Happiness For Blessing

Warning! This post contains major spoilers for "The Book of Eli." I strongly recommend that you see the movie before reading this.

The Book of Eli is, for lack of a better term, prophetic. I hedge my bets a little because this interview leads me to believe that perhaps I'm drawing more meaning from the movie than perhaps the filmmakers are themselves. Still, I believe that God can speak through people despite their intentions. Even if you can't go there with me, I think you'll agree that there are "lessons" to be found in the ordinary.

Depending on your viewpoint, the message of TBoE is either really good or really terrible news. This wasn't evident to me immediately, but upon further reflection I have come to this conclusion. I believe this is true for other works in the same genre. Perhaps the most famous entry in the Apocalyptic tradition, Revelation, contains an extensive passage that explicitly backs up this claim. In Chapter 18, Babylon, the symbol of excess wealth (among many other things) falls, and the people who have built their lives on the sandy ground of materialism weep for it. In the very next chapter, the multitude who have been calling for its destruction celebrate the one who destroyed it. Two groups of people witnessed the crumbling of an empire and had completely different reactions to it.

So it is in TBoE. When asked about the difference between the world they live in versus the one before "The Flash," the titular character observes: "People had more than they needed...we threw away things people kill each other for now." This is the thought of a man who is not invested in the culture of STUFF. In fact, this is the thought of a man who is truly on a mission from God. Contrast his attitude with that of Carnegie. The entire infrastructure of the world has collapsed. Roads and bridges are no more, cannibalism and "hijacking" is commonplace, and even the currency system has been replaced by bartering. Yet Carnegie is a man who is so in love with capitalizing on capitalism that he hoards what is probably the most precious resource in the world (water) and uses his coercive power to gain more power. He exploits the weaknesses of others. Optimistically, we would call him an opportunist. Either way, you have to admit that he is smart. And because he is smart, he knows that one surefire way to control people is through religion.

We Christians don't like to admit that this is true. We're not under anybody's control but our own, we say. (Church of Christ-ers have a particular independent spirit due, in no small part, to the autonomy of our congregations.) But if we're honest with ourselves, how often do we use religion as a means of control over others, both within and without the Church?

There's so much more I want to talk about in regards to this movie - the symbolism of the blind man being the one that "sees" the best and the weak shaming the strong, the fact that Eli's ultimate destination is nicknamed "The Rock," the moral ambiguity of Eli ignoring the women getting raped so he can complete his mission, the subtle and not-so-subtle references the director makes to other post-apocalyptic and dystopic works, and so on. This post was originally a lot longer and rambled more, if that's possible. But ultimately, I cut it down because I want to discuss this question with you. Whose side are we on? When our infrastructure crumbles, are we going to be rejoicing because we have been faithful to the Word of God, or are we going to be devastated because we've used the Word of God as a false pretense to wield power over others?

Before today, it had been a long time since I waited on the table at church. We moved several months ago and have just now settled on a church to attend regularly. Before that, we actually changed churches and then moved from Abilene just 6 months later. It wasn't until Jodi's uncle pulled me aside as we entered service today and asked me to help that I realized this fact. I actually got nervous, despite having performed this function dozens of times in various places. I think part of it is that I have never really paid much attention to the logistics of communion here, so I was afraid of getting up at the wrong time or committing some other crazy faux pas.

Mostly, though, I believe it was because I was thrilled to be put in a position of service once again. I majored in ministry, and it's been a frustration of mine that I have not been able to use my degree vocationally since. In many ways I have been fighting for the right to serve, and to be given without asking the opportunity to do what many consider a minor service humbled me in a somewhat ironic and incredibly beautiful way.

When the time came, I stood in the back of the "auditorium" (it's really more of a soundstage), trays in hand, waiting for my signal to walk down the aisle. We were watching a video from the Pioneer Bible Translators (one of our families is headed to Africa), and I was struck by a scene that showed two people from very different cultures sharing in the Lord's Supper. It reminded me of what those in the theology business like to call "The Invisible Church." This concept is actually somewhat controversial in Churches of Christ (but what isn't?), and what it means for our discussion is that whenever we take part in Communion, we do it with all believers across time and space. In my mind, that is what makes the traditions that we have so important. I was reminded that whether or not I am able to make ministry a vocation, I will always be able to serve. Perhaps more importantly, I will always be a part of The Invisible Church. I have spent a lot of time recently questioning myself, and this simple incident was the calm in the storm that I needed.