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Epic Theology

Finding God through the lens of an artist

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Faith and Film

Exploring the connections between blockbusters and faith

Faith and Film: The 100

Well, everyone, this was supposed to be our 100th post here at EpicTheology, but as the weeks turned out, Mother’s Day happened right at the 100 mark, and I figured our moms are more important than other things I was going to say. So, in honour of our 101st post, I thought we would take a look at one of my favourite Young Adult Post-Apocalyptic TV shows: The 100. (Full disclosure, this may be the only YA Post-Apoc TV show I’ve watched…)

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Essentially, The 100 is LOST for teenagers, in the future. I found the first few episodes to be hard to watch, the writing was so bad. But as the series continued, it picked up in quality and my wife and I were hooked.

The basic premise of the show is as follows: humanity has nearly destroyed itself with nuclear war. The surviving humans live on a space station where any crime is dealt with by pushing the criminal out an airlock and into space (known as floating). UNLESS that criminal is under 18, in which case they are kept in prison until they are old enough to stand trial (and then get floated).

When the space station begins to run out of air, 100 of these teenage delinquents are sent down to earth to see if the planet is hospitable again. If they live, they are pardoned for their crimes. If they die, well, they were going to die anyways, and they saved the space station from sending down everyone.

Once these teenagers are on the ground, the situation turns into a fraternity party-meets-Lord of the Flies. With no strong emotional connection to the adults who sent them to the ground, the teens rebel and begin building a new society that suits whatever their whims may be. It’s everyone for him/herself, with pleasure-chasing and power-wrestling the top concern for many of the survivors.

Sound at all familiar?

Who, as a teenager, didn’t rail against the oppression of adults in our lives? Whether our parents, or teachers, or coaches, we had adults telling us what to do and when to do it. When I got to college, it was like all the controls had been taken off and I could do whatever I wanted.

To be fair, I didn’t build a wooden fortress and become a warlord on campus, but I still flexed in my newfound freedom. I also know many who went through a similar process. No matter how well our parents raised us, curiosity or inner rebelliousness urges us to push against what we’ve been taught.

Which isn’t always a bad thing. A big part of the draw of The 100 is the exploration of the post-apocalyptic world that the teens find themselves in. They world is full of mysteries that the following seasons slowly unravel, and many of the misconceptions (or downright lies) of the space-faring adults are brought to light by the curiosity of the protagonists.

But sometimes, rebellion is just rebellion.

It’s in all of us. Since Adam and Eve listened to the snake, we’ve had a tendency to believe that those in authority over us are holding out on us. That God himself is holding out on us. That if WE were in charge, WE would be happier. But happiness does not usually follow a life of narcissism and hedonism. Only a deep relationship with Jesus and a loving community can do that.

And The 100 shows us the importance of community. When facing the terrors that still inhabit the earth, the heroes have to put aside their differences, their pasts, and their pains in order to stay alive. They have to squash their prejudices and swallow their pride in order to see another day.

Perhaps we could learn a thing or two.

So yes, the heroes can be incredibly whiny (being more concerned with your girlfriend than the survival of your tribe…really now…), but I remember being a teenager. Love and popularity and purpose were the biggest of questions for me. It’s only through the lens of an adult nearing 30 that I can see how much bigger life gets.

If you haven’t seen the show, I suggest it. Push on through the first few chapters and really dig into how The 100 depicts human selfishness and selflessness. See if you can find anything that applies to you. That’s how art changes us.

Blessings,

Faith and Film: Zootopia

My wife was away at a retreat this past weekend, which gave me the opportunity to spend some time with my boys. We had a lot of fun running around, playing Pokemon Go, and getting some new Lego. On Saturday night, we decided to have a movie night, and my eldest wanted to watch Disney’s Zootopia.

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Now, we had watched this movie before, but I had thoroughly enjoyed it and so agreed. Watching it again in light of recent events gave the film a completely new layer of meaning. I want to discuss that today.

For those who haven’t seen the movie, Zootopia follows a young, optimistic bunny named Judy Hopps as she becomes the city’s first bunny cop. She has to overcome others’ prejudices (and her own) to solve a series of missing mammal cases. In the end, we find out the main villain has been causing division amongst the population of Zootopia and using fear to take and maintain power.

Sound familiar?

A lot of people I know are scared right now. Those of the fringes, the marginalized and vulnerable, don’t see the future as particularly positive. Even as Canadians, many of us are waiting anxiously to see how the actions of our southern neighbours will turn out. With a dual-citizen wife, the events are closer to home than I would like.

But perhaps we can find hope and instruction in a children’s movie about talking animals.

The first issue that Zootopia addresses is the prejudices we carry around with us and the judgements we make against people who were born differently from us. In the film, the predator and prey animals live together peacefully, but tensions are high. Bunnies are too soft to be police officers, foxes can’t be trusted, and predators can “turn savage” at any moment, threatening the safety of smaller, more vulnerable species.
Except, they don’t. There is nothing inherently savage about the predator mammals, foxes can be trustworthy, and a bunny makes an excellent cop.

The tragedy of these stereotypes plays out in the life of Nick Wilde, Judy’s unwilling Fox partner. After being treated as untrustworthy throughout his childhood (despite a sincere desire to be friendly, honest, and worthy of his friends’ trust), he eventually accepts the role that his society thrusts upon him. Although he eventually finds redemption, he goes through much of his life living out the role given to him by his peers.

What happens, then, when we start to tell every young Arabic or Muslim person that everyone like them is a terrorist? How do they feel, knowing that society at large believes them to be terrifying, regardless of how they actually act? We keep hearing more and more about radicalization, but when are we actually going to do something about it? When are we going to start trusting people?

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The second issue, that we really only get to see near the end, is how those in power can utilize fear to maintain their position and control. In Zootopia, Mayweather convinces the prey animals that predators, including their mayor, cannot be trusted. The prey band together against their perceived threat and begin to marginalize the predators. What they are left with is a fractured society on the brink of disaster. A far cry from the utopia that Judy Hopps hoped Zootopia would be.

Fear is not a path to peace.

Let that sink in. Hope, faith, trust, sacrifice, love, teamwork, and selfless abandon are all pathways to peace, but fear never will be. We cannot build a society worthy of our calling on the foundation of fear and marginalization. If others are not allowed to join us, if we can’t learn to live with each other, if we force some to live on the outside, we will never have peace. Humankind is not our enemy. We are all beloved bearers of the image of God and we need to treat each other as such.

We are called to peace. We follow the Prince of Peace.

This post has been a little long, but I just want to wrap up with a challenge for you this week:

What fears are you allowing to turn you against your fellow image-bearers? Are you allowing the media to shape how you view other people and steep your days in fear of the “other?” If so, spend some time thinking about how that must feel from the other side. Pray, meditate, and try to live a life of trust.

Blessings

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrowland

When I was growing up, the future was always bright and full of potential. The year 2000 was going to bring Virtual Reality, completely customizable cars, and video games the likes of which we had never dreamed of. Two of those have come true by 2017.

Maybe it was just childish naiveté, but things seem to have changed. When I watch TV or movies about the future now, it seems we’ve lost the dream that tomorrow can be better than today. We are obsessed with apocalypses. Zombie, nuclear, genetic, viral. It seems that the only future we in North America can see is one with abandoned sky-scrapers crumbling onto vine-choked streets or desert wastelands spanning across once fertile country. Gone are the dreams of flying cars, the eradication of disease, and the human potential.

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On Saturday, I watched Disney’s Tomorrowland, which ponderously addresses this very issue. While the pace may have been slow through the first and second acts, the final questions that the movie asks more than make up for it. For those who haven’t seen the film, there are spoilers ahead. Go, watch the movie, and come back when you’re done.

Alright, here’s the good stuff. Near the end of the film, we find out that the machine that has been “predicting” the violent end of humanity has been projecting that message to everyone on earth for over twenty years. Instead of opening our eyes to the potential for disaster, humanity becomes obsessed with the impending doom, forgetting about the possibility of a better tomorrow.

And then Nix drops the biggest bomb I’ve heard from a Disney film in a long time: people accept a bleak and hopeless future because it asks nothing of them today.

Think that over for a second.

Hope for a better tomorrow asks something of us. It asks us to work for the future. It tells us to work hard, think fast, and overcome obstacles, because in doing so, we build toward the shining world we want. If we pull together and think of someone or something other than ourselves, we can defeat the world-destroying problems that threaten to overcome us.

Doom, however, does not ask us to work hard. It doesn’t ask us for anything. It asks us, instead, “What is the point? You’re just going to die anyway.” It tells us we can’t fix anything, so why try? Just enjoy the here and now before it’s too late.

Perhaps this is part of the millennial apathy problem. Raised with the horrors of war, injustice, and the failing of the American Dream, we find it much easier to just accept the brokenness of the world instead of fighting for a different future. It allows us to focus on ourselves, spouting YOLO whenever we are challenged on our decisions. We accept the inevitability of death and have forgotten Dylan Thomas’ urge to “rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

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But, as Christians, we know that the world does not end in doom. We know, in the end, Good wins. And that should inspire us each and every day.

The Lord’s Prayer, the Our Father, contains the words: “Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.” What would happen if we actually lived that way. If we started to believe that tomorrow does not have to be dark and hopeless and instead began to work for the kingdom? What would God do through us if we took a stand against evil and injustice, even if it cost us dearly? What if we looked despair straight in the eyes and said, “No. Not today. And not tomorrow either.”

Evil is overwhelming. But God is more so.

This week, ask yourself if you have, consciously or unconsciously, accepted a bleak future and have turned inward in response. Spend a little time meditating on your thoughts of the future, and your responsibility in its formation.

Are you going to accept the dying of the light? Or rage against it.

In this case, I choose to rage.

Drawn into a Story: Boyhood and Jupiter Ascending

Once upon a time…

It was a dark and stormy night…

The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon of a new day…

Magical, isn’t it? The beginning of a story. You never know what’s coming next, or who will show up first. But you do know that you are about to embark on something new and exciting: a story.

Today, I want to ask what draws us in and keeps us connected to a story? Over the weekend, I was able to watch two VERY different films that relied on VERY different means to keep its audience spellbound.

The first, Boyhood.

The second, Jupiter Ascending.

This afternoon, we will look at these two movies and see how they use character and plot to hook their audience and keep them to the end.I@049431_L

Boyhood is a marvel of modern filmmaking. Shooting over 12 years, we watch a young boy grow up before our eyes without the use of special aging effects or recasting. It was this premise that caught my attention, and I finally sat down to watch it.

Full disclosure: I am a plot person. I love thick, multi-layered storytelling where politics and personal lives come crashing together. I love characters with well-defined goals and antagonists who are opposed to those goals. I like rising action, building tension, a thrilling climax, and a satisfying resolution.

Boyhood is not that film.

Boyhood is about growing up. And if you are like me, your childhood was not a carefully scripted series of obstacles to overcome on the way to a climactic graduation. It was more like a series of mundane bowls of cereal, high moments of passion and hormones, low moments of despair and hormones, with a peppering of fun and adventure.

Boyhood is THAT film.

It’s easy to get lost in these characters because we’ve been there, for at least some of the story moments that Boyhood tells. I’ve gone camping, been excited when my dad comes to pick me up, agonized over the fruitlessness of the world, and gone off to college. I’ve watched my parents divorce and remarry, been passionately absorbed in my art, and mumbled incoherently because I was trying to be cool. Watching Boyhood is a little like going through a photo album of my life. I see myself in the characters, and continue watching because I’m invested in what happens to them (even if it’s nothing).4liSXBZZdURI0c1Id1zLJo6Z3Gu

Jupiter Ascending, on the other hand, is all about its plot. The characters are fairly shallow and generally only have one desire throughout the film. Jupiter (our protagonist) just wants to go home and spends most of the movie being dragged from one end of the solar system to the other.

What we get, in the place of deep character development, is fast-paced action scenes that grip the audience, pull us into the fantasy world of Jupiter Ascending, and drive relentlessly towards the climatic battle sequence. We continue to watch because each scene is either gorgeously painted with CGI or unravels a little more of the mystery of the story. We, like our protagonist want to know more of what’s going on. So we keep watching.

In my opinion, the best films are laden with both deep character development and high stakes plotting. We care about the characters and keep watching because they want something so badly and will go to any lengths to get it. That, my friends, is compelling storytelling.

Think Captain Miller and his platoon in Saving Private Ryan. They are all deeply real people with flaws and heroics. They want to go home, but must first march across Hell to find one lone soldier before they can.

Frodo is an everyman with likes and dislikes (perhaps not as many as his uncle Bilbo), who also must do the right thing (destroy the Ring) before he is allowed to go home.

Maximus must come to terms with his betrayal and the death of his family before he can defy the emperor and ultimately avenge the deaths of his wife and son.

Compelling.

So, how about you? Are you drawn to one of these more than the other? My wife is far more character oriented, balancing out my plot obsession. Or, are you drawn to something else entirely, like beautiful cinematography or hilarious comedic situations.

As we learn what draws people into stories, we can better craft the stories we want, or need, to tell. Well-told stories will always reach more people, and get your message across clearer, than poorly-told ones.

So go, write, or paint, or dance. Speak or play. Tell stories of love and death and heroics and the mundane. But tell them well.

The world will thank you for it.

Staring into the Deep

Throughout much the Bible, the sea is considered a symbol of chaos and the enemy of God’s people. The Leviathan is a beast that God conquered. Rahab is the name of both a mythical sea-beast and a euphemism for Egypt. This all makes sense when we consider that the Israelites were land-dwelling folk with little experience in shipbuilding and ocean-voyaging. For them, the sea was full of danger and uncertainty, the complete opposite of the loving Father figure of God.

Yet, in Genesis 1, we see God creating the seas and calling them good. They cannot be evil if God considers them good. Scary and untamed? Of course. But not evil.

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I watched the film In the Heart of the Sea a few days ago, which recounts the trials of the whaling ship Essex, which was attacked by a sperm whale and would eventually inspire the story of Moby Dick. Throughout the film, I could not help but wonder at the majesty of the ocean. After thousands of years of human civilization on the Earth, we still do not have mastery over its depths. It is full of wondrous creatures and fearsome monsters (for those who think there aren’t sea monsters, just try denying that you wouldn’t scream like a child if you came upon a giant squid while out swimming one day…monster). And we have no control over it.

I was born on the West Coast, and perhaps my bias is showing, but I feel like the ocean can show me much of God. Just as C. S. Lewis said of Aslan in the Chronicles of Narnia (his allegorical Christ, for those who haven’t read the books…or seen the movies…) the ocean is not safe, but it is good. We are reminded of just how small we are when we are faced by the endless expanse of water. We are reminded of how powerless we are when we come up against the giant swells of ocean storms. We are reminded that, no matter how much we build ourselves up as masters of this world, we have not conquered the sea. Just as we have not conquered God.

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The ocean forces us to face our hubris, and for that, I love it.

We may someday map the ocean and catalogue all of its denizens, but until then, it will stand as a symbol of what we have no control over. And no matter how powerful we become as a species, we will never have power over God.

For those keeping track, I enjoyed the film. It also speaks to some of these themes of human pride in the face of nature’s incredible force (and sometimes wrath). I suggest you go see it, if you haven’t. It’s worth the couple of hours you’d spend. Unless you’re easily seasick. Then don’t.

Also, Thor with a harpoon. Who doesn’t want to see that?

For my non-land-locked brothers and sisters, what do you think of the ocean? Scary or beautiful? Enemy of God or symbol of the divine? Chime in and let me know what you think.

Blessings

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