A Borrowed Post: Man On Fire: Great Christian Movie.
I don’t normally borrow posts from other people’s blogs, but this post (originally written by Prodigal Jon over at Stuff Christians Like) really stood out as a fantastic comparison of Christianity and the movie Man On Fire.
In the film, Denzel Washington plays the role of Creasy, an alcoholic black ops military man in Mexico City serving as a bodyguard for a little girl named Pita. Pita is a blonde sprite of a seven-year-old played by the ubiquitous Dakota Fanning. Throughout the first half of the film we watch as Creasy hits rock bottom, only to find a new reason to live in Pita. Along the way, we see him spend increasing amounts of time in the Bible.
But because this at the core a revenge film, Pita is kidnapped after a piano lesson. Creasy is shot multiple times and the doctors say that without a month of rest, he will die. While Creasy is trapped in bed, Pita is executed by the kidnappers. He is devastated, his world collapsing in scenes of Pita laughing and playing. He leaves the hospital and decides to track down the killers.
In a hinge scene the young mother of Pita asks Creasy what he is going to do. His response is simple, “What I do best, I’m going to kill em. Anyone that was involved, anyone that profited from it, anyone that opens their eyes at me.” This statement serves as the doorway to a veritable house of pain and suffering. The violence is shocking in both its graphicness and its creativity.
At this point, my initial idea that I saw the love of Christ in this movie seems impossible. We do not serve a God that would torture a man with a cigarette lighter or plant a plastic explosive inside another kidnapper. Our God is not cruel. I think that’s worthy of argument though, at least from an Old Testament point of view. Would the Egyptian mothers that woke to find their first born children dead in their beds agree that God can not be cruel? Would the residents of Sodom, with flesh ripped apart by sulfur falling from the sky agree that God is not violent? I’m not saying these things were not justified. I just think that maybe we make too light of the fury and might of God.
Why I’m Not A Good Christian. Part 3.
(10) I get angry at Christians when they dramatize their spiritual battles.
Maybe this bullet is to my detriment. I dunno.
In my blog feed a while back, a post from a person who will remain nameless (I protect the innocent here.) came across my screen with the following title: “I am in a fight for my life! Please pray!” I could only imagine the horror that must have been unfolding for him while he was writing. Could it be that a tiny evil unicorn had broken into his home and had him pinned cowering in the corner with his laptop? Could his wife finally have snapped and been trying to beat him to death with her curling iron and he was using his laptop as a shield? Sadly, when I read the blog entry his “fight for his life” had to do with a bunch of his friends from work inviting him to go see a R rated movie that weekend. Where is the fight for his life in that? That was my question too… then I realized that he had made a commitment to God that he would not see any R rated movie on principle, but with this latest invite from his friends, his commitment was tested as he really wanted to go.
Ahem.
This example leans a bit to the extreme side, but it really isn’t far off from the way a lot of Christians face their spiritual battles. Giving poetic license or mental imagery to struggles in faith can produce beauty and art that glorifies and gives honor to God, and I don’t want to take anything away from that. I get angry when Christians start to supplement struggles with the dramatic.
Some of the most beautiful hymns I’ve sung and meaningful books I’ve read have been penned by people after they have had their lives broken. Whether they were coping with a tragic loss of a child, dealing with the pain of being imprisoned in a foreign land for their belief, or even while a cancer or terminal sickness ate away at their body, their hearts cried out to God and spilled onto paper in the form of life changing words.
I would make a safe assumption that if you were to poll a group of 100 Christians and ask how many of them would like to be able write such inspiring words you would see 100 hands shoot up. Ask the same crew how many of them would willing go through the same struggles the authors faced in order to obtain the inspiration to write these words and I doubt you would see a single hand rise.
Never-the-less, because some Christians so badly want that life changing Christ-like influence on other people, but are blessed enough to not have to go through a life changing trial, their alternative is to add drama and theatrics to issues that don’t warrant them. The closest analogy I can make would be for me to attend a military veteran’s convention, and having never severed in the military myself, make comparisons from the struggles in my day to day life to those of a solder’s combat experience. I believe this behavior would be seen as immature, and not a whole lot of people (if any) would take me seriously. In the same way I believe when you add theatrics instead of struggles to your testimony as a Christian, you are not only being disrespectful to those that have ‘earned’ their spiritual battle scars, but I doubt people are going to take you very seriously.
Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved. - Hellen Keller
Who Am I?
Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equally, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine!D. Bonhoeffer
My Sin
I have fallen, Lord, once more. I can’t go on and I’ll never succeed. I’m ashamed and I don’t dare look at you. And yet I’ve struggled Lord, for I knew you were right near me bending over me, watching. But temptation blew in like a hurricane and, instead of looking at you, I turned my head away and stepped aside while you stood silent and sorrowful, like the squirmed fiancée who sees his loved one carried off by his rival.
When the wind had died down as suddenly as it had arisen, when the lightening ceased after proudly streaking the darkness, all of a sudden I found myself alone, ashamed, disgusted with my sin in my hands. This sin that I selected, as a customer selects his purchase. This sin that I paid for but cannot return, for the store keeper is no longer there. This tasteless sin, this odious sin, this sin that now sickens me, which I once wanted, but I want no more. That I imagined, sought, played with, fondled for a long time, that I finally embraced by passing you.
My arms outstretched, my eyes and heart irresistibly drawn, this sin that I’ve grasped and consumed with a gluttony. It’s mine now, Lord, but it possesses me as a spider web holds captive the fly. It’s mine and sticks to me. It flows in my veins and fills my heart. It has slipped in everywhere, as darkness slips into the forest at dusk and fills all the patches of light. Lord, I can’t seem to get rid of it. I run from it like the master of an unwanted and mangy dog. But it catches up with me and rubs joyfully against my legs. Everyone must notice it. I’m so ashamed that I feel like crawling to avoid being seen. I’m ashamed of being seen by my friends, Lord. I’m ashamed of being seen by you, for you loved me and I forgot you. I forgot you because I was thinking only of myself, and one can’t think of several persons at once; one must choose and I chose.
And now, Lord, your voice, your look, and your love hurt me. They weigh me down more than my sin. Lord, please don’t look at me like that, I’m naked and dirty, down and shattered with no strength left, and I dare not make any more promises. I can only stand bowed before you, Lord.
Come on, son, look up. Isn’t it mainly your vanity that has ruined it? If you loved me you would grieve, but you would trust. Do you think there’s a limit to God’s love? Do you think for a moment I have stopped loving you? But you still rely on yourself, son, you must rely on me. Ask my pardon and get up quickly. You see, it’s not falling that is the worst, but staying on the ground.