking to others to tell us who we are, the reality is that identity and belonging will always be deeply intertwined.  Rey's story certainly is about realizing that her past and her family of origin do not determine her destiny.  But, it is also about her quest for belonging.  She doesn't truly belong to the Palpatine family, in the sense that her evil grandfather wants to think, but she does belong somewhere.  When listening to the words of the villains, we should consider precisely how and why they are lies.  Palpatine could not be more wrong when he says "the only family you have here is me."  Likewise, Kylo Ren was quite wrong when he told her "you have no part in this... you're no one, but not to me."  He attempted to lure her into finding her identity in him.  But, it is more than the fact that she is a Palpatine that gives her a place in all of this.  She has found the belonging that she was seeking in the Skywalker family.  Part of that belonging includes that she would play a key role in helping Ben himself realize that he still belongs in that family as well.  It's not too late. 

Come on.  I know I'm not the only one who thought of that song... :)

And this notion of belonging is an incredibly important theme to this conclusion to the trilogy, which told the story of various characters seeking belonging.  In this finale the contrast between the lie of despair and the reality of communion was very apparent.  Indeed, as we hear first from Zorii Bliss and later from Poe Dameron, the enemy wins by making us think that we are alone. We are not alone.  This was a beautiful theme to see coming across so strongly in a story that has always been about family and about the hope of redemption within that family and rising from that broken family into the rest of the galaxy.  But especially striking was the contrast between that lie of despair which tells us that we are alone and the element of communion (presumably in the Force) among the Jedi even beyond this life, which was emphasized in this movie more than any other.  When we first see Rey, she is in meditative state, calling out to the Jedi of every age: "Be with me."  In this initial attempt, she gives up in frustration, deciding "they're not with me."  But, this seems to be less a sense of genuine abandonment from the Jedi and more a sense of her frustration with her own apparent inability to commune with them.  It seems more about insecurity than about any genuine lack of communion with them.  This all foreshadows the moment she is nearly beaten, with most of the "life force" drained out of her and again calls out to them, "Be with me," only to be truly strengthened by them to rise again to her feet and face her foe.  She is not alone or abandoned, and her evil grandfather is not the only family she has there.  They are truly with her and able to assist her in her moment of need. As a Catholic priest, I was deeply enriched to see this glimpse of the reality of the communion of saints, whose days on earth have run their course, but are able to assist us and to truly be with us, by our communion in the Body of Christ, which reaches from Heaven to earth.

Also interesting is the contrast between the notion of her communion with those who have gone before and the very different sense in which her grandfather means that he is "All the Sith."  The Sith have always sought dominance, with masters and apprentices seeking to overthrow and supplant one another.  Palpatine is seeking to tempt his granddaughter to take his own life, but only so that he can take from her, by allowing his spirit to pass into her.  Palpatine claims the power and perhaps even the souls or the "life force" of the Sith who have gone before by being the dominant one who has taken them unto himself.  By contrast, Rey has chosen the selfless path of the Jedi and so has found genuine communion with the Jedi who have gone before, who have given themselves to her, by coming to her aide and entering into this communion with her.  This is where authentic communion comes from: making of one's life a gift given to others.

Furthermore, this emphasis on communion & belonging also helps to redeem the very weak and problematic immature portrayal of rebellion in The Last Jedi.  The emphasis of the strength of this new rebellion is now being placed on the fact that they find hope in one another, not simply in their rejection of the authority they are fighting.  In a final attempt to state the case, I want to again assert that rebellion can be an instrument of hope in the right consequence, but it is not the source of hope.  It is not to be celebrated or promoted unconditionally.  If it is always to be promoted, implying that the rebels will always be the good guys and the authority will always be the bad guys, then it is not a tool of hope, but of despair.  Why?  Because if this is truly the case, then there can be no hope of having an authority ruling that is not corrupt and in need of being overthrown.  The vision that this notion implies is that there is no hope of justice, peace and harmony, but rather that the perpetual struggle between corrupt authorities and righteous rebels is an inescapable destiny (more on this here).  Rather, the emphasis is now being placed on the fact there are many others who are willing to fight for goodness, justice, and right.  This is a far more hopeful message, rather than simply celebrating rebellion in its own right.

This takes us to the final matter of whether it is right for Rey to claim to be a Skywalker in the end.  I offer the opinion that it most certainly is.  I must admit that I did not immediately come to this conclusion, but left the theater thinking this was still one of the weaker aspects of the movie.  The more I thought about it and discussed it with friends, I began to quickly and quite decidedly change my mind. One can belong to a family by adoption. As I've said, Rey's story has always been about finding belonging, not simply her origin, but where she belongs. To what family does she belong? She found that in Luke, Leia, and Han and also somewhat in Ben.  Furthermore, the idea that one's blood matters, but it does not determine their destiny has always been an important theme.  Although he was much like his father, Luke was capable of not only his own redemption, but also his father's.  Rey's path wasn't to pursue the redemption of her grandfather, like Luke's (that would have been a far cry, to say the least).  But, the idea that she could help redeem the Skywalker line, while the Skywalkers help her redeem even the line of Palpatine (even if not him personally) - that's pretty intriguing.  One of the main concerns I did have with her taking the name Skywalker at the end is that it could seem disrespectful to her parents, who seem to have been honorable, admirable and heroic people, who certainly began the process of redeeming the Palpatine line.  But, in another sense, it seems to honor their sacrifice.  Did they not "become no one" in hopes that she would have a better life, a life not plagued by the legacy of her grandfather?  I think it really is quite fitting.  The blood of the Skywalker line is gone (as far as we know), but not only is their legacy alive, their family is alive. Star Wars has always been largely about family and belonging and this movie was especially so.  The lie of despair was uttered by her grandfather, who claims to be the only family she has.  But, she has found a genuine sense of belonging in the Skywalker family.  And in her, the Skywalker name, a name that has been almost synonymous with hope, rises again.   

<<< Go back to Episode VIII

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And with that, I sign off (more on that here).  Thank you to anyone who has ever given this blog a bit of your time and mental energy.  I hope that it has helped you in any way, not only to better appreciate a story or song that you enjoy, but to recognize more clearly the Truth, Goodness and Beauty that is attempting to speak, however imperfectly, through any genuine human expression.  May the errors that we find in pop culture be seen through, in order to recognize that our God is present everywhere, trying to get our attention.  May glory be to Him in Jesus Christ, His Son now and forever, for we find salvation from the lies that surround us in Him alone.  God bless you.

Discerning the Spirits of the Force, Episode VIII: Recalling the Fall of Night

This entire series has dealt very little with the prequel trilogy.  It's time to offer a few thoughts. Since J.J. Abrams keeps insisting on his intention to bring a fitting conclusion, with reference to all nine episodes (and we will find out how that goes so soon that some of you may already know, by the time you read this), I suppose I should follow suit.

With Rogue One, the concept of a new kind of prequel was introduced, which leaned heavily into the notion that it's always darkest just before the dawn.  Meanwhile, Solo attempted to offer a slightly more playful and lighthearted moment a bit earlier in this "dark of night" phase.  But, before these new "Star Wars Stories," there were the original prequels designed to show us all how the night fell in the first place.  It began in a sort of moment of twilight, when a hidden threat, a phantom menace, was creeping upon a fragile republic, which was losing faith in its leadership.  It progressed into a sort of long dusk, only to end in a moment of darkness so deep that it seemed that the very light of hope had been sent scrambling forever into hiding.  Yet, that hiding was just a matter of waiting for the dawn.

Thus far, I've kept the prequels as a sort of can of worms I've chosen not to open. There are a number of reasons for that, beyond simply that it's not exactly my favorite aspect of the universe.  Even more basically, I thought, if I were to comment on them, where would I start? 

I could add my voice to the chorus of commentators who have already pointed out the illogical nonsense to which Jedi apparently ascribe, as revealed by the silly Obi-Wan quote: "Only a Sith deals in absolutes" (one of a great many absolute statements that the Jedi follow).

On one hand, I could say many positive things about how accurately the subtlety and insidiousness of evil is depicted in the brilliant scheming of Palpatine.

Or perhaps I could reflect on the good and the bad of the understanding of the Jedi commitment to celibacy, comparing and contrasting it with the understanding of celibacy in the Catholic priesthood and religious life.  These views on celibacy, namely that of the Jedi and that of the Catholic Church, are quite distinct from one another and might bear an interesting blend of similarities and also very significant differences. Unfortunately, the only perspective the movies offer us of what the Jedi intend in this commitment is from one who doesn't seem to understand it very well, and whose rejection of it leads to his downfall.  

On a related topic, I could comment about how obvious it was - and certainly should have been to a strong and intelligent woman like Padme - that this same confused young Jedi's romance was never healthy or stable. 

Perhaps I could focus a post on the notion of the prophecy of the chosen one, and how it seemed to be a compensation for the fact that Anakin turned out not to be the kind of character that most viewers would sympathize with.  Much effort was seemingly put into showing the brokenness of Anakin's nature (even at the earliest stages) which showed him as being quite susceptible to the influence of evil from the beginning.  This was done so effectively that he didn't really seem to possess much of the natural goodness and virtue that might have been expected from some of the high praise spoken of him in the original trilogy.  Thus, it seemed as if some other basis had to be established for the high expectations that many of the Jedi had for him.  Whether it was the original intention or not, building the story around a prophecy was one potential way of compensating for that narrative predicament, even if it did mean that something as silly as the midichlorians would be needed to establish a key reason why a Jedi Master would associate this young slave boy with this prophecy.

However, this final thought seems to point us to what might be the best aspect to focus on.  Isn't it interesting how Lucas chose to show us so many of Anakin's faults, and particularly in manner that resembles some of the character traits that would be passed on to his son?!  When we think of the impulsive and emotional young man that made both Obi-Wan and Yoda nervous when he left his training on Dagobah to go rushing into a trap at Bespin, it gives new meaning to the fact that this is "the son of Anakin Skywalker."  

This can help us appreciate even more strongly the fact that Luke was not mastered by these qualities.  He was not doomed to be a villain, but was even capable of helping his father realize that it wasn't too late for him either and that he need not be identified by his weaknesses.  The most striking scene in the entire trilogy might be the tears we see on Darth Vader's face, after he carried out the command to slaughter his master's own allies, now revealed to be mere pawns, whose lives had absolutely no value to him.  This moment enables us to see with our own eyes the conflict that Luke could sense within him.  We saw that beneath that menacing mask was the pain of vulnerability and desperation, to which the pride of this young man was desperately clinging, grasping at greater power, as the only hope of eventually overthrowing his wicked master.

The fact that Lucas did a good job of helping us to understand the man beneath the mask, and particularly by honing in on those character traits that came natural to his son, actually helps to set the stage for the sequel trilogy.

First, consider Ben Solo (Kylo Ren).  Many fans complain that he is not a villain nearly as menacing as Darth Vader.  Well, my first reply to that is that that is part of the point!  Personally, I would have found it far more tiresome if they had made it their goal to simply make everything an amplified version of what they had already done, such as trying to have a villain even more menacing than Darth Vader.  But, my second reply is that he may not resemble Vader as much as he would like to think, but he does resemble Anakin.  By accentuating the character traits that might run in the family and showing how this might include both being very powerful and also being plagued by some character defects that led Anakin to ruin, and very nearly caused his son to fall right into the snares that he and his evil master would set for him, the creators of the sequel trilogies were left with a very interesting template for what Anakin's grandson might be like.  Granted, Ben has a lot of unique hang-ups of his own, just as no one is an exact clone of any of their ancestors.  But, it still is not hard to believe that this emotional and impulsive young man with far more power than he knows what to do with is a Skywalker.

Next, consider the portrayal of Luke in the sequel trilogy.  I know this is another point in which many of my fellow fans will disagree with me, but I've already stated my case (here and here).  Some criticize the sequel trilogy for its creators' choice to use so many elements of the narrative structure of the originals as a starting point into which to introduce variations. Personally, I would have been disappointed had they not done this. The specific narrative structure of a trilogy has always been an important part of the story. Had they not engaged that narrative structure in the final trilogy, it would have felt even more disjointed and certainly not like a complete whole, once all nine episodes were finally complete.  The interesting aspect of how they have done this is that they took seriously the question of what would happen when the young upcoming heroes of the original trilogy step into very different roles within the narrative. Han Solo is a very different character than Obi-Wan Kenobi!  So, it would be very interesting to see how differently things would unfold when he steps into the same role within the narrative that Obi-Wan previously occupied.  Again, I know many fans disagree, but I think Abrams executed this marvelously. Similarly, the role occupied by Yoda in the narrative of the original trilogy - that of the wise old master, who is now a little bit out of his mind as he lives isolated in a remote and secluded exile, prompted by his failure, until his solitude is disrupted by a enthusiastic young would-be Jedi seeking training and guidance - would look quite different when it is occupied by "the son of Anakin Skywalker."  All the more so, when one considers how deeply personal the failure that sent him into exile is and how it is intertwined with the unique character arc of his disturbed nephew, the resulting picture when the young heroine comes seeking his supposed wisdom would be quite a different picture indeed.  I must say that this was not the most disappointing part of that movie, but was fairly well done overall.  

The point is that the role of these two characters - the second and third generations of the Skywalker family - in the sequel trilogy can be better appreciated because of this broader view of the whole family we are given, thanks to the closer look at Anakin's character in the prequels.  In general, the portrayal seemed to lean very heavily into his weaknesses, to the point that many viewers were left thinking "oh yeah, this kid is definitely going to end up as a sith!"  Nonetheless, there is a definite tension between his potential for good and his susceptibility to evil.  This tension is joined to the fact of how much he was manipulated by Palpatine's scheming, so that we are left still wanting to hold out some hope for his redemption.  The night falls, only to leave us waiting for the dawn, however long of a wait it may be.

<<<Back to Episode VII

To be concluded...

Discerning the Spirits of the Force, Episode VII: Another Hope

       So... when I said that an Episode VII would coincide with the release of Rise of Skywalker (if you don't know what I'm talking about, read this), you didn't think I would start a "third trilogy" and not finish it, did you?  I mean, once I start a series of commentary posts on Star Wars and label each post an "episode," it hardly seems fitting to end on seven, rather than finishing out the final "trilogy."  Perhaps it will be worthwhile to give each of the three actual trilogies of movies it's own final consideration, in order of their release.

       This upcoming long-awaited conclusion merits revisiting the earlier movies of the saga (most of them, at least).  With this latest viewing, something struck me about the movie that started it all: Star Wars, Episode IV: A New Hope.  Of all things, I was struck by the irony of the title - and let's just set aside for now all the discussions about when Lucas decided that "A New Hope" should be the title and whether this is in fact the "real" title of the movie and just acknowledge that it has been the title for decades, regardless of whether it was on the date of the movie's release.

       If you've read my thoughts in this series before (particularly, in Episode III, in which I discussed how Rogue One was a fitting prequel to it), you know that I have often been intrigued by the importance of HOPE as a key theme to this dawning moment in the saga, as well as the corresponding fittingness of this title that Lucas eventually decided to attach to the movie that started it all.  But, the aspect of this that struck me as even more significant (and I'm sure others caught this long ago) is the ironic connection of the title to one of the most iconic lines of the whole movie: "Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  You're my only hope."  Leia firmly believed that: her only hope was Obi-Wan.  Yet, Obi-Wan was waiting for a new hope, a very specific new hope.  The movie's whole sense of this moment of fulfillment that has finally arrived, after enduring decades of the dark days of the Empire, points to the truth: there is a new hope that is dawning.  Yet, the irony is that as the trilogy progresses, it becomes clear that this hope refers not simply to Luke alone, but as Yoda says "There is another," and as Obi-Wan later clarifies, "The other that he referred to is your twin sister."   

The great irony in Leia's famous words identifying Obi-Wan as the only hope is not only that the point of this movie is to introduce a new hope, but even that she herself is a part of that new hope.  Yet, she still looks desperately for hope elsewhere.  Even after Obi-Wan is gone, she then promptly begins to speak of finding a flaw in the Death Star plans as their "only hope" (ahem, Rogue One, anyone?). In reality, a new hope arrived at Yavin in the Millennium Falcon.  But, it wasn't the Death Star plans. It was her and her brother.

How often do we begin to lose hope when that in which we had placed our hope doesn't turn out as we had planned?  Can we accept that hope is simply misplaced, not lost?  Do we have our eyes open enough to recognize where hope is still alive around us?  Do we have enough faith to recognize when we ourselves might be a vessel of the hope that is still alive?  Perhaps a helpful paradigm for pondering these questions, when the plans in which we had placed our hope fall apart, might be the Serenity Prayer: 

Lord, 
grant me 
the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, 

the courage to change the things I can, 

and the wisdom to know the difference.  

Amen.

 

Go to Episode VIII>>>

<<<Back to Episode VI

Top 5 Songs Worth Learning to Listen to in 2019

We come to the end of yet another Church Year with the beginning of Advent.  One of the many great things this means is that it's time for another look back at meaningful and beautiful music from the past year.  The annual Top 5 Songs Worth Learning To Listen To list has evolved a little bit each year, especially with my ongoing attempts to diversify it.  However, this year (which may be the last - see here, if you don't know why), I am simply going back to the basics by not worrying about the diversity of the list or whether I've used that artist before.  This year, I am going back to the original plan of just sharing five songs (and an honorable mention or two) that I've discovered within the past year (notice that some of them may have been released earlier than 2019, but the artist can't have released a new album since then), which struck me as both meaningful and beautiful in a manner I describe as "worth learning to listen to" (for a more detailed explanation, see here).

Honorable Mention: Anxious

by Sarah Reeves

    Songs like this one make me grateful that the formation of this list has prompted me to spend a bit of time exploring Related/Similar Artist recommendations and seeking out new music, because otherwise I may not have stumbled upon Sarah Reeves, whose recent single "Anxious" is one that many people will find relatable and relevant.  The song is really quite straight forward and speaks for itself, but it portrays a beautiful picture that many people in our society today understand quite vividly.  It offers us the simple reminder that we weren't made for this crippling anxiety.  We were made for more.  It doesn't have to be this way.  

Honorable Mention: Someone To Talk To

by Tenth Avenue North

     This song is also fairly straight forward, but worthy of attention in its clarity and simplicity.  Throughout their latest album, Tenth Avenue North addresses the problem of "toxic shame" (which they distinguish from "healthy shame"), which plagues many Christians.  After a brief, spoken introduction, the album jumps straight into an upbeat anthem ("No Shame"), celebrating the joy of this life they are promoting of living free of toxic shame.  By track three ("Heaven Is Now"), they are setting out on what it looks like for them to seek to live and promote this shame-free life among their fellow Christians, first by committing to live the eternal life given to them now, making heaven more recognizably present in this life.  This sets the stage for the simple and honest "Someone To Talk To," which confronts the reality of shame head on, by speaking very candidly from the perspective of someone who comes to the Body of Christ simply needing "someone to hear about my shame." Instead, people who profess (and let's give them the benefit of the doubt, by presuming that we genuinely intend) to desire to help others to live the new life of grace, free from the slavery to sin, in the end, still sometimes (maybe even often) leave people nervously wondering "Can you handle my confusion?"  The lyrics to this song are powerful in their raw honesty, and ought to give all people (but Christians, especially) pause to consider how we receive someone who is generally trying to rise above their shame.  It becomes a powerful kind of stage-setter for the seriousness of the remainder of the album, as it leads directly into a kind of turning point, in the form of a spoken interlude which features someone reaching out to attempt to be a "safe space" for another who needs to know that they can still struggle, with the help of God's grace.  This leads directly into discovering the Mercy of God, which is "Greater Than All My Regrets," which empowers the person to recall that "The Future" is still full of hope, and that they don't have to be held back even by things like "Paranoia."  As the person struggling, yet striving to live this new life free of toxic shame, keeps "Reaching," and looking upward with the hope that their better days are still ahead, they begin to hear the Lord calling their name ("Call My Name") and choose to begin to give HIM "Space to Speak," which enables them to recognize that it has always been the Lord that they are seeking ("Always Been You") in looking for a safe space to bring their shame.  Each of these songs is worthy of learning to listen to and they flow together with beautiful, artful intentionality.  But, we should note that the spiritual maturity of the final tracks of the album is not arrived at easily and the possibility of it ever being reached may be compromised if the person does not first feel that they can approach the Body of Christ in the first place.  So, "Someone To Talk To" is a fitting, representative of the whole album on this list, because it speaks so directly to all of our need to learn to listen. 

5: Soon You'll Get Better

by Taylor Swift

     In the time that I've been composing these annual lists, I have done a great deal of pastoral work with teenagers and young adults, in a few different places.  I continue to be impressed how common it is to find young people - young ladies especially, but some young men as well - who identify strongly with Taylor on a level that is clearly very real and personal.  Whenever I hear yet another person say something like "she just gets me," it strikes me as potentially a very clear example of what I was trying to articulate in my initial description of what it means for a song to be Worth Learning To Listen To.  These are songs that draw the listener in, perhaps even gradually, as an apparent way of letting them know they are not alone on their journey.  It is very clear that Taylor has a gift for speaking the language of the heart of a significant portion of an entire generation, in a musical context that ends up being quite appealing.  I have enjoyed and even been impressed with her music before.  However, the song that has grabbed me most is the deeply personal track on her latest album: "Soon You'll Get Better."  Addressing a rather different topic from her usual offerings, this song shares her experience of dealing with the illness of her parents, especially her mother who she clearly loves very dearly.  In her usual style of raw honesty and vulnerability, Taylor paints a beautiful picture of her own process of coping with this difficult trial in life.  As it unfolds, it becomes a story of wrestling with acceptance, while looking desperately for hope.  Of course, I find the lyric in the first verse about prayer interesting.  In her search for hope, she speaks of "praying" to the "holy orange bottles" of medicine, yet immediately follows it by acknowledging that her desperation also leads her to pray to Jesus.  Some Christians might have a negative interpretation of this, as if implying that praying to Jesus is something only desperate people do.  However, I think of it as an illustration of how Christ makes His presence known to us in suffering. That is why the dynamic of wrestling with both hope and acceptance is so important.  Christ is not absent when the hope of the sort of deliverance that simply takes our illnesses and troubles away seems to go unfulfilled.  As Christians, this is why we look to Christ on the cross in the midst of suffering.  It offers us a hint of the Resurrection and redemption, reminding us that this suffering is not the end of the story and that good can come even from the most horrible evils.  But, at an even more basic level, it simply reminds us that we are not alone in our suffering, because Christ suffers with us.  Songs such as this also have a way of reminding us that we are not alone in our suffering, particularly in that wrestling match between hope and acceptance.  This is the kind of song that just makes me want to say "Thank you.  Truly, thank you for sharing."

4: Perfect Love
by Josh Garrels 

     Not unlike "Someone To Talk To," the presence of this song on the list is not only due to the beauty of the song itself, but also to its fittingness as a representative of the masterful album of which it is a part.  It has been quite interesting to watch Garrels's career unfold.  Over time, his manner of communicating a depth of meaning with a refined simplicity has grown.  This latest album contains a beautifully crafted progression and flow from one song to the next, but also is quite interesting when considering the flow from album to the next.  While his last two albums were more different from one another, Chrysaline has an interesting way of feeling simultaneously like a long awaited follow up to both of these albums.  On one hand, it might seem like the grounded simplicity of Home is now being revealed to be stage of quiet waiting for the new life to begin to break out of its cocoon.  On the other hand, we can find definite reverberations of the apocalyptic tone of Love & War & The Sea In Between.  While its place in the flow of Chrysaline itself is quite meaningful and appropriate, "Perfect Love" also plays a bit like a follow-up to "Revelator," while translating the more apocalyptic tone into a more earthy portrayal of how the Divine Rider who rides on in triumph persistently makes His way through our own lives, making our lives new.  Drawing clearly on Psalm 45, the song speaks not only of the "Perfect Love" of Christ itself, but of how it perfects our own feeble and broken loves.  It is quite an important and beautifully crafted linchpin in this album, which  portrays the unfolding of the mystery of redemption in our lives, by which we begin to live the new life of the Resurrection, even in this broken world of death.

3: Native Tongue
by Switchfoot 

     We come to yet another returning artist, who has held a position on this list before.  Yet, Switchfoot never ceases to produce solid music with thought-provoking lyrics.  The title track of their new album Native Tongue invites us to rethink the question of what is most truly human.  It is a common pitfall for people to refer to our brokenness as being "only human."  In fact, the brokenness that results from original sin makes us less human, because our original nature was marked by original justice, purity, and holiness.  What we usually mean when we speak of being "only human" is more rightly called the human condition (as in the state in which humanity finds itself, after the fall).  Human nature is that deeper truth within us that is still present, although deeply broken, which reminds us that we were made for more and that our sinfulness and weaknesses are not actually natural.  They are the damaged remains of our nature, in the aftermath of the fall.  They are the evidence that "we forgot our sound."  In truth, we were made for love, not the many distortions of it for which we settle.  Love is our Native Tongue, the language we were made to speak. And as the song makes reference to, it is so because we were made in the image and likeness of "The same word from where the stars were flung."  The God who is Love is the Word, the Truth, the Wisdom, who designed all of creation and we are made in His image.  We should take this song seriously.   

2: Seal My Eyes Shut

by Steven Joubert 

      This song is one that is actually older than 2019, but I just discovered it this year.  I have had the privilege of getting to know Steven over two summers (2017 & 1019) that I took my parish youth to Alive in You camps, where he led the music. I was immediately impressed with his abilities (he is the one who introduced me to Hillsong Young & Free's "Only Wanna Sing" in 2017).  But, in between those two encounters, he released a new album of original music that is a true work of art.  Even the one cover on the album ("Leaning on the Everlasting Arms") is given new lyrics in the introduction, enabling it to serve as a more fitting transition, which only serves as evidence of Steven's commitment to the cohesiveness, progression, and flow within Pride and Joy.  Throughout the album, Steven draws on influences ranging from Dante to Teresa of Avila to produce lyrics that are thoughtful and honest, as they both present the reality of his own struggles and the kind of spiritual wisdom that enables one to begin to move through and beyond them.  The album truly moves from pride to joy, as it begins with an opening track that is as insightful as it is vulnerable, portraying the seven deadly sins as stubbornly taking up residence in the "Mansion" of his soul, leading all the way to the joyful optimism borne of a commitment to repentance in the closing track, "Start Again (The Glory Song)."  But, the choice to put the old self to death and repent, rather than allowing himself to remain paralyzed in that broken state, began all the way back in the second track, with "Stand."  That choice progresses to show how radical is his commitment to it in "Seal My Eyes Shut."  This song courageously acknowledges what theologians and spiritual masters have long held: that the eyes can often be the window through which many of the deadly sins creep into our souls.  We find ourselves losing sight of where our focus ought to be, as we look around and see things that move our hearts and minds to envy, gluttony, lust, greed, etc.  The things that we are looking upon are not be blamed; it is our hearts that need to be corrected.  That process takes time and commitment, supported by grace.  While it is a stark image that is not meant to be taken literally, the request to "Seal My Eyes Shut" represents a commitment to whatever it takes to be set free and put the old self to death.  This is indeed the path to true joy.  

1: Maybe
by Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors

      Have you ever newly discovered an artist you enjoy, well into their career (late to the party again), just in time for them to release another new album?  Well, that happened to me this year with Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors.  Dragons plays as a celebratory commitment to living a life of joy, which necessarily includes naming and slaying the "dragons" that seek to rob us of our joy.  One such dragon is clearly identified midway through the album with "You Want What You Can't Have," and apparently delivered a deadly blow immediately after with "Maybe." This standout track invites the listener to join him on the important realization that "Everything is never enough, takes you away from what you love."  This simply prompts him to ponder rhetorically: "Maybe we're not supposed to try everything."  This honest and down to earth advice is joined to a peaceful and relaxing melody, that seems to beckon us to sit back and settle into the wisdom it offers, which promises also the freedom from the frantic seeking of self-gratification.  That kind of freedom is what enables us to focus on living with a sense of purpose.  This focus on that which we love is essential to true joy. 

     

I suppose this little collection of songs comes together to offer us a simple word of encouragement: However difficult our struggles, it is still possible to live a life of love, hope and joy.  May we keep our eyes on the cross, with the hope of the Resurrection in our hearts, as we receive whatever reminders He offers us that we are not alone.     

<<<Back to the 2018 list...

To Be Concluded: Can There Be A Neverending Story?

As the decade draws to a close it seems as if it is a fitting time for the end of an era.  At least, many popular series seem to think so.  In January, we began the year with the conclusion to a story that many fans thought would never actually even become a series (as was originally intended), namely the conclusion of M. Night Shyamalan's "Unbreakable" series, Glass.  Even if not originally meant to be the conclusion, the long-running big screen story of the X-Men (or at least, the Fox iteration of it), which many people credit with spawning the current success of superhero blockbusters, finally reached its end (again) with this summer's Dark Phoenix.  A number of popular television series were finally concluded, such as Big Bang Theory and Game of Thrones.  And then, of course, there are the two massively successful Disney owned properties: the Marvel Cinematic Universe and Star Wars (both of which are featured extensively on Learning To Listen...).

If you watch Doctor Who, you get this reference.  If not, you probably don't.
The point is that the spoilers below are mainly for an older episode of Doctor Who.
The references to the Star Wars "Skywalker Saga" and Marvel's "Infinity Saga" won't be too spoilery.

Both of these represent a potentially endless saga, in which the writers will continue to expand outward, paving new paths and finding new stories to tell, all woven into the fabric of the same much larger story of that "universe."  Of course, there are clearly financial motivations behind the fact that they will not stop telling those stories any time soon.  Nonetheless, the central story of each of the franchises, which has always provided said franchise with unity, direction and purpose, is reaching its end. 

This makes sense, to some degree anyway, with Marvel, since the movies are based on stories and characters that originated in comics. As a medium, comic books are designed to be a continuous series of ongoing tales of the adventures of the heroes, which need not have a definitive ending. Of course, as the quality of the telling of those stories has evolved and improved through the years, the role of larger, often interconnecting, story arcs that can even weave separate stories together has increased, preventing the adventures of the heroes from becoming merely episodic and eventually stale.  From this perspective, it makes sense that the Marvel movies would finally conclude what they are now retrospectively calling "The Infinity Saga." In the same vein, it makes sense that this central saga would culminate with a movie that has a title like "Endgame," that it would finally retire a number of key characters, and also that it would feel like a conclusion in many ways, even to the point of foregoing the customary inclusion of a post-credit or mid-credits scene.  At the same time, however, it also makes sense that the same 'conclusion' would establish or continue to develop newer characters, who will carry the story forward and even hint at or set the stage for future story-lines.

Puns upon puns upon puns.
This meme originally posted on a post I rather enjoyed (here).

This way of doing things makes a lot of sense for a comic book story universe.  It allows for continuity, while also keeping things fresh and reducing the amount of over-saturation and fatigue audiences might feel toward particular characters or even elements of plot, while also having the additional practical advantage of giving actors whose contract has run out, who may be getting older or simply may feel ready to move on, the opportunity to do so. Overall, it all adds up to a remarkably impressive transfer of the actual mode of storytelling that comics books have utilized for decades into the more lucrative medium of major motion pictures.

Perhaps the more interesting example is how this same model is now being applied to Star Wars. The retrospective renaming of its central story as the "Skywalker Saga" is an interesting move, obviously designed to justify the forthcoming spin offs, which will enable then to continue to capitalize off of the story, despite the fact that the central saga was long understood to consist (eventually) of exactly nine episodes, organized into three trilogies.  Until recently, it made no sense to specify a "Skywalker Saga," because that was simply Star Wars. It always was the story.

This meme originally posted on my initial response to The Last Jedi (here).

At the same time, however, the notion that this story can become a starting point from which to branch out and explore other interesting stories has been explored for decades already, through various books, TV shows and even comic books.  From this perspective, the idea of giving the central story its own name, in order to move forward with more spin-offs can also be described as a creative way of transferring what has worked in various other mediums onto the big screen, not unlike what Marvel has accomplished.

Again, we still acknowledge the clear financial motivations behind these trends. Nonetheless, these new trends do prompt some interesting questions. Do stories actually end? Should they have a definitive conclusion, or embrace the ongoing opening of new chapters?  Can there really be a never-ending story?  Many experienced authors and other storytellers would readily assert that "yes, they do indeed have a clear ending" and that one mark of a good storyteller is that he or she has a clear sense of the ending toward which they are working. In general, I am not inclined to disagree with this notion. However, I think it could prove worthwhile to explore the question a bit further.

I have nothing further to say about Stranger Things (see here if you want).
But, this scene deserves credit for helping me decide to frame the question in this way.

One of the stories that I have really grown to enjoy, but I have never commented on here mostly because my own viewing is still years behind the current releases, is Doctor Who.  {I know, I'm really showing my nerd cards here: I usually talk about Star Wars and superheroes, but surprise, I also watch Doctor Who!  Don't worry, I won't start talking about Harry Potter next, but I would most definitely recommend that anyone reading this who hasn't read Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or The Chronicles of Narnia stop what you're doing and promptly begin doing so!}  In the regeneration of the Doctor, the show has found a helpful plot device to keep the story going over the years and keep things new and fresh, even with different actors playing the lead role in different seasons.  This has enabled the show to continue, with various stops and starts, across several decades.  So, the show is already an interesting reference point for this topic of whether or not there can truly be a never-ending story.  Recently, however, I viewed an episode that offered some further interesting reflections on the topic, namely the 2014 Christmas Special, "Last Christmas." (This is the episode that will be thoroughly spoiled, if you keep reading).

This Christmas Special involved a rather entertaining Santa Claus appearing, along with his elves and reindeer, as a fantasy, a captivating tale from the characters' childhood, which was in fact "a dream that was trying to save them."  This intervention came in the midst of a nightmare dream sequence they were caught in, thanks to the face-hugging alien "Dream Crabs."  The presence of Santa and the ongoing debate over whether he is real, despite that he was standing in front of them and talking to them, became a vehicle to reflect on the relationship between fantasy and reality, which also entailed a not-so-subtle reflection on faith.  The notion of 'a dream that is trying to save us' seemed to be particularly evocative of the increasingly common notion that faith can be good for people, regardless of whether or not it is true.  You may often hear this expressed, especially by those agnostics and atheists alike who are not hostile to faith, in the form of the belief that it is simply good to have something to believe in.  Now, this notion is interesting on several levels, besides the most basic level that it is sometimes supported by scientific evidence, such as the fact that faith has observable benefits to one's health.  While the notion that the object of our faith need not be real might be problematic on various levels, still the notion that faith itself provides evidence of its own capacity to "save us" is thought-provoking.  This fact alone leaves open the question of whether it might be real after all, as the closing scene of the episode hints at, implying that perhaps Santa was working in the real world after all.     

This was my first meme of The Doctor.  It was bound to happen eventually.

But, the more basic commentary on story came in the context of their attempt to figure out how they had all arrived at the North Pole.  Whenever the question came up, each character would compulsively say something like "It's kind of a long story."  At the end of the episode, after they find their way out of the dream sequence, we are given a quick glimpse of the "long story" which is that person's life.  It is as if to say this story has ended, but each of these characters come from a much larger, bigger story that will continue to go on.  And the concept of trying to escape the dream sequence gives us a hint at what that larger story might be called: Real Life.  That story goes on.

The concept of a story "universe" continues to explore this larger story, from which these characters come, which still goes on even after the present story reaches its end.  For us, as readers and viewers, it should also prompt us to consider that much larger story of which we are a part: Real Life.  The stories that capture our imagination can be like a dream sequence, from which we must learn to find our way back to reality.  One of the very principles on which this blog is built might be expressed by the notion from "Last Christmas" that they can be "a dream that is trying to save us," in the sense that they can have meaning.  This was Principle #2 of the Seven Principles, within which I try to operate.  But, the first and last of these principles focus even more directly on that larger story called "Real Life."  We must stay grounded and we must know when to let go.  The latter (knowing when to let go) does not have to apply only to knowing when a particular story is bad for you.  Even with good stories, it can mean simply knowing when it is time to return to reality.

This meme originally posted with an archived post about manhood, wounds and healing
inspired by the X-Men character Wolverine (here).

Over time, I realized how much these first and last principles were probably always subconsciously influenced by the Principle and Foundation of Saint Ignatius of Loyola's Spiritual Exercises, which has been very personally formative for me.  Ignatius proposed that we build on the foundation of remembering what we were made for: to praise, reverence and glorify God and by this means to obtain salvation (which is nothing less than living in eternal communion with God and with one another in Christ Jesus).  All created things are given to help us achieve this end, to stay focused on this goal.  We must make ready use of them only to the extant that they help us achieve that goal, but with a kind of detachment that he termed indifference (not a kind of callousness, but simply a focus on what is most important, resulting in a lack of attachment to other things).  This holy indifference motivates us to choose only what helps us stay focused on our purpose and rejects whatever becomes an obstacle to that purpose and goal.

Since I began this blog in 2016, it has been something that has helped me to seek meaning and thus to stay focused on my purpose and on living in reality, even while a number of new stories that captured my imagination were being released.  I hope it has done something similar for others out there.  Nonetheless, as this decade comes to a close and as the two main sagas on which I have spent the most time commenting reach their end (even if it is only a quasi-end), it is time for me to return my focus more directly to that larger story of which we are all a part: Real Life.  You may notice that 2019 has been a very active year for posting, as if I were making the most of this year.  That is because I made this decision at the beginning of the year and I did indeed want to make the most of it, or in some cases perhaps, to get some final thoughts out there.  This is not quite a final "signing off," as I will still post an Episode VII of "Discerning the Spirits of the Force," coinciding with the release of Star Wars, Episode IX: Rise of the Skywalker.  And I will post a "Top 5 Songs Worth Learning to Listen to in 2019."  Also, I can't guarantee that I won't ever decide to make a very rare, occasional post.  Who knows.  Maybe "Learning to Listen To..." is a never-ending story... but, let's just call this the end.

If anyone is reading this, truly I thank you and I hope this helped you, not only to better appreciate some of the stories that capture your imagination, but to better live within that larger story of which we are all a part: Real Life.

God bless you.