Discussional: Gravity

What It’s About: Dr. Ryan Stone (Oscar nominee Sandra Bullock), Matt Kowalski and a handful of other astronauts are doing some work on the Hubble telescope when a freak accident sends a lethal shower of debris their way. The disaster destroys their space shuttle, kills their co-workers and leaves them stranded in space without a clear way home. Their chances of survival seem slim, and yet they cling to a thread of hope—as thin as the tether that binds the both of them together.

Some Thoughts: Hundreds of years ago, Celtic Christians sought out places on their green, windswept island where God seemed nearer to them, where the membrane between heaven and earth was slight and small, where mere mortals could seemingly almost touch the divine. These early Christians called them “thin places.”

The setting of Gravity seems, both physically and spiritually, such a place. Ryan and Matt float literally in the heavens, where the air is not just thin but gone, and God might be anywhere. Everywhere.

I don’t think that thin places are geographical, really. Someone may look down from a mountain or up toward a church steeple and have, what feels like, a profound moment with God, while others are unmoved. Faith isn’t like geocaching—that we’ll dig up spiritual fulfillment if we go to such-and-such a place. I think God makes those thin places for us as individuals, often when we expect them the least but need them the most.

If anyone needed a divine helping hand—or better yet, a working spaceship—it was Ryan. Stranded hundreds of miles above the earth, she was as far away from mortal help as a human being can be. And for a time, it’s not clear she even wants help. Mourning the death of her daughter, part of her seems to want to join her (though she doesn’t know where, exactly, such a reunion would take place). She’s not really living as much as existing through habit. Her real life died with her daughter, we’re led to believe, and this horrific space accident might just be the coup de grace.

In the dark of space, the darkest of spaces, her mind—oddly—turns to prayer.

“Nobody will pray for my soul,” she says, floating in a dying space capsule. “I’ve never said a prayer in my life. Nobody ever taught me how.” And she sadly turns down the oxygen and waits to slowly suffocate and freeze.

But then—spoiler warning, for those few of you who still haven’t seen this flick—Matt Kowalski knocks on the outside of the capsule. The same Matt Kowalski that Ryan watched float away from her.

“It's nice up here,” he admits to Ryan. “You can just shut down all the systems, turn out all the lights, and just close your eyes and tune out everyone. There's nobody up here that can hurt you. It's safe. I mean, what's the point of going on? What's the point of living? Your kid died. Doesn't get any rougher than that.”

But then Matt turns a corner.  “If you decide to go, then you gotta just get on with it. Sit back, enjoy the ride. [Or] You gotta plant both your feet on the ground and start living life. Hey, Ryan? It's time to go home.”

The movie doesn’t tell us that Matt came back from the dead to chat. It might’ve been a product of a lack of oxygen, of stress, of a million other factors. Those who are determined to explain away the unexplainable will invariably do so.

But Ryan—a woman who went to space without hope or faith—believes it to be something other. She speaks to Ryan—asking him to give her daughter a hug and a kiss. And when her feet find the ground again, she looks up and says “thank you.”

In those thinnest of thin places, something touched Ryan and pushed her home.

We find those thin places when we need them most, I think. Several years ago, I found one driving home from work—one afternoon when I was struggling with stress and guilt and a deep sense of unworth. I hadn’t been to church for several years then. My relationship with God was strained, as thin as a tether.

And then, as drove and listened to some tunes and thought about the wreckage that seemed to be my life in that moment, the skies almost seemed to open. I gasped and felt God—the certainty of Him, the joy and terror of Him, the glory. It was if I had been given a glimpse of the true meaning of the strangest, prettiest word in Christendom: Hallelujah.

That one moment didn’t change my life. I didn’t become a new man. Change is slow and faith is hard. And yet in that moment, it was if I had seen (if only for a time) a glimpse of Life, capital L. Life as God intended it to be. And I saw a glimpse of God Himself behind it all.

It all sounds rather silly, I suppose. I’m a rationalist by training, a skeptic, in some ways, by nature. I’m a Christian, largely, because it makes so much sense to me. It’s reasonable. It works. And yet, behind all that, there is this moment, and fleeting moments like it: Moments that I can’t explain and don’t want to.

Perhaps it was an odd blip of brain chemistry, brought on by stress and sadness—a shot of spiritual endorphins to help me crest a difficult personal hill. Perhaps it was a trick of psychology, a mental placebo to fool me into feeling better. Perhaps. And yet that moment, whatever it was, helped me see with new eyes, feel with new hope. I found what feels like firmer footing in that moment. And in that day and every day thereafter, part of me says thank you.

Some More Thoughts: Feel free to check out what I wrote about Gravity for The Washington Post.

Questions:

1. Have you ever found a thin place? Where? When?

2. What would have become of Ryan had Matt not come along when he did? Would she have found her way home anyway?

3. Would you call Matt’s seemingly post-mortem visit a miracle? Why or why not?

What the Bible Says:

 “I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

Philippians 4:13

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Isaiah 41:10

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

Romans 8:18

Discussional: Dallas Buyers Club

What It's About: Electrician by day, rodeo cowboy by night and Texas-sized jerk most of the time, Ron Woodroof (Oscar-nominated Matthew McConaughey) discovers he's contracted AIDS—back in 1985, when the disease was a swift death sentence and to be thought of as gay was almost as bad. Ron's nearly as horrified to be stigmatized as queer as he is of the disease itself. He's ostracized by his drinking buddies and, at a time when he could most use some moral support, he's left almost alone. In his desperation to conquer AIDS and prolong his life, Ron goes outside the medical establishment to find drugs that actually work. He forms an unlikely business partnership with transgendered Rayon (Oscar-nominated Jared Leto) and begins selling his drugs and vitamins to Dallas' needy AIDS cases—most of whom are the gay men Ron would've shunned before.

Some Thoughts: In addition to AIDS, Dallas Buyers Club gives us two sweeping villains—the medical establishment and homophobia—and many Christians will be deeply discomforted by this film for obvious reasons. For those who believe that homosexuality is a sin, Dallas' activist stance will be deeply problematic. And that’s beside the film's profanity (which is pervasive) and sex (which can be graphic). Plugged In gave the film just one-half “plug,” which isn’t good.

But if we set aside the content and look at the movie's form—particularly the character arc of its prime protagonist—and we see a movie that looks, believe it or not, surprisingly evangelical, even though God’s not mentioned once.

For anyone who's been in the sometimes-strange evangelical subculture for any length of time, they'll recognize Ron's story for what it is: A testimony. We're familiar with the pattern: "I was lost," someone might say while standing on the church stage. "I gambled, drank, and cheated. I cavorted with women of ill-repute. I stole money from my own grandmother. I didn't care for anyone but me." The more horrific the sins, the better. (My own paltry "testimony" stories are so lame that I dread anyone asking me about them. When you get baptized at 7, unfortunately, you find your biggest sins lie ahead.)

Ron did most of that: The smoking, the cheating, the sneaking around—he was a textbook sinner. And while he might not have taken money from his grandmother, he was unquestionably lost.

But then, something happened that changed his life.

In the testimonies I've heard, they only change their ways when they've hit rock-bottom—often a brush with death. And it makes for a better story if that brush is directly connected, somehow, to their sinning. They're painfully confronted with their squandered lives and bankrupt worldview. "I knew right then," they'll say, "I needed to change. I needed to turn my life around. Give it to something better."

Ron's own crisis is contracted directly through his debauched, dead-end lifestyle. He gets AIDS through sex with (as might've been said in a 1920s Methodist pamphlet) "loose women" and, when doctors say he has just a month to live, he knows he has to do something drastic.

"Let me give y'all a little news flash," he says. "There ain't nothin' out there that can kill f---in' Ron Woodroof in 30 days."

That's bravado and he knows it. For a while, he takes stolen drugs without changing his lifestyle—chasing the meds with beer and liquor. When that supply is cut off, he's forced to drive to Mexico—ominously taking a gun for company. And he breaks down in the car, sobbing and screaming.

But shortly thereafter with a kindly doctor in Mexico, he finds new answers. He discovers new solace. He's given, in a way, new life. And he turns the car—and his ways—around and heads toward home.

Like a missionary or inner-city pastor, he begins his work, turning his attention to the shunned and sick—helping them find the life that he found. He cares for society's then-untouchables, giving hope to the hopeless and grace to those who need it most. He serves as an angry prophet, too—cursing (quite literally) the powers that be and imploring one and all that there's a better way.

It's here where the comparisons break down a bit. Woodroof's no saint, and he often charges heavily for his help, the sort of aid that Christian pastors and workers often give for free. This is not, we must re-emphasize, not a Christian mirror any more than it's a Christian movie. Indeed, religion, I don't think, is mentioned at all.

And that itself makes me wonder … where was the Church in those days, in the late 1980s when gays and lesbians had little clout and when a mysterious disease was killing so many? How many people of faith were helping those in such great need? How many stood on the sidelines, afraid? How many called AIDS a moral judgment? It's a serious question, because I simply don't know. I'm sure there were some Christians who helped. I know there are some who didn't. But maybe we didn't do all that we should've.

And I wonder … if more Christians had shown more of God's grace and love in that time to people sorely in need of both, would today's conversations over gay rights sound different today? Even in the midst of the strong and real disagreements between these two communities, could we have found a little more space to discuss these disagreements more rationally, more gently? As friends? As God's holy creations?

What the Bible Says:

"‘For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’"

Matthew 25:35-40

"For there will never cease to be poor in the land. Therefore I command you, ‘You shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor, in your land.’"

Deuteronomy 15:11

"Give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you."

Luke 6:38

Discussional: Captain Phillips

What It's About: Captain Richard Phillips (Tom Hanks) takes command of a massive shipping vessel and tries to get his crew to take his pirate-prevention drills seriously. His pleas are heeded more when actual Somali pirates show up, but Capt. Phillips has no time to gloat: The pirates take control of the vessel and, when that plan falls through, kidnap the captain as a sort of consolation prize. "Just business," pirate captain Muse (Oscar nominee Barkhad Abdi) tells Phillips. But with the American navy bearing down on Muse's tiny lifeboat and frazzled crew, business could prove to be very, very bad.

Some Thoughts: Captain Phillips, based on a true story, is a taut thriller that doesn't have much (any?) spiritual subtext. And yet there's still something to talk about here—lessons on how we Christians, on the sloshy boat of life, can deal with metaphorical pirates when they come aboard. But be warned: Dangerous and slightly controversial waters ahead. Beware the screaming eels.

I know of Christians who get really angry with those "Jesus is my co-pilot" bumper stickers. Jesus, they say, should be the pilot—taking you wherever His flight plan says. (And if you're a strict Calvinist, of course, the whole craft is on autopilot besides.) There's a lot of theological truth in that: We should, I think, be conscious of serving God and sublimating our own selfishness to His greater purposes. Right?

But that doesn't mean that you should just sit in coach and wait for the beverage tray to come by. Even when God plans your path, you gotta sometimes work to follow it.

Take Captain Phillips. His own largish craft, the Maersk Alabama, has its course already set, its destination determined by (as it were) a higher power. But plenty can go wrong on the voyage to the promised land (in this case, Mombasa, Kenya) in these unpredictable seas. And while Phillips' crew seems willing to trust providence that the ship won't encounter anything unexpectedly nasty, the captain wants to take every precaution and prepare for the worst.

It's good advice, I think. While Scripture sometimes encourages us to not fret about the future—"It will have its own worries" (Matthew 6:34)—I think it's probably wise and prudent to plan ahead a little. There's a difference between worrying about the future and preparing for it.

'Course, sometimes trouble comes to visit no matter how well you prepare. So it is with the Maersk Alabama, when four pirates clamor over the side and take over the ship. By then, it's too late to conduct anti-pirate drills or order a set of much-needed laser cannons. You have to deal with the mess you've been handed.  And while the situation was certainly serious, Captain Phillips didn't panic. Instead, he stayed calm, gave secret orders to his terrified crew while the pirates were right there and eventually convinced the Somalis to split. (The fact that the crew captured Muse didn't hurt, either.)

Other guys might've given up and let the events run their course. But Phillips knew he and his crew still had a job to do. They had to still get to their Kenyan promised land, and the captain and crew used their smarts, guts and guile—all abilities and traits given by God—to help that happen.

But all of Phillips' preparation and resourcefulness couldn't prevent him from being captured by the pirates himself. He sacrificed his own well-being for the sake of his ship and its crew, and as such spent a great deal of time at the mercy of his captors. He was stripped of power and surrounded by danger. And all he could really do was listen for guidance and wait for help.

The help he sought, of course, was the American Navy in all its awesome splendor. The voice he longed to hear was manifested in a megaphone, not a booming voice from the clouds. Yet there's something of Noah in Phillips: Trapped in an endless sea with nothing to do but wait for salvation.

There are times when I think all of us find ourselves in a place like that—a place where we can no longer rely on our own strength or cunning. We're forced into a place of weakness. Or maybe more fairly, a place where we're forced to acknowledge our weakness. When we realize that we must give up our own agenda and truly say, "Thy will be done." Life of Pi—when Pi is adrift on the open ocean with only a hungry tiger for company—is my favorite film example of this principle, but Captain Phillips (with its strange similarities to Pi) is pretty good, too. There comes a time when we must let go and allow ourselves to rest in God's hands, come whatever may.

It's interesting that Muse and his crew don't reach this point, and it's arguably their undoing. It grew increasingly clear that powers far greater than they (again, the U.S. Navy, but a nice, if somewhat strained, metaphor for God) were in charge. They were given ample warning that, if they continued on the path they chose—and not allow the ship to get to its promised destination—that things would turn out very, very badly. But they continued to press forward, relying on only their own strength and will. And it wound up costing them everything.

It's another good lesson for us: When a voice from above tells us to reject the selfish path we're on, it's a good idea to listen.

Questions:

1. I was pretty struck by how similar, in some ways, the two captains—Muse and Phillips—were to each other. How were they similar? Different? What sorts of challenges did each face?

2. What would you have done in Captain Phillips' shoes?

3. I felt a little bad for Muse's situation—pressed into piracy, it would seem, by Somali warlords. But none of that excuses what he and his crew did. How do you think the American judicial system should've treated Muse?

What the Bible Says:  

"The plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance, but everyone who is hasty comes only to poverty."

Proverbs 21:5

"Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand."

Proverbs 19:21

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

Philippians 4:6-7

Discussional: 12 Years a Slave

What It's About: Solomon Northup (Oscar nominee Chiwetel Eojiofor), a free man living in the pre-Civil War state of New York, is kidnapped, thrown in chains and sent south to be sold into slavery. His first owner, a man named Ford (Benedict Cumberbatch), seems kind enough (as far as slave owners go). But when Solomon attacks his abusive overseer, Ford sells Solomon to the truly monstrous Edwin Epps (nominee Michael Fassbender). He has the power to make life a living hell for the human beings he's bought, and he does just that, particularly for the proud and beautiful Patsey (nominee Lupita Nyong'o), whom he abuses in every imaginable way. It's a horrible, dehumanizing life for all involved: To survive, Solomon must hide his identity and education, all the while trying to find some way to return to his wife and children back home.

Some Thoughts: No one, I think, can watch 12 Years and not be impacted, even shocked, by what they see. We know, of course, that slavery's an evil institution, but this brings it home. It's tempting to shut your eyes and ears to some of what you see here.

And that, in itself, is a telling reaction, since in a way that's what our "good" slave owner Ford must've done for much of his life. A part of him knows that slavery is a wicked institution. He seems deeply disturbed by it at times, and does what he can to make it more humane. And yet, he accepts the institution's inherent awfulness as the cost of doing business, apparently.

I've read a great deal about America's founding fathers, most of whom owned slaves. Washington, Jefferson, Madison—all were slave owners uncomfortable with slavery. They saw the horrific irony of the country they were creating—a land built on liberty when its founders without even that essential right. And while some expressed the wish that slavery had never come to America, they didn't know how to get rid of it once it was here. For me, the movie helped shine a harsher, more tragic light on these national heroes: And while I believe that the good someone does isn't wiped clean by the bad, it's an important reminder of the lies we tell ourselves sometimes to excuse the bad—in both ourselves and others.

I was also really struck by how Christianity was used to undergird and often excuse people's behavior here. Ford sees faith as a comforting, civilizing agent for his slaves, and he offers a plantation-side message to his bought masses. But there's a tragic dissonance at work: Ford preaches about the children of Abraham as a slave woman sobs over her own lost children—mother and kids separated in the sale. Epps uses the Bible as justification for owning slaves and treating them so horribly. He quotes Luke 12:47: "And that servant, which knew his lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes." "That's Scripture!" he bellows. And when Epps' plantation is struck with drought, Epps calls it a biblical plague: He knows he's not being punished for his own sins, and blames it instead on his slaves. "I bring 'em God's word, and heathens they are, they brung me God's scorn."

But faith is also shown, briefly, as a source of solace, hope and even humanity. Solomon and his fellow slaves sing "Roll, Jordan, Roll"—a song that speaks of the hope for a better life to come—together in a powerful moment of solidarity. And undergirding the entire movie is a sense that there is a higher law than the law of the land—one given by God, not man—and that as such, the institution of slavery is a sin.

We hear it from a visitor named Bass (Johnny Depp): "Laws change. Social systems crumble. Universal truths are constant. It is a fact, it is a plain fact that what is true and right is true and right for all. White and black alike."

We hear it from a woman named Mistress Shaw: "In his own time, the Good Lord will manage them all. The curse of the pharaohs was a poor example of what waits for the plantation class."

We hear it from Solomon himself: "Thou devil!" he tells Epps. "Sooner or later, somewhere in the course of eternal justice thou shalt answer for this sin!"

The message is obvious: Slavery is a sin, abhorred by God Himself. It is a universal truth, far above the powers of mortal man to change. 12 Years a Slave posits there is a morality in the universe misunderstood by the likes of Epps and Ford. And that, however you call it, points right to God.

Questions:

1. Characters in 12 Years a Slave twist religion to serve their own ends. Can you think of times when certain people now have done that? Have you done that?

2. Was Epps a Christian?

3. At one point, Patsey asks Solomon to kill her, claiming that God would look on it not as a sin, but as a mercy. Do you think she's right?

4. The song "Roll, Jordan, Roll" is perhaps a nod to the comforting power of faith in times of great misery—even when it doesn't make that misery disappear. Have you gone through times when your faith comforted you?

Bible Verses

"But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream."

Amos 5:24 (a verse that gives "Roll, Jordan, Roll" perhaps extra resonance)

"He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"

Micah 6:8

"Everyone who makes a practice of sinning also practices lawlessness; sin is lawlessness."

1 John 3:4

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us."

Romans 8:18

"We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies."

2 Corinthians 4:8-10