Discerning the Spirits of the Force, Episode VI: Torn Apart

       Well, it's the end of September already and we still have only speculations regarding a title for Episode IX.  Sure, those interested in the animated branches of the Star Wars saga have gotten some fun news recently, but those of us mostly invested in the movies are left to wait.  Alas.  I suppose I will use this as an opportunity to share some overflow of my thoughts regarding the current state of the overall saga, a few positive and a few significantly less positive.

       One track that I love on the soundtrack to The Force Awakens is entitled 'Torn Apart.'  This directly references the words of Ben Solo on the catwalk at that fateful, tragic moment.  But, it also seems to allude to the fact that he is not the only one being torn apart, particularly as Rey and Finn watched this man who had so quickly become a mentor to them so cruelly murdered by his own son (I discussed the merits of this self-sacrificial moment for Han in the last episode).  Yet, the sense in which Rey is being torn apart continues to grow in The Last Jedi, as Rian Johnson (the director) seeks to emphasize the dualistic relationship between Ben and Rey, as being apparent light and dark counterparts of each other.  By the end of this post, some of the pros and cons of this approach might become apparent.  But, I think one of the more positive aspects of the continuation of Rey's journey in The Last Jedi can be found in the way that it continues to explore her desire to find her place in all of this.  She reflects the quest of so many seeking meaning and truth, and seeking with an inexplicable certainty that this truth has everything to do with their own identity, which they are also seeking to better understand.  The question of whether the Jedi can offer her the guidance she is seeking becomes an increasingly uncertain one, as she not only encounters Luke's apparent loss of faith, but also begins to discover the ugly truth of his storied history with Ben Solo.  Her sense of being torn apart by these discoveries invites us to suffer with her, entering more deeply into her desire for meaning, for understanding, and even for her own identity.  It also invites us to take more seriously the question of whether the Jedi can offer her what she is seeking.  Can they help her find her place in all of this or not?     

       Back in Episode IV: The Last Spark of Hope, we discussed how The Last Jedi embraces its role, as the second installment in a trilogy, as this is typically the point of the story when everything starts to come apart.  Well, Johnson, seemingly deliberately, took this to a whole new level, by tearing down things that seemed to make up Star Wars from the very beginning.  Yet, in another sense, he did so by remaining true to its philosophical foundations, allowing their internal incoherence to tear it apart from within.  The philosophical problems in the movie simply begin to bring the dualism, upon which this fictional universe was built, to its logical conclusion.  One of the ways that previous Star Wars movies remained so good was by ignoring the implications of its own faulty worldview.  The Last Jedi stopped ignoring them.  Ironically, while seemingly tearing it apart, Johnson gave fans the opportunity (an opportunity which has been largely rejected) to honestly face the reality of things from the very beginning.  The question of whether Luke should be the "last Jedi" comes to a question of authority.  This is not simply a question of power, but of whether what is called the light is actually able to order the universe, whether it is a true good which is in accord with truth.  Does it have a genuine rightful claim to authority, which would order all in accord with truth?  Unfortunately, this sense of genuine authority is impossible in their dualistic universe.  If the Force is genuinely seeking to hold light and dark in balance, then neither one genuinely has any legitimate authority, any inherent right to govern, based on a goodness in accord with truth.  Neither one is truly right.  This is a dynamic that is important, when considering the quest of Rey to find someone to help her find her "place in all of this."  In a universe where authority is not a matter of justice, rooted in truth and goodness, but simply of will to power, than all rebellion begins to appear equal.  And all apparent authority begins to seem equally worthy of being overturned.

       So we ask the question: Do the Jedi actually have any authority that needs to be respected and upheld in the philosophical framework that underlies the story of Star Wars?  Not necessarily.  The Jedi are an order of people who have sought to understand this transcendent reality, known as the Force, and to use it for good.  Perhaps even without realizing it, Johnson pin-pointed yet another key difference between the "Jedi religion" (as Luke so blatantly identified it) and Christianity, which is closely related to those I outlined in the first episode of this series.  It is a matter of authority.  For example, while the discussion of the ancient Jedi texts seemed to be a commentary on Sacred Scripture, upon deeper reflection, it actually pin-pointed some key differences between the two.  There is a world of difference between a "sacred text," which represents man's attempt to understand the transcendent for the sake of the good, and one which is in essence the Creator revealing Himself in human words, through the instrumentality of human authors.  The latter is actually the proper Christian understanding of Sacred Scripture, while the former seems to be a better understanding of the Jedi texts.  So, we essentially hear Yoda confirming that, while the ancient Jedi texts may have been valuable, they are not necessarily indispensable.  And this may be true, but it's not an effective parallel to Sacred Scripture.  Similarly, the whole discussion of the "Jedi religion" and why it can apparently pass away, has the unintentional effect of demonstrating why it is actually a poor parallel to the Church, which has authority rooted in the fact that its source is the Creator, and thus "the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it" (Matthew 16).  Of course, the final verdict on the question of whether the Jedi can or should "end" is left a little vague.  On one hand, we have Luke insisting that he would not be the last Jedi.  On the other, we have Yoda destroying the ancient texts and telling Luke that "we are what they grow beyond".

        This final counsel of the "puppet-master" (see what I did there?) seems to hold a few layers of meaning.  At first, it seems to speak of the desire masters should have for their pupils to surpass them.  After all, didn't Luke prove Yoda wrong in the original trilogy by reclaiming Vader?!  However, when considered in the context of the film, it points out the rather weak understanding of hope that plagues the film (which is a reflection of how it plagues our society today).  It is the notion that hope is always found in progress, in moving away from the old, with which we are dissatisfied (rightly or wrongly).  Yoda's words and actions seem far too resonant with the petty and childish insistence of Kylo Ren/Ben Solo (which I mentioned previously is much more shallow than his motivations in the first movie) that we must, "Let the past die.  Kill it if you have to."  In fact, at times, it seems frighteningly as if this were actually Johnson's message in a nutshell.  The problem with this understanding of hope is... so much.  But, in short, it is weak because it is destined to not be rooted in reality, because it is disinterested in the truth of our nature.  It is only found in a vague and undefined notion of future deliverance from what we perceive as evil... but deliverance into what?  This understanding of hope is really only a reflection of the angsty dissatisfaction with the way things are.  This is part of why this movie suffers from a weaker understanding of rebellion, as well.  Whereas "Rogue One" thankfully had a more nuanced understanding than what the marketing campaigns implied, "The Last Jedi" seems at times to fall into the trap of seeing rebellion as a source of hope, instead of a potential instrument of it in the right context.  Hope has to be grounded in truth, in restoring us to a dignity that reflects the Truth, Goodness, and Beauty of our Creator.  At moments, the film seems to give us a glimpse of this understanding.  While at others, it seems too caught up in the childishness we see epitomized by Ben Solo.  Even the transformation of the Resistance into a new "rebellion" is treated like an unquestioned and over-sentimentalized celebration of rebellion in itself.  It does not ask the question of whether this rebellion actually holds the hope it promises.

     These thoughts barely scratch the surface and represent simply my best attempt at the present moment to articulate the nature of the problem, which The Last Jedi has enabled us to see all too clearly.  Perhaps at a later point in time, I will be able to articulate better, as I personally feel this is a bit of a jumbled mess.  I suppose, the point is this.  It is not so much a matter of whether the Jedi can offer the guidance that we seek (as represented by Rey's seeking).  It is a matter of a need to recognize that this whole dualistic worldview upon which this fictional universe is built is incapable of offering us the guidance we need to help us to find truth, to find meaning, to find our place in the broader plan for the universe.  Any depiction of the struggle between good and evil certainly has potential to offer us glimpses of the truth of that struggle.  And the Star Wars saga has given us many such beautiful and powerful glimpses over the years.  But, once we start trying to carry its dualistic foundations to their logical conclusion, it all starts to be torn apart.  And likewise, the more religiously we have allowed ourselves to be guided by it, the more we become torn apart ourselves.  I can't help but wonder if part of what some fans who feel so unsettled by the most recent installment(s) of the Skywalker saga are experiencing is that genuine sense of being torn apart, that comes from the earth-shattering realization that the foundation one has been standing on was never capable of holding them up.  The only foundation capable of this is the foundation of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty.  Like Rey, countless souls are seeking this foundation. As The Last Jedi invites us to notice, intentionally or not, if we do not offer this firm foundation, these souls will be left torn apart and the path to destruction will continue to seem appealing to them.  Let us be bold in offering the Truth, Goodness, and Beauty which genuinely satisfies.

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Discerning the Spirits of the Force, Episode V: Rebels, Scoundrels, and Other Legendary Outlaws

       This may seem overdue, as it has been a few months since the release of Solo: A Star Wars Story.  However, as the release came closer, I began to realize my thoughts on it just might be connected to some broader concepts, which link various pieces together.  In fact, it soon became apparent that this would even be a fun "crossover" post, as it would double as a follow-up to the old consideration of the Antihero, posted back in 2017.  It pertains not only to the latest Star Wars movies, but a few different blockbusters from this summer, which we'll come back to at the end.

Seriously, lots of potential for spoilers, not only for Star Wars movies,
but also the "Ocean's" movies, Avengers, Guardians of the Galaxy, and Ant-Man. 
Proceed with caution.

Good Guys and Scoundrels:

       Consider the similar, yet clearly contrasting, questions in the two spin-off Star Wars Stories we have seen thus far (Solo and Rogue One), of whether the 'rebel without a cause' at the heart of the story will ever devote themselves to the cause.  On one hand, we see in Jyn Erso (Rogue One) an antihero whose hope is reawakened and not only devotes herself to the cause, but is even able to restore hope to members of the rebellion at a key point.  On the other hand, in young Han Solo, we see a rebel who is determined to remain 'without a cause.'  He wrestles with and is trying to either hide or suppress that 'good guy' instinct that Qi'ra recognizes within him.  He will not commit to the cause, but he is willing to go out of his way to help the rebels (with a cause), in the face of their plight.  Young Han is insistent upon maintaining his devotion to his own self-seeking, which is more than enough cause (in his mind) for his living outside of the law.

       Of course, this will all only be overcome by his love for Leia and his friendship with Luke.  It is these bonds that will become the hope which finally awakens the 'good guy' within Han, and will finally align him with the cause of those seeking to promote justice throughout the galaxy.  These relationships are what make us.  They can be our greatest strength and also leave us vulnerable.  That is the nature of love.  I discussed this already at length in both Episodes I and IV.  It is no surprise that, when Han and Leia's son turns to the dark side, this would cut Han very deeply.  How might he respond to that wound?  While I think there is indeed something true and beautiful about the insistence of Solo: A Star Wars Story that the deepest truth at the core of Han's identity is indeed the 'good guy,' still he has conditioned himself to live his life in a certain way, which can be triggered by certain stimuli.  The 'good guy,' which Qi'ra recognized waiting to come to life within Han, is still the 'scoundrel' that Leia recognized in his behavior (Empire Strikes Back).  This is the complex reality of human nature.  We're a mess... a mess, encapsulating a beautiful mystery.  Part of what this means, in practice, is simply that good people sometimes do bad things.  Sometimes they even have bad, self-destructive habits, which are also hurtful to those around them.  It is all well and good to be the good guy.  But, we still must work, with both humility and determination, to overcome whatever habits sometimes cause us to act like a scoundrel.  One of society's favorite mottos is also one of the most destructive to genuine human growth: just be a good person.  This becomes a comfortable way of avoiding any concrete judgment about our specific actions, and this prevents us from identifying those behaviors that we may need to work to overcome.  The notion of calling to repentance offends our postmodern sensibilities, because our mentality presumes it is judgmental.  In fact, the call to repentance presumes a number of very positive judgments about the character of a person: that we are made for the good, that we are capable of that good, that we desire that good, that we would be willing to sacrifice and even to change in order to achieve it.  In short, it presumes that at our core, we are the 'good guy' even if we sometimes act like the scoundrel.  If we cannot realize this, we will never see the growth of the antihero into true heroism, in fiction or in our own lives.

       In truth, Han Solo is one of the finest examples in modern cinema of that growth of the antihero into a true hero.  And the conclusion of his story, in The Force Awakens, was a beautiful crowning of that antihero's journey.  There are some among what might be called the "traditional fans" who were dissatisfied with his part in that movie.  It seems one of their objections is similar to that of the role of Luke in The Last Jedi, and so my response is very similar.  The notion that Han and Leia would have separated, as they each dealt with the tragedy regarding their son in their own way, was a bit too much for many fans to handle.  As I said regarding Luke, I get it.  We don't like to see them like that.  But, I think if we take seriously the 'mess, encapsulating a beautiful mystery' that each of those characters always was, those unfortunate places we find them in at their entry into the sequel trilogy is still hard to watch, but it is not untrue to their characters.  Is it necessary that they would have separated?  No, of course not.  But, is it believable?  Yes, it is.  On one level, would I have rather they never separated to begin with?  Yes, of course.  But, their reunion was so beautiful it almost made it worth it (keeping in mind this is a fictional story, not reality).  Whatever events surrounded the turning of Ben Solo to the dark side became a trigger for Han to fall back into that comfortable mask of the scoundrel, after being conditioned to run from meaning and purpose and anything that would call him to change, in that way for so much of his life.  Yet, just as Leia was essential in him learning to set that mask aside in the first place, so it was his reunion with her that finally reawakened the 'good guy' within him (and again, we can see how Rey and Finn helped him to this point, just as Rey would do something similar for Luke in the next movie).  It was Leia who was capable of reawakening, not only his love for his son, but also his hope in him.  Every time I watch that painful scene of Han's last moment, I am struck by how powerful and beautiful it is.  Every word spoken between father and son on that catwalk is so deliberate, even when it is layered in meaning.  Some suggest that Han was naive and foolish.  I think he loved his son, as well as his wife.  He knew well what could happen.  He knew the risk he was taking, and he had to be asking himself if this could possibly be real, if Ben could actually mean what he was saying.  And Ben did mean every word.  That conflict within him, which Han held onto as hope, was indeed tearing him apart.  And he did need his father's help to do what he, in his sickness, felt he had to do.  I have no doubt that the thought that this was what Ben meant was on his mind.  But, he could not let it stop him from trying.  And so great was his love for both Ben and Leia that he was willing to give his life for even the tiniest shred of hope.  He became such a profound image of the Merciful Heart of the God, the Father in that moment.  The Father's love for His degenerate children is so great that He is willing to give His life.  He poured His life into the womb of Mary and His Son walked among us, seeking out His Beloved... knowing what could happen... that we would kill Him.  Still, He lays down His life to save us.  The Resurrection, of course, makes all the difference.  And thus, the Father is able to save us, even though our rejection claimed His Son's life... still, He lives.

       We will see whether Han's sacrifice ever bears fruit, in the form of his son being reclaimed, but I think it already is bearing fruit in how Rey devotes herself to the same 'impossible' task.  I have no doubt that one of the factors which led her to come to that point was the witness of Han's love, and the hope that he and Leia both held onto.  As she watched his tragic death, she saw that love was Han's greatest strength... and his greatest weakness.  When she first met him, they shared a humorous moment as they all disagreed on whether he was better identified as 'the hero of the rebellion' or 'the smuggler.'  Yet, in his boldest and purest act of true heroism, she saw the good guy, who often hides behind the scoundrel.

Other Legendary Outlaws:                                

       Yet, Han isn't the only example in the theaters this summer of a scoundrel who leaves us wondering if they will become a true hero...

     First, let's consider that Guardian of the Galaxy who infamously ruined everything in Avengers: Infinity War: Peter Quill (Star-Lord).  When the Guardians first show up in Infinity War, we glimpse among them that struggle between the "good guy" and the "scoundrel" as they debate why they are answering the distress call.  Quill seems to be torn between the middle of the noble intentions of Gamora and the shameless self-serving of Rocket.  Over the course of the three movies we've had to get to know him, we can recognize that conflict within him between these two inclinations, as he is like Han in his apparent dual nature as both the good guy and the scoundrel.  One key difference between his character and Solo's is that, while Han's parentage remains comfortably unexplored, Quill has always been plagued by his daddy/mommy issues.  His father wound is a deep cut, which was probed extensively in the second volume of the Guardians saga.  It was when we heard his father confess the truth about the cause of his mother's death, that we first saw him go off the chain.  In hindsight, this seems to have been a kind of foreshadowing of his extreme (and awful) emotional reaction against Thanos in Infinity War at the news of Gamora's death.  Not unlike the unpleasant moments we see of our beloved Star Wars characters, watching Quill at times like this may not be uncharacteristic, but it's very painful to watch.  His basic obstacle in growing from antihero to hero seems to be that pesky tendency he has to allow his emotions to trump his reason.     

     Next, we might consider Debbie Ocean (Ocean's 8).  In Debbie, we see one who chose to emulate the scoundrel within her brother (and apparently the rest of their family - interesting, to see whether they do more with that in the future), rather than celebrating the good guy within.  It was clear how the makers of this summer's Ocean's spin-off recognized some of the key plot points in the 2001 Ocean's Eleven and sought to parallel them in a new way.  Yet, the motivations behind Debbie's heist are far less laudable than those of Danny's.  Both are discovered by their partner, midway through, to have a deeper motive, a "job within a job," which is personal and related to their ex.  Danny's secret mission was love.  Debbie's is revenge.  How many times do we have to come back to this point?  REVENGE IS NOT A VIRTUE.  It is not something to be celebrated.  Yet, in a world where we cannot distinguish between the hero and the antihero (or simply prefer the latter), we fall back on this time and time again.  Debbie takes us to a whole new level.  We no longer prefer the antihero, but simply celebrate villains.  Danny might have qualified as an antihero, due to the fact of his complex motivations, which were really quite selfless, even though his means toward this end was clearly corrupt.  Consider his goal.  Of course, he wanted her back, but he was willing to accept not being with her.  He could not accept the idea of her being with someone who had no respect for her.  That is laudable.  And his plan was so beautifully crafted that it leaves us with the impression that the whole heist was designed to create that moment, when Tess would finally see the truth.  In short, everything he did (even though it wasn't good) was for Tess.  Debbie's revenge "job within a job" felt a bit like an after-thought or killing two birds with one stone.  But, more importantly, it wasn't something that showed any goodness within her.  It doesn't make us like her any more.  It might make us sympathize with her or even pity her because she was mistreated (although, I'd be hesitant to call her being incarcerated for crimes of which she is guilty unjust, even if I can sympathize with the sense of being betrayed in itself).  Still, if she was a victim, she is certainly not an innocent one.  One of the most interesting elements was the notion that Danny would not have wanted this life for her.  Throughout his own movies, there was a sense of him never quite being able to shake this life (and even a sense of struggle over whether he wants to, as he clearly suffers from some kind of addiction to the thrill of it all).  Now, we have a new dimension to that struggle, as we see that his persistence in his scoundrel behavior (even if there was a good guy within) led his little sister down the same path.  And she appears to be in a much worse place than he was, addicted to the same thrill, apparently finding her only value and worth in it: "It's what I'm good at".  It left me sad to see no visible signs of goodness or redemption in her by the end of the movie.  We can hope that it is in there somewhere, shackled by her addiction.  When the movie closes with her telling her brother (presumably in the grave) "you would have loved it," I know what she means.  Still, I'm not so sure. 

     Finally, we have the sequel to the movie which was designed to introduce the heist element into the Marvel Cinematic Universe: Ant-Man and the Wasp.  Admittedly, this is a slightly different example, since Scott Lang is a bit too much of a love-able goofball for us to easily think of him as a true antihero.  Nonetheless, he is in a similar predicament as the Ocean siblings, of being unable to breakout of the life of crime, especially in the first movie. And the events of Captain America: Civil War left him, once again, on the outside of the law.  The sequel follows up on this aspect somewhat by showing him running from the law and finishing out his sentence after his involvement with the "Secret Avengers" in Germany.  It also adds a new element while showing how those events (and a little bit just the "Accords" themselves, which were the catalyst for the conflict in Civil War) cause Hank Pym and Hope Van Dyne to be on the run from the law as well, and resenting Scott for it, as well.  However, the bulk of the story and its thematic elements seem to focus less on the "Scott the Outlaw" element from the first movie and more on the "Scott who just wants to be a Good Father" element.  Further, the parallel between the father-daughter relationships of Scott and Cassie and that of Hank and Hope also remains very much in the forefront.  However, as the sequel focuses even more on finding Hope's mother, a new parallel joins that original parallel in the foreground, namely that between the undying devotion between Hank and Janet and the budding relationship between Scott and Hope.  In fact, the title seems pretty clearly to hold an intentional ambiguity, as to which "Ant-Man and the Wasp" duo is being referred to.  Truly, the heart of this movie is the intertwining of these interrelated relationships.  So, again, we see that the key factor in the tension between the "good guy" and the "scoundrel" is the relationships in one's life.

      The choice to live one's life, not for oneself, but to give oneself away in love to others and to be life-giving, is what motivates the scoundrel to give way to the good guy within.  With Han, Danny, and Scott, we see the best of them when we see them looking to the ones they love.  We see Debbie's failure to demonstrate any sign of goodness in the writer's apparent determination not to have the female counterpart to Danny Ocean turn out to be doing it "all for her man."  This choice seems to be consistent with the rather warped mentality sadly found in some modern expressions of feminism (go here for more on the feminine genius).  Sometimes our attempt to show our strength (viewed far too often as simply independence) ends ups simply being a show of selfishness.  For Danny, his loving devotion to the woman he loved was his saving grace.  There was no shame in that love was truly his strength.  Let's hope that we find more room in our hearts to allow love to help us to overcome our selfishness.  The wildcard in the group seems to be that "legendary outlaw", Peter Quill.  His loving devotion to those he loves seems to be what causes him to lose his head.  On one hand, it is true that, not unlike the other examples, the coming together of Quill with Gamora and the rest of the Guardians (in the first movie) enabled him to begin to become the best version of himself.  So, love can truly be seen to be his strength, as well.  However, we see that his loving devotion is not tempered in the slightest by reason or self-control.  And this famously RUINS. EVERYTHING.  As we saw in Infinity War.  Perhaps it is true... Virtue actually does enable love to grow toward full maturity.  All of the virtues are ordered toward authentic love.  Authentic and virtuous love, completed by the assistance of grace, is what enables the good guy to win out over the scoundrel.  May it be so for each and every one of us.     

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The Value of a Life: Thanos, the Avengers and the Culture of Death

No Seriously, Don't Read ANYTHING, or EVEN SCROLL if you haven't seen it yet!

     There a number of different of angles from which I watch a Marvel movie.  On one hand, I recall my childhood years, when I collected (mostly Marvel) comics, grew to love that world/universe/multiverse, its characters and its stories, and I find myself often giddy with joy at the idea that they can be portrayed on the big screen in a manner which both bears a recognizable resemblance to those childhood images, while also taking them to new levels.  On the other hand, I view them as someone who has since had the opportunity to broaden his appreciation of different stories, in both literature and film, and has come to believe that things like good dialogue and dynamic character development, which is both consistent and evolving, as well as other signs of genuine quality, such as good writing, acting, and directing, are not too much to ask from any genre of movie.  And finally, of course, I view them as a Catholic priest who is always looking for reflections of genuine Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, not to mention having concern for the moral positions being advocated by the heroes, or even for the way in which more complex moral questions are explored by the conflicting perspectives of various characters (more on my approach here).  Since all of these perspectives exist in one mind, which has become a professional at overthinking, I am not uncommonly plagued by the reality that the movies I care most about are the ones I end up being most conflicted about.  It is not uncommon for me to highly anticipate a movie, and walk out LOVING it (for reasons a, b, c, and d) and HATING it (for reasons e, f, g, and h).  Thus, when someone asks me whether I liked Avengers: Infinity War, I can only think to answer in the words of Vision in the last Avengers movie...

   
     I begin with this consideration because the very aspect I am going to comment on, in this latest and biggest epic in the Marvel saga, I feel is handled strikingly well in some ways, and notably poorly in others.

     One thing this movie succeeded at was being very intriguing from the very start.  Launching straight into the action, picking up right where the after-the-credits scene of Thor: Ragnarok (my thoughts on that one here) left off, we see the immediate devastation resulting from the encounter between Thanos and the remaining population of Asgard.  And in this opening sequence, the first words we hear from Thanos, not only beautifully foreshadow the rather shocking ending, which I must admit was entirely unexpected by me, but also characterize him in a manner that explains the importance of his ridiculous quest for destruction.  When we first hear the villain speak of his agony at being so certain that he is right, we might be unsure what to think at first.  Is he serious?  Is he insane?  Is it a little bit of both?  When we finally hear him explain his reasoning, a careful listener might notice how disturbingly familiar his thinking is, in our culture today.

     The notion that overpopulation is the cause of so many of the evils from which we suffer, which leads some to the tragic conclusion that taking countless innocent lives will actually help to rid us of these evils, is one of the upsettingly common notions, which leads many to so aggressively support such evils as abortion and euthanasia, even if often under the guise of supporting the supposed "lesser evil" of contraception.  And yet, as the film progresses, we begin to see Thanos as one of the more complex Marvel villains we have seen thus far.  He carries himself with this dignified air, which seems to hope that his good intentions will distract us from the insanity of his plan, yet also to simultaneously not care what we think, because of the firmness of his own conviction. "The hardest of decisions require the strongest of wills."  His conviction is so strong that his solution is, not only necessary, but is actually "salvation" from the evils that plague is, that he is quite convinced every one else is the enemy and he will "watch the sun set over a grateful universe."  It is sick.  It is horrifying. And yet, it is the manifestation of the culture of death (St. John Paul II addressed it well here), which influences so many who continue to be convinced that those of us who believe so strongly in the value of every human life, that we cannot support such as evils as abortion, euthanasia, and even contraception, are in fact the enemy.  And yet, in the movie, we hear these "enemies" of Thanos repeating to each other their insistence that "we don't trade lives," as they fight to save one another and an anonymous (yet no less valuable) half of the lives in the universe.

     And yet, it might be argued that the idea of pointing toward the dignity of human life is a bit undercut by the lack of the gravity of death the movie leaves viewers with.  One of the funnier lines in the movie is also one of the more ironic.  Eitri warns Thor, before his heroic stunt to restart the forge: "It'll kill you." And Thor answers, "Only if I die."  And Eitri fittingly replies, "Well... yes... that's what 'killing you' means."  As tragic as the many deaths of the heroes may feel, does this really leave us with a sense of what death is?

     It has been pointed out no shortage of times that superhero movies (and perhaps Marvel, in particular) make it difficult for viewers to attach any weight to deaths that are meant to be heroic and/or tragic, because so few of these characters seem to "stay dead."  Well, this movie takes that to a whole new level, as we watch most of our heroes turn to ash... but, knowing they will be back somehow.  Let's consider the choices of who died for a second.  Considering the originals (nearly all of whom were left alive) have already made A LOT of money for Marvel and it's widely considered to be the case that some, if not most, of those actors will soon 'hang up their capes', it might be argued that killing them off would have seemed a bit too convenient.  But, since they basically did the opposite, by killing off all of the ones that they stand to still make A LOT more money off of (whose sequels are expected, and at least one is officially announced), doesn't it make it seem even more cheap?  Granted, they still leave plenty of room for suspense, as we wait a year to find out HOW they will come back from this and what role Captain Marvel and the other heroes absent from this movie might play in the final solution.  And it might make us wonder if the originals would even somehow sacrifice themselves to save the newbies - making the whole "we don't trade lives" thing deliciously ironic!  If that were the solution, it might make the ending of this movie equally convenient.  Even more importantly, though, if something like that occurs, will it simply be focused on bringing back the "heroes", or all of those countless anonymous, but no less valuable, lives?  I'm willing to be optimistic that it will be the latter.  So, then the remaining question is who will actually be dead in the end.  Ironically, one of the deaths not included in that fateful snap (which is likely to be undone all at once) is one that some of us might especially hope to see reversed, simply because of the awful way it went down (this article on the matter is worth reading).

     Meanwhile, one of the other ways that the Avengers movies have successfully pointed toward the value of every life is in the way in which the team is made more rich and full by the dynamic interactions between the very diverse characters.  Each one brings something different, which often becomes even more poignant when they stand next to each other, as they stretch and challenge each other (more here).  In fact, even Guardians of the Galaxy had this same quality, which is especially impressive, considering those diverse characters include a talking raccoon and a walking tree (more on them here)...

   So, naturally, seeing these two teams collide was a long awaited pay off.  How well did they deliver on it?  Pretty well, considering the momentousness of the task (even if some of us still would have hoped for a bit more).  Given the sheer volume of characters brought into this one epic conflict, it would have been nearly impossible to give them all a very significant sampling of ongoing development or meaningful interaction.  Naturally, they had to make their choices of who would get the most of this kind of attention.  For this reason, it is understandable that some of us will simply have to accept a fair amount of disappointment at not seeing some of our favorites get a bit more attention.  Furthermore, it is not surprising that they paid particular attention to those which involved interactions between Avengers and Guardians.

     Of these interactions, the one I will focus on, as a brief closing thought, is that between Tony Stark and Stephen Strange.  The idea of pitting these two strong (read arrogant) personalities against each other was a very interesting choice, which I ended up appreciating in the end.  For one reason, to be quite blunt, one of the reasons I didn't care for the Doctor Strange movie was simply because I thought even Ant-Man was a more interesting and entertaining attempt at recreating Stark's conversion-oriented origin story.  However, the difference between their respective conversions comes across strikingly by their interaction in this movie.  Stark's conversion was driven by an awakened sense of responsibility (albeit plagued by his Messiah complex).  Strange's conversion was more about the prideful skeptic reluctantly having to accept that there is actually more to reality than he is aware.  So, here you have them fighting beside one another to attempt to save the universe and these qualities come across loud and clear.  Stark is desperately fighting to prevent Thanos from achieving his goal, at all costs.  He is consumed by the thought that they MUST stop him!  Only Strange is capable of believing that there just might be an alternative.  So, after using the Time Stone to look into the future, he returns to the present, prepared to do the one thing he promised he would not do (and would not have decided to do on his own) because "this was the only way."  Why?  We'll find out next year, I guess (here's hoping it's good).  Tony cannot believe it, but Strange is inviting him to trust that there is more to reality than either of them fully understands.  Perhaps we have experienced someone in our life who has challenged us to believe that there is more to reality than we know, even if we might find them a bit absurd at times, someone who has challenged us to have faith.  Thank God that person is in our lives, because we are probably not the same person thanks to their influence.  It is amazing to see how every life has far more value than we could possibly imagine!

 

More Thoughts on Avengers (Ant-Man) 

and the Guardians of the Galaxy

At the end of post on Star Wars

Previous Thoughts on the Avengers

Previous Thoughts on the Guardians of the Galaxy

Pursuing True Justice: Why Black Panther is a Hero

       Like many of us, I very much enjoyed the latest installment to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Black Panther!  It is hard to ignore the not-so-subtle societal implications of the movie.  Yet, even before getting into all of that, I enjoyed it because T'Challa debuted in Captain America: Civil War as a very cool and interesting new addition to the ever-increasing landscape of Marvel heroes, and his first solo outing did not lower the bar for this great new character, in my estimation.

    Still, while I think the societal implications of the movie are not needed in order to appreciate it, of course, they ought not be ignored.  Personally, I have very much appreciated all of the discussion emerging from this movie, even though - as with so many discussions - I can't say I agree with all of the voices coming from either side.  Still, there are good things to discuss.  Mostly, I've just been listening.  And there is much to listen to.  Not only am I not threatened or insulted by the fact that there are aspects to the significance of this movie that I cannot fully appreciate or identify with, I appreciate that fact.  One reason is because I have come to realize that it can create opportunities to attempt to better understand, and thus to be better equipped to engage the world in which we live, not to mention being personally enriched.  I have often thought that some of the approaches to responding to racial tension, which focus on altogether ignoring or disregarding a person's race or ethnic background (ie. "color-blindness" or "one race") are well intended, but might not be the best solution.  Is it not better to embrace one another as we are, remaining open to the fact that a person's race or ethnic background just might be a part of who they are?  Are not those elements of a person's identity, personality or temperament they themselves consider to be connected to their race or ethnic background worth striving to understand and even appreciate?  I have often found this to be the case.  That is why I appreciate listening to the various perspectives on this movie.

       From my perspective, I find it easy to see how Killmonger is portrayed as a sympathetic villain.  It was striking how he was attempting to reclaim something that was taken from him, how he was a victim of his circumstances, and how he seemed to have a sincere intention to save his people and even to save Wakanda.  It was also striking to watch the respect and compassion of T'Challa toward him.  Yet, this is part of what made him interesting, because on the surface he also seemed to be a pretty blatant parallel to a very common perception of our current president, by so many of the loudest voices in our culture.  I mean, when you consider how many of the "good guys" are conflicted because of this "enemy on the throne" (because he apparently obtained the throne legitimately) whose solution is apparently to arm more people... it looks like they are either talking about Trump or the episode of "The Office" when Dwight was manager for a day.

       Yet, there is even more to the understanding of how this villain is sympathetic that has required a bit more listening.  Even I have often considered how I experience a sense of disconnect from the European cultures from which my ancestors came and yet, one of the reasons I mention this is precisely to point out that this is hardly comparable to the experience of those whose disconnect from their cultural ancestry was not due an ancestor's free choice to emigrate here in pursuit of freedom and prosperity, but rather to the abomination of slavery.  One moment that helped me to better understand the full extent to which many people might identify with Killmonger's plight was in reading about the thoughts of the movie's star, Chadwick Boseman himself.  In a recent interview, his explanation of the sympathetic nature of Killmonger's character extends to the point of saying that he considers his own character, T'Challa (Black Panther) to be the real enemy.  His explanation for this speaks of the power that T'Challa grew up with and took for granted, in contrast to Killmonger, who identifies more with the experience of so many African Americans.  I truly am grateful for his perspective.

       Why, then, do I emphatically disagree with him, to the extent that I find his suggestion very dangerous?  Boseman identifies "power" as the enemy and acknowledges that Killmonger is pursuing "greatness" (although it seems like his comments might imply that he also acknowledges that his pursuit of power and greatness is warped).  Having power does not make one a villain.  Abuse of that power is what makes them a villain.  After a few readings of Boseman's thoughts and giving it some serious consideration, it does not seem that he intends to imply that by Killmonger is, then, a hero.  But, rather, that T'Challa represents the very "system" of power that turned him into a villain.  This makes sense, on one level, and one can see how sympathizing with him can even lead to a sort of grief that he went down the path he did.  However, if one were to attempt to channel that grief in a productive direction, rather than perpetuating the problem, it seems they would seek to respond differently to a similar hardship.  It seems a very basic level of this different response would be to refrain from indiscriminately viewing those with power as an enemy, without considering how they are using that power.  What makes someone a hero or an enemy is not the problem they are experiencing, but their solution to the problem.  Killmonger's solution is undeniably wicked and to reach the conclusion that such murderous actions are justified because of the depth of the problem is extremely dangerous.  I don't think that Boseman has come to that conclusion, but I do fear that his comments could leave people with that impression.  If we were to apply this mentality to real life, which is a connection many people are making, this will continue to tear our culture apart.  We agree about the injustices done to Killmonger and I am grateful to better understand how many people can identify with his plight on a level that I cannot.  But, there is a difference between affirming that he is a victim of injustice and going on to conclude that he is then justified in taking so many human lives in the pursuit of power.  Pursuing power for its own sake has never made anyone great or heroic, but it has made many into villains.  The response to the injustices he has suffered ought to be the pursuit of justice, not power or even greatness necessarily.  Precisely what makes T'Challa such a great hero is that he does sympathize with Killmonger.  He does respect him.  He even grows because of him.  Yet, it does not change the fact that he must be stopped!  

      By contrast, T'Challa is aware of the brokenness of the situation from which he comes and he clearly intends to work to correct it.  But, he will not do so by perpetuating reactionary violence and injustice.  This makes him a true hero and a worthy king.  He is not perfect.  Like so many of the Marvel heroes, he is complicated, messy and even broken, but he is striving for goodness, justice and truth.  We ought to stop and notice that.  We ought to follow that example.  So many of the disagreements that tear our culture apart are not about the problems, but the solution.  The failure to make that distinction is one of our greatest modern downfalls.  Far too often, we fixate upon the solution we are promoting to the extent that we will not listen to or respect the other side, but judgmentally accuse them of being unconcerned about the problem.  This has to stop.  Otherwise, we will raise a generation of Killmongers and we will lose sight of any basis for establishing justice.  Instead, may we recognize the plight of our neighbors and work together, communicating with one another with a clear mind and mutual respect in order to pursue a solution that works to promote genuine justice.

More Thoughts on the Avengers

Previous Thoughts on the Avengers 

Discerning the Spirits of the Force, Episode IV: The Last Spark of Hope

       Why did I choose the sub-title, "The Last Spark of Hope"?  Perhaps because that is precisely what they left us with, in terms of hope for the future of this series.  I'm sure some of you are suspicious of the claim that they left us even with that.  I have talked to, read, and watched countless fans who are determined to hate the latest installment in the series, "The Last Jedi".  And I sympathize with many of the criticisms they bring up, and in some cases, I wholeheartedly agree.  Yet, I find myself growing weary of the sense that this movie (or any movie) can "ruin my childhood" as is sometimes said or implied.  Thus, I suppose the principle I would like to begin from is the first of the seven principles upon which I have founded this blog: Stay Grounded.  Yes, this story has meant a lot to a lot of us over the years, but if we have allowed it to define our lives, or even any part of our lives, something went seriously wrong a long time ago, which is not the fault of Disney or Rian Johnson.  I think a lot of that is seen in the way many fans uncritically embrace the "wisdom of the jedi" and apply it to their lives, in the process sometimes even twisting what they believe, perhaps because they subconsciously want Star Wars to be more consistent with it than it actually is.  And a world of hurt results.  There are certainly some good things to be embraced in what this story has offered us over the years, and some more problematic ones.  We have to be willing to be discerning about that.  For more on that, feel free to go back to the first episode of this series (or jump forward to this one).  For now, I will simply conclude this little introduction by sharing that one of my favorite responses I have read to the film is this one.     

     *** WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD ***

       So, what is the last spark of hope?  Despite all of the weaknesses in the film, and taking for granted that they do indeed exist and may even be plentiful, this episode in the series did leave us with something very valuable, which is best summarized in the quote of the princess-turned-general, repeated by multiple characters in the movie.  "Hope is like the sun.  If you only believe in it when you see it, you'll never make it through the night." ***leaving a moment for angry fans, tempted to give up on this series altogether because of one movie that wasn't what many of us wanted it to be, to consider the implications here for their hope in the series (C'mon, people! We made it through the prequels!)***  Much like my thoughts on "Rogue One," one of the things I appreciate about this movie is how the portrayal of a very dark story becomes an opportunity to plant a potent seed of hope.  However, in a sense, the darkness of the story is even more fitting here.  Remember, this is the second episode in a trilogy.  It is supposed to leave us with the sense that everything has fallen apart.  For this reason, we have good reason for reserving final judgment until we see how things are resolved in the final episode of the trilogy.  Although, I will try hard not to think too much about how different that movie could have been (Eternal rest grant unto Carrie, O Lord...).

       
       Meanwhile, it is Ben Solo that stands at the center of the more interesting reflection on hope.  Remember that Star Wars has always been a story about a family.  Leia's "last spark of hope" in the eventual victory of the Resistance/Rebellion is really a reflection of the last spark of hope she holds for her son.  Thus, the incredibly dark ending of the movie, when there is barely a final spark left, is not just about the dire state of the war against the First Order, but about the fact that, by this time in the story, we have seen two tragically failed attempts to reclaim him from the dark side.  And this really makes sense.  While Kylo Ren is not as menacing and strong of a villain as Vader was (and that's supposed to be part of the point), he is certainly as shiver-inducingly evil, if not more so.  In fact, while he may not have been the villain some fans wanted from a sequel trilogy, it makes him a very interesting next step in the story.  He is determined not to "fall away" from the dark side the way his grandfather finally did.  What finally broke Vader?  His love for his son.  That is the beauty of Leia's response to Han, in "The Force Awakens," when he tries to pass off the job of reclaiming Ben on Luke: "Luke's a Jedi; you're his father."  Luke was not able to reclaim Vader because he was now a Jedi.  He was able to do it because he was his son.  Ben realizes that, and he is determined to rid himself of the "weakness" that finally became his grandfather's "downfall." Thus, while the story does seem to allude to definite tension between father and son, this is not about daddy issues.  He didn't murder his father because he hated him.  He did it because he loved him (which is why it's sad that his motivation seems to be a little watered down in this film).  That is the depth of his sickness.  Yet, that same love truly is the "weakness" that remains as the last spark of hope for him.  He meant what he said that he needed Han's help to kill him.  He could not do it on his own, but had to take advantage of that spark of hope that was fueling Han's love, as he laid his life on the line for his son and for the woman he loved.  For the same reason, when he was alone in a cockpit, he could not bring himself to fire the shot that might have killed his mother.  That final spark of hope remains, leaving us to wonder whether there could be any actual truth to Rey's claim, when she finally leaves Luke, that Ben must be their last hope.

       And that takes us to the biggest controversy of all: the portrayal of Luke in this movie.  This may be a very unpopular opinion, but that is one of the parts of this movie that I thought was more well done than the rest. ***ducking to avoid flying vegetables or rocks***  First of all, the portrayal of the very dark place Luke is in, at this his final hour, is not unrealistic.  It's just not what (many) fans wanted.  Well, to that, I can only say (with love), get over it.  The irony is that the strong backlash to Luke's portrayal proves part of Johnson's apparent point.  It is proof that many fans have idealized Luke into this legend who couldn't possibly be in this dark place near the end.  Well, this idealization fails to recall what Luke was actually like in the original trilogy.  He was whiny, impulsive, and overly emotional.  It was not his unbreakable strength or wisdom or added maturity that made him the hero of "Return of the Jedi".  It was his love and his childlike faith that there must still be good in his father.  The beauty of his return to Endor as the hero, at the end, is that he didn't go there to kill the Emperor or win the war.  He went in to save one soul.  And in the process, his lack of control over his emotions was almost the end of him multiple times.  Part of the reason he proves Yoda wrong is, not only because his father's final destiny is not "forever dominated" by the dark side, but because he himself (according to the rules Yoda has taught him about the light and dark) falls down the dark path a few times in that throne room battle.  So, the character traits he has demonstrated over the years make it quite likely that, in the end, after a failure that cuts him so deep, he could mask his despair in now more sophisticated sounding whining.  That is totally Luke Skywalker with Rey on that island.  We just don't like to see him that way.  I get that.  I didn't like it, per se, either.  But, it becomes a very interesting "final chapter" for him.

       So, what is it that really cuts him so deep?  The irony is that all of the silly philosophical, religious critique he launches into is just a distraction.  It reminds me a bit of the moment in the dialogue with the Samaritan Woman at the Well (John 4), when Jesus starts talking about her own personal sin and brokenness and she responds by quickly redirecting the conversation to external matters of rules for worship.  Yet, Rey eventually unveils the truth, during the "lesson" about failure, that the real issue is about his failure with his nephew.  Yet, an important part of that pain is clearly about how he failed his sister, who entrusted her own son to him.  It is most interesting how both Han and Luke are profoundly motivated by their love for Leia in their final episodes (just as them discovering their respective loves for her was crucial to the original trilogy).  The story has always been about the love within the Skywalker family.  Thus, with all this emotion involved, the impulsive fear response he describes when he realized the depth of Ben's darkness is not unbelievable.  But, it is just that: impulsive fear.  It was not a clear and decisive act.  But, it could not be undone.  It reminds me a bit of the story behind the martyrdom of Saint Thomas Beckett, whose murder was unintentionally ordered by his friend, King Henry II.  He was speaking out of pure emotional impulse, without any decisive intent to order his friend's death.  But, it could not be undone.  There is definitely some truth to Yoda's insistence that failure is a powerful teacher.  Luke's failure is meant to teach us all not to allow ourselves to be ruled by our emotions, as he so often is.  This final failure to control his emotions (which was always a battle for him) shows us just how disastrous the result can be, even if we would not have necessarily followed through.  And so this story about "the last spark of hope" was not just about hope for redeeming the villain, but about hope for redeeming the one with whom Leia identifies the spark itself, who now finds himself at the lowest point of his life.  And his final "redemption" is very interesting indeed.  But, some spark of hope is finally reignited in him, which is enough to prompt him to go, not only to help the rebels escape, but to relight that spark of hope in his sister.  His dialogue with Ben in the process of the showdown is most interesting and we will see whether it amounts to any seeds planted for the future.  But, it is interesting to see how Rey was instrumental in forcing him to deal with the source of his despair, his inability to reconcile with his own failure.  With the help of a final appearance from his old mentor, the spark is reignited (with the not-so-subtle symbol of a tree set ablaze).

        Truly, this was not the story many of us wanted, but it does become an interesting tale about the last spark of hope for the Skywalker family and for the galaxy.  In both Ben and Luke, we see how love is both what leads to their downfall, in different senses for each, and what holds the hope for their redemption.  Love indeed is a "weakness."  It makes us vulnerable.  It leads us to change and even to lay down our lives.  And it also renews our lives.  It is the full extent of our strength.  It is the last spark of hope.  And it is not snuffed out.                                       

Go Forward to Episode V>

<Go back to Episode III

5 Songs Worth Learning to Listen To in 2017 (Christmas & New Year Bonus!)

       Last year, I laid out the meaning of a "Song Worth Learning To Listen To."  This year, we have an especially diverse list.  And let me say before going further that I am far less attached to the order this year.  With some of these songs, I went back and forth as to which should be first, second, third, etc.  The significance of the order lies more in the flow of the overall reflection, from one meaning, theme, or topic to another.  But, focus on the list, rather than the order.  Now, let's just dive right in...

Honorable Mention: Only Wanna Sing

by Hillsong Young and Free

     This song was chosen as an honorable mention mainly because, as a praise and worship song, it technically falls outside of my own established parameters.  Nonetheless, there is something striking about this song, which I would describe precisely as making it worth learning to listen to.  My first encounter with the song was during the evening programs of a youth service camp this past summer.  What struck me was the great irony of the song.  My generation found such irony in "Heart of Worship," as we were moved by a beautiful song, which challenged us to give "more than a song."  "Only Wanna Sing" takes the concept to a whole new level.  No other song that whole week had the same level of energy to get them so hyped.  Yet, the whole point of the song is to challenge us to not get caught up in the hype.  I was struck by this one night, as the worship leaders stopped in the middle of the song, surrounded by a thick mob of dancing teenagers caught up in the moment, to invite them to understand what they were really being invited into.  This was not because the dancing was bad, but because they wanted them not to miss the depth being offered to them.  May every such moment challenge us to go deeper...

5: Hopeless Romantic

by Michelle Branch

     When I was a teenager, I thought like a teenager, spoke like a teenager, and listened to Michelle Branch like a teenager.  When I became an adult, I rocked out to her new album.  When Branch released Spirit Room, there was something about the youthful optimism with which she sang about love that struck me at the time as sometimes bearing a certain resemblance to the way a young, recent convert might sing of their relationship with the Lord.  By the time of the release of Hotel Paper, it was clear that her earlier optimism had grown jaded by broken relationships. (Incidentally, this sophomore tragedy found an interesting little counterpart in the one-album wonder, The Wreckers.) The long awaited follow-up full-length album seems to tell a tale of reaching a point of resolution.  In some ways, she sings of a rather tragic resolve.  But, there is beauty in that tragedy.  The honesty of "Hopeless Romantic" captures that beauty in a unique way.  Even the words themselves contain a striking honesty.  Understand that I don't claim to be able to speak for Branch's own thoughts or intentions.  Furthermore, I do fear that many listeners will miss the caution this song carries.  But, the kind of hopeless romantic depicted in this song is one whose passions are stirring them toward something that is not good for them, that will not satisfy them, but will actually become their downfall.  The more they allow themselves to be driven by these emotions the more their hope is lost, since hope is what reorders our passions toward their fulfillment.  Yet, reason continues to keep hope alive in the form of her honesty.  May that hope, grounded in reason and truth, continue to stir within each of us, that we may find true fulfillment. 

4: The Promise
by Chris Cornell

     Even preparing to write this description, and listening to the song again in the process, takes me back to that place I was in earlier this year, when I was hit unexpectedly hard by the news of the passing of such an iconic figure of an era of music that will always remind me of my youth.  I don't speak of simply surprise at the news of his death, or the reports regarding the cause of death.  It is not my intentional at all to get into any judgment or speculation about his own interior struggles.  But, when I listen to his music now, I am simply overwhelmed with... gratitude... as well as grief.  Yet, the thought that the final song we would hear from him, one of the best songs of his career, beckons its listeners (regardless of its original intention, which I do not think is lost or detracted from by the new significance it holds in light of his passing) to keep a promise to "persevere and thrive" ... I can't put into words what that does to those of us who were impacted by his music.  And yet, I don't think I have to.  Thank you, Chris.  Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord.  And let perpetual light shine upon him.  May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace.

3: Wounded Healer
by Audrey Assad

     I have to admit that this is a song that I myself am still learning to listen to.  Yet, it keeps pulling me back.  With a marvelously simple chorus, Assad draws us into the ever new mystery that we can trust Our Lord with our broken hearts.  The reality of His suffering, His identification with pain and woundedness emboldens us to trust Him.  Assad has revealed her pain, as someone who understands suffering, through many beautifully honest songs over the years.  She has also shown us glimpses of the healing power of love she has encountered along her journey.  She is one of those powerful song-writers who blends the depth of the Catholic Christian tradition with the depth of her own experience, whether painful or joyful.  Along the way, she has shown herself as one who understands the process of healing.  In this song, she is simply introducing us to the Healer, and inviting us to join her in entrusting our hearts to Him.

   

2: True Sadness 

by The Avett Brothers

     This song is an interesting follow-up to the number one song of the 2016 list ("Happiness" by NeedToBreathe), as it also features a refrain, which references that sense of being awakened in the middle of the night by dreams of something greater.  Yet, it initially seems that The Avett Brothers take that experience in the opposite direction, not toward "Happiness," but toward "True Sadness."  But, upon learning to listen to the song, we begin to realize that they are utilizing their characteristic honesty to point toward the futility of the things that we seek after in life, the things we dream of, which we imagine will bring us happiness.  The reality of being left unfulfilled, because of this misguided seeking is indeed the "True Sadness" that we find within humanity when we "peel a few layers."  Yet, the song is not one of pessimism of despair.  Rather, it seems to be challenging us to keep peeling away layers to find something deeper.  It seems we are meant not only to pity, or even just to respect, but also to identify with Angela (sung about in the third verse), and to have a moment of realization, not just about about her, but about ourselves, when they finally ask "Does she not have a heart?"

1: Gloria
by Josh Garrels

     Just over a year ago, Garrels released a beautiful Christmas album (The Light Came Down) that played, not like he chose to play into a gimmick or take his turn at a token holiday album, but rather like he wanted his next project to be a reflection on the Incarnation, and knew that the best way to do that would involve tapping into the rich existing tradition of Christmas songs, yet from his own unique perspective.  Of all the excellent tracks on this album, "Gloria" best reflects what makes the whole album great: the rich infusion of Garrels' own unique flavor with a variety of existing Christmas classics, leaving us with an original work, which also pays tribute to some of its precursors.   In this song, the 'gloria' feels very real, because it rises victoriously out of the entrance of our God into the depth of our darkness, where, "All of life's surrendering, beneath the death that winter brings, in hope of new life."  Yet, part of the beauty of the song is how the inclusion of elements of a couple familiar carols leaves us with the remembrance that this hope of a victorious 'gloria' rising out of our darkness is something both ever ancient and ever new.  The faithfulness of our God is learned from the stories and the hymns handed down, yet it is incarnated in our own unique and unrepeatable lives.  This is indeed a great depiction of the joy of Christmas in all of its glory.

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A Reality Bigger Than We Know: Thor and The Value of Myth

       It is not surprising to find rich symbolism in the story of a hero based in mythology, however unlikely it may seem find it in that of a comic book superhero.  I have begun to comment on this before, in my first presentation at the Heart Speaking to Heart Symposiums, Communio and Heroism.  But, this was just the beginning.

      We already established the basic concept that Thor was the first in the Marvel Cinematic Universe to expand the audience's vision of the universe beyond earth.  His home planet is spoken of as a different realm, the inhabitants of which visited earth generations ago, spawning a series of myths, found especially among the Norsemen. As such, he comes to us as one from a mythical land and has the mythic quality of inviting us to ponder whether reality is indeed bigger than we realize.   In the process, the entrance of Thor into the movies also begins the process of what seems to be a common theme in how the Marvel Cinematic Universe approaches many of the more mythological or quasi-spiritual components of its stories, namely de-mythologization.

       De-Mythologization: This is essentially the process of decoding the "myths" in such a way that seeks to offer a perfectly scientific explanation to what those who sought to explain the inexplicable called a myth.  In the process, all myth is reduced to simply things that represent components of reality of which we simply were not yet aware, or did not yet understand, but are nonetheless strictly natural and understandable through the physical sciences.  Now, there is an element of truth here, because faith and reason are, in fact, compatible because faith is the relationship with the Creator, who is in fact Reason Himself.  Furthermore, just because we are not aware of something, cannot understand it, or furthermore don't believe in it does not mean that is untrue.  Reality truly is bigger than we know.  But, it does not logically follow that all that is real can necessarily be emperically observed and studied in its totality.  Nonetheless, we see how this method of de-mythologization can be used for good or for ill.  On one hand, it has been used by some supposed Scripture scholars to attempt to eliminate anything miraculous or basically anything Divine from that glorious and True Myth, the story of Our Lord Jesus Christ.  In the process, they betray both faith and reason.  However, it is actually quite helpful that Marvel did in fact apply the method to the mythology upon which Thor is based, so that the viewer need not accept that Thor is in fact "a god" in the context of the story, thus impacting the whole worldview upon which this many-faceted story is based, even though this will not stop them, in future references, from making endless plays on words with regards to him being "a god".  So, the question that remains is how far they will extend this method.  Will they actually attempt to de-mythologize everything that the natural sciences cannot actually explain, every myth (real or fantastical) that has ever captivated the human heart?     

      Thor and The New Adam: This takes us (closer) to the main point.  Intentional or not, for better or for worse, there does appear to be a handful of parallels drawn between Thor and Our Lord, Jesus Christ.  He is the son of the father, who is sent down to earth - it seems, to some degree - to become one of us (in the first Thor movie).  His mission to earth culminates with an act of self-sacrifice, which gives way to a sort of resurrection.  Upon apparently rising again, he is restored to his full Asgardian strength, manifesting his power.  Here we see one of the key differences, which may in fact represent a way in which the Incarnation of Jesus Christ is sometimes misunderstood.  Christ did not lose His Divinity, waiting to be restored to it at the Resurrection.  He was always fully God and fully man.  Meanwhile, the nature of Thor's mission to earth and the apparent change in his nature is left unexplained, but it seems he is neither fully man nor fully Asgardian.  This looks like the Incarnation, but it is quite different (besides the fact that he is not God, of course).

       The First Adam: Also striking is the difference found in what brings him to earth in the first place.  Here, he resembles not so much the New Adam (see Romans 5 or 1 Corinthians 15), Jesus Christ, but the first Adam.  In his arrogance and pride, he is tempted and persuaded to defy the father.  His disobedience and dishonor to his father result in him falling out of favor for a time and being cast out of Asgard.  Yet, there is a theme running through his debut movie that Odin (the father) has a plan to restore what was broken and bring his son home.  In this way, we do see some small glimmer of the hope of restoration given in the "Proto-evangelion" (first gospel) in which God, the Father offers the first hint (Genesis 3:15) that there will be an Offspring (Christ) of the woman (Mary) who will crush the head of the serpent (Satan) by accomplishing the work of redemption by His Cross and Resurrection.  Ultimately, the first Thor is not as much a story about him coming to earth as a savior as it is about this arrogant, foolish young man learning a lesson of humility, which he will need as king.

       A Prodigal Brother?:  For me, when it really gets exciting is when his brother, Loki (the deceiver of the first film) comes to earth as a villain in The Avengers.  When Thor comes back to earth, it is clear that his mission is not simply to stop his brother, but to bring him home to the Father.  Seriously, that scene on the mountain... so good!

       Redemption:  As the story continues into Thor: The Dark World, we see that he still has not lost hope for the redemption of his brother.  Of course, the deceiver still does not stop deceiving, and we see the effects of this as they continue to try to rebuild their relationship in the latest installment, Thor: Ragnarok.  On one hand, we see Thor's hope and trust in his brother waning even more.  Yet, we also see glimmers that perhaps Loki does still desire some kind of relationship... perhaps he even holds some desire for redemption?

But, before we continue discussing Thor: Ragnarok...

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD
I mean, technically, we've spoiled the other movies already, but let's be honest, if you haven't seen those yet, why are you reading this?

If you haven't seen Thor: Ragnarok, you probably don't get this.  If you have... just think for a minute.

       Hope and Meaning: Very early on, we see Thor lose nearly all that he holds dear.  On one hand, one may think he has every reason to despair.  And to be fair, perhaps it more his stubbornness or even his pride, rather than simply hope, that causes him to keep fighting.  Yet, his misfortunes bring him into contact with a few key characters in need of having their hope restored.  Of course, there is everyone's favorite green smashing machine.  And we can see how he does this for Hulk, who doesn't want to return to earth, where he is hated and feared.  Yet, perhaps even more striking is his interaction with Valkyrie.  She was a great warrior who fought for the same world as Thor.  But, her kind were defeated long ago, leaving her the lone survivor.  In her stubborn reluctance to go back and fight for Asgard, we see the connection between despair and meaninglessness.  Her despair has caused her to cling to a meaningless existence, in which nothing is really worth fighting for... except perhaps for entertainment.  And this is part of the insulting nature of the Grandmaster's games.  For Thor, battle is not a show (for more on this idea, go here).  For him... the struggle is real (sorry, couldn't resist).  It was once real for Valkyrie too.  Yet, her sense of honor has been disillusioned by defeat.  And we see her apparent disinterest in the games.  We sense she's a bit disgusted by them, but she's not willing to do anything about it.  She'll just keep bringing the Grandmaster contenders as long as she profits and it keeps her liquor cabinet stocked.  Until Thor finally is able to restore her sense of purpose and her hope that her home world is worth fighting for... Just in time for that world to be destroyed.

       Asgard Is a People:  I love this.  Besides the surprising nature of the ending, it was the perfect next step for a new direction for the character and the series.  (Seriously, don't tell me I'm the only one wondering how it will affect Earth to have all those Agardians running around.)  Cap already had his moment of initiating the crumbling of SHIELD, but that was more about destroying something that was far too deeply broken (all the while striving to save the people, who are never too far gone for Cap).  But, in its deeper meaning, this looks even more like Tony's ending in Iron Man 3, only it hits much harder and cuts much deeper.  Thor was not destroying (or letting the 'big monster' destroy) something because it was broken, but because he had to learn he could live without it.  He was missing the point of what it meant for him to king.  It wasn't about saving "the world," but about saving the people.  This character who has gradually been learning the lesson of humility, which he needed to shepherd and lead his people (which bears some resemblance to Stark already), is now brought to a point in which he steps in to lead under circumstances he likely never would have imagined.  It holds some small glimmer of the misunderstanding of the disciples of Christ about the nature of His Kingship.  Granted, it would precisely not be their task to destroy anything.  Yet, we cannot help but think about Our Lord's prophecy about the destruction of the Temple, and its symbolic connection to the New Temple of God (1 Peter 2), the Body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12), the Church.  And of what does this Body consist?  It's many members, the people that the King has redeemed, to whom "He gave power to become children of God" (John 1).  The Kingdom consists of the people, yet the people would not be a people, if not for the King who alone brings the fulfillment of His own prayer: "that they may all be one, as You, Father, are in me and I in you, that they may also be in us" (John 17).  Jesus unites us as a people, in Himself, as members of His Body, in order to bring us home to the Father.

      These are just a few of the things I noticed.  What have you noticed?               


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