Pre-Op

In two days I go under the knife. What a quaint and grotesque phrase, “under the knife.” Appropriate, though. For the first time, steel will taste my flesh, humans will look inside me and see my damage. Hopefully they can fix it, to the extent it can be fixed. It’s not really registering yet, I think. I always strive to be in control, and for the first time I will be completely helpless, at the mercy of another human being. It’s a powerful feeling of powerlessness. And though fear extends filmy fingers across the horizon of my thoughts, they are dim members amidst the bright promise of healing. Can I be healed? Will this be a turning point in my life?

I approach a crossroad. My third decade of life on earth begins with new experiences, new challenges, new promise. What will my eyes see going forth? What streets or terrain will my shiny new legs traverse? Or will they plod the same rambles and stumbles they have heretofore trod? Will I change? Can I change? Do I want to change? Will I take the opportunity that beckons like new spring after a cold, dismal winter? Or face the groundhog’s shadow and sink wearily into stupor, sating my appetites with rubbish best consumed by fire, not fit for the lowest scavengers?

A clock ticks behind me, summoning my remaining hours, counting off the chapter’s end to my story so far. Will the new chapter read like an epic? Full of adventures, triumphs and tragedies, grand and operatic? Or will I settle into a comfortable regimen and find satisfaction in the familiar things? Will my pursuit of Jesus lead anywhere? Or do I pantomime my faith?

Who could ever love me? This is a hard truth, the fact of God’s love. It’s a love that pierces every prevarication I erect, every subterfuge to which I resort, every filthy corner I try to hide in. God compels me with His love, against my wishes it seems. Why doesn’t He leave me alone? What have I done to deserve such attention? Why cannot I have peace from His o’erwhelming presence?

But I have spoken with forked tongue. Because when I do turn away from Him, the horror of myself, my nature, what I’m capable of disgusts me to the point of death. I turn away in despair, and find that I have turned back to Him. And He washes my face with His tears. And He bathes me with the Light of His presence. And He clads me with raiment pure and white, His terrible and wonderful presence burning away my soiled and shabby rags like ether in the wind. Not even I can separate myself from His dogged affection, His dauntless joy, His irrepressible salvation.

Of Suds and Sundry Matters

I was having a pint of beer with a couple of friends of mine, in itself an unusual occurrence, and we fell to talking about sundry matters (though sudry matters may have been more apropos). They are a married couple, very quirky and extremely well-suited for each other. I thought I was eccentric, but they make me look tame, even if they look very tame from the outside, but that’s beside the point. Plus, I love that about them, their eccentricity. Anyway, we were talking about relationships and I inquired, as part of my ongoing research, what women look for in men. Rebecca gave three criteria: men have to be intelligent (I’m thinking: “Check.”), self-confidence (“Uh-oh”) and not embarrassing (which, when I requested clarification, simply means social decorum). Despite my unfortunate tendency to commit social faux pas in groups of friends, generally I can negotiate social interactions with strangers with aplomb. I am reasonably intelligent, though I realize more and more just how unintelligent I am compared to how intelligent I think I am. That just leaves Self-Confidence. 

This was the least surprising of Rebecca’s criteria; I’d heard this from literally every other woman I’ve surveyed. And of course this is where I struggle the most. But that long and sordid tale is not the aim of this rumination. I’ve noticed a certain dynamic in relationships, my perception of which, granted, comes largely from the portrayals in drama (movies, TV, literature) and is therefore to be taken with a metric ton of salt. However, working on this basis, I find this requirement of women to be problematic. Let me explain.

Let’s say, for instance, that a woman is approached by a man. The man is smooth, suave, confident. The woman is impressed. They strike up a relationship. Now, most of the time, women want to go deeper and deeper with their emotions and dialogue with men. In other words, they want to get to the reason why the man is so confident, why he is how he is. And if the man is only fronting his confidence, as it seems the vast majority of men do (aware, as they are, of this requirement women have of men), then either the man will maintain an emotional distance from the woman, since any real relationship must show the man’s self-confidence to be the fraud that it is, or the man opens himself up to the woman, and then becomes needy and lacks self-confidence, which is what attracted the woman in the first place. (The third option, that the man is truly confident, will be dealt with later.)

Do you see the conundrum? Either the woman cannot truly get close to the man, or they succeed and find the man’s self-confidence to be a lie. Now some women would probably say that they want a man to be vulnerable, but they would also say (if pressed) that they want a man to be assertive and quasi-domineering rather than milquetoast. And they are quite right; a woman must ultimately despise a man who allows himself to be ruled and run roughshod over by the woman, who will continue to do so even as she berates the man for allowing her to do so. A happy and healthy relationship cannot be built upon such a foundation. 

What is the solution? No, really, I’m asking.

The third option, the man who is truly self-confident, can be self-confident in one of three ways. First, if he is obtuse to his own shortcomings and blithely assumes that any character flaws others might ascribe to him are jealous mutterings. Easy to see and diagnose the cure: avoidance. Second, if he is aware of any possible flaws and chooses not to care about the options of others; in other words, a narcissist. Again, an easy person to avoid.

The third way is the most tricky. This man acknowledges his own failings and has made peace with them, an uneasy balance of banishing self-recrimination with seeking self-improvement. Obviously the ideal in a man (and human at that), and certainly the rarest of beasts that walk the earth.

So just as the man might wish for a gorgeous, intelligent, and doting wife who will meet all his needs and adore him unconditionally, equally imaginary is the woman’s desire for a truly self-confident man, or one who they might break down and build up. A man cannot find his self-sufficiency in the woman; she is coming to him for that. It would be like two people sitting on one end of a teeter totter and expecting the device to function properly.

In the end, the answer, which is in a sense vaguely unsatisfying, must be that God must provide that sense of fulfillment and confidence that men and women must have so that they won’t try to elicit from each other. I say it is vaguely unsatisfying because it seems like God is a panacea: whatever is wrong in your life, God fixes it. But how does He fix it in this particular instance?

Herein lies the interesting paradox, which was echoed in the original conundrum I outlined above. Because God does know us deeply, intimately. He knows us better than we know ourselves. And we must journey with Him in the heart of darkness, pain, and doubt that each person bears because of sin. We must be broken down, all our false bravado and hollow self-confidence shattered. But He can mend our hearts, He can provide us a confidence and peace of mind and heart that nothing can shake. For we can place our confidence in who we are in Him, which means putting confidence in His sufficiency and power and assurance. His perfection.

Then we can give out of the wealth of our sufficiency in Him instead of giving out of our own poverty. He meets our needs, our deepest desires and gravest wounds He cares for. We can pour out our darkest sins and know that they are no more, that He knew of them before He descended from on high to crawl across the face of the earth, a man, and to bear the punishment, the utter rejection that was my lot, deservedly so. O blessed Savior! How great a salvation! How wonderful to know that I am a hopeless failure and God loves me just the same! I can laugh in the face of ridicule, I can huddle in the Everlasting Arms when the Devil throws my sin in my face. I can cry out for His forgiveness for failing Him again and again, and know that it is mine before even I form the thought.

Twolvight and Gears of Mt. Mart

It all starts with beer. A commercial a few years ago capitalized on the growing trend of product placement. It was a swashbuckling film set with musketeers and damsels in huge dresses. The producer and director were talking, and one said that they would get free beer for placing references to the beer in their movie. The other was thunderstruck, and promptly began to place as many references to the beer as feasible. The capper at the end of the ad was a beer truck bursting through the wall.

I’m not sure when the first intentional product placement took place in a film. It’s become a running joke for some filmmakers (see: Bay, Michael). Critics bewail it as the insidious creep of commercialism into an art form, disregarding the fact that the movies advertise to generate revenue, spending millions of dollars to do so. And with the ever increasing cacophony of ads jostling for the consumer’s attention, the making of an effective ad has become something of an art form. The movie has become more commercial, and the commercial has become more like a mini-movie, with special effects, high production value, and celebrities. 

(A currently running ad features two actors who have starred in major movies. It’s even unclear what the ad is about, as the two just conduct warfare at various places around the globe. It felt like a movie trailer, my initial reaction, until the NBA star appeared at the end. Go figure.)

Two recent ads have shaken my hope for the future of this country, however. (Don’t you love it when they say things like that? “This week’s sign of the Apocalypse!”) The first features an ad for the movie Twilight: Breaking Wind…er Dawn (excuse me, Freudian slip). It is an ad for the movie which features the main characters driving. The reason why a movie about vampires and werewolves is advertised with scenes in a car? The ad is also one for Volvo. So selling the movie, a completely separate kind of product, has been melded with a car advertisement. Now, if the movie was something related to driving, like the recent film Drive, then it would at least make theoretical sense to combine the two. But Vampires and Werewolves driving Volvos? Goth goes suburban. (Though the glittering vibe of this permutation of vamps, coupled with a nauseating romance, does sort of fit.)

But the second is, perhaps, the more egregious and breathtaking/groundbreaking, if slightly more subtle. (It’s the subtlety, in fact, that I find interesting. More in a moment.) The movie is actually a combo as well, but less contradictory than the Twolvight ad. The newest iteration of the video game Gears of War is coming out, and it features two guys talking on the phone. One has just returned from Wal-Mart where he purchased the game at midnight. He calls his friend who is in a hotel room, and who tells the first guy that he the second guy flew to New York City to get the game one hour ahead of the second guy, therefore getting a head start on the game. Fine. Certainly not the most irrational premise to a commercial I’ve ever heard, someone spending hundreds of dollars to fly to NYC and rent a hotel room to have an hour’s advantage playing a video game that will be passé in seven months. But here’s the kicker: when we see the second guy in his hotel room, in the corner there is a Mt. Dew cube. It’s subtle but it’s there. 

And this is why I feel this is the more intentional and representative instance of product placement. Because while the mail thrust of the Gears of Mt. Mart commercial is to sell the game and the store you can buy it in (hence the combo), the fact that they inserted a third product (even if it is associated with people who spend thirteen hours straight playing video games) is the homage to slipping in a reference to BMW or Burger King in a Michael Bay movie or TV show (a la Arrested Development).
 
It's a commercial within a commercial.

Why is this such a big deal, you ask? The onslaught of consumerism marches on. I have the sensation that we will soon be unable to differentiate between a commercial and a show at all, if things progress as they seem to be doing. Don’t get me wrong: I’m more sympathetic with capitalism than the opposite ideology, but there’s a limit to good taste and creativity. A half hour show is barely twenty minutes of show anymore, or so it seems to me. I know for a certainty that an average hour long show is 42 minutes. That’s almost a third of the hour devoted to advertising! A Third! What if a third of the newspaper was the classifieds and sales brochures? Oh wait…

Does this make sense? I feel like I’m turning into one of those people who will eventually toss out their television and stop watching movies made after 1995. There are a lot of creative ideas and people out there, and I don’t think you have to compromise creativity to get people to consume your products. Neither do I think that the bottom line must color everything. To squeeze every last drop of profit out of something may make sense in a business sense, but the world isn’t a business, and people aren’t solely customers. At least, they didn’t used to be.

Refinement

I heard a story in church this Sunday about a group of people who went to a smithy to ask about the process of refinement. As Christians, one of the biblical analogies involves being refined like steel, and these people were interested in what exactly that entailed. The smithy explained that first the fire must be very hot, so as to heat the metal to the point where it becomes malleable. Then he begins to purge the imperfections from the metal. One person asked, “How do you know when you’re finished?” The maker replied, “When I can see my reflection in it.” 

That was it. Just a casual story told between songs by the worship leader. I was floored. 

So many things seemed to come together into this simple allegory. First, the idea of heating the metal, forging the Right Jerusalem Blade in the hottest fire, for it is under such duress and adversity that metal becomes malleable. 

Malleable. Able to be shaped, to be reshaped and fashioned into the conception of the maker. The metal is put under fire so that it will be able to be shaped, made pliable and ready to conform to the mind of the master. 

But the image that pierced my heart and mind most profoundly, and the image that was sadly unexpounded upon, was the notion of completion. The tool or weapon is done, the purging of imperfections complete, when the Master can see His reflection in the metal. The image of the creator shown in the created. That is when the process of refinement is done.

And how can we escape this? Is this not a wonderful picture of Christ’s forging of us? All the misery and heartache, the physical pain and spiritual anguish I have experienced and continue to expeience, is not a punishment. Nor is it simply the unfortunate, inevitable consequence of living in a fallen world. It is the fire of travail, God’s workmanship, the forging of a new creation out of burnt and twisted metal. The imperfections must be purged, the flaws hammered out, and the fire must be hot enough until I am pliable, malleable, ready to be shaped and conformed into the creation that the mind of the Father has conceived. 

And what is the endpoint? O Glory! To bear His image! To be the Image-bearer of God! To be restored to the perfection of Adam in Eden! The original intent of Man, to glorify God and present to all creation the image of the Trinity. What a marvelous salvation! Who could have imagined something so simple and yet profound, so paradoxical that the turmoil and tribulation is planting seeds of destruction from which a tree of life, the Life of Jesus, will grow. 

I am God’s piece of work.

Playing to Win or Playing not to Lose?

Since I’ve started watching football these last few years, I’ve noticed a fascinating phenomenon. Sometimes I’ll watch a game unfold in a certain manner. One team has trouble moving the ball down the field and scoring; their offense struggles to complete passes and run for yards. The other team has control of the game and usually enters the final minutes with a lead. 

Then, something amazing happens, and it’s almost predictable. The trailing team will suddenly change. Passes will begin to be completed; runs will go for yards. The offense marches down the field and scores. Maybe their defense stops the opponents and the offense has another shot. They march down and score again. The opponents’ defense, which had been stopping the offense for the majority of the game, starts to crumble and falter. Sometimes they hold on for the win; sometimes the team trailing comes back for a memorable victory. 

I’m not interested in the final outcome. What interests me is the dynamic of the game, the aggressiveness of the teams and their respective offenses and defenses. Momentum, that magical watchword that commentators love to reference, swings from one team to the other, and the reason people talk about it so much is that it actually seems like a viable component of the game. If Team A has had the momentum the entire game and Team B starts making plays, the momentum shifts and the situation is ripe for the comeback. It’s tremendously exciting, especially if your team is the one coming back. It’s almost better than if your team leads the whole game and wins comfortably. 

But it’s bizarre how the tables can turn so completely. The leading team was aggressive on defense the whole game, making tackles or turnovers, disrupting pass patterns and flying to the ball. The trailing team’s offense seemed rattled and stymied, unable to convert third downs to prolong drives; passes would be out of reach, run blocks would not be crisp and timely, and the endzone was miles away. Then momentum swings and the defenders are missing tackles, giving up huge plays, allowing points to be scored and long runs to be gained. The offense that was stalled kicks into overdrive; passes are on target, receivers are running great routes, ball carriers are breaking tackles, blockers are flattening their assignments. 

The passive defense that allows such shifts has been called the prevent defense in common parlance. The leading team softens their defense to prevent the opponents from making big plays to turn the tide of the game. If you’re down two touchdowns, you don’t want to give up a seventy yard touchdown because you’re being too aggressive, the prevailing wisdom holds. Therefore the defense eases up and the offense finds a rhythm. The results can spell disaster for the team leading that goes into prevent defenses. Commentators call this “playing not to lose instead of playing to win.” Rather than continue to play with the same level of aggression and intensity that created the lead, teams ease off the accelerator and play to hold the lead, react to the opponents instead of imposing their game plan on them. If you’ve watched a season of football, you’ll probably be familiar with this concept.

So what? you may be asking. Well, I was just thinking that the Church plays not to lose instead of playing to win.

How is that? It’s a bit hard to put into words, but let me just begin by defining modern Christianity in the Western culture. A simple task, I’ll admit, but bear with me. (By the way, spelling is key with that phrase, “bear with me.” Think about it.) This may be an oversimplification and a gross generalization, and if so then so be it. But modern Christianity seems more concerned with preventing sin and gussying up the image of the Church than going on the offensive. We condemn homosexuality and promiscuity and abortion and lascivious lifestyles, and drill the younger generation with dire predictions and consequences if they stray. As my pastor Lloyd would say, the Church is more known for what it’s against than what it’s for. We’re trying to prevent decadence and sin and the moral decline of America, and doing a lousy job by the way. We’re back on our heel, reacting to the world and cultural zeitgeist, beating the drum for politicians who share our views on social issues and economic ones. 

Meanwhile the offense is moving down the field, racking up points. As the book UnChristian details, more and more of the younger generation of non-believers have worse and worse opinions about Christianity, and the moral compass of younger Christians (at least, those who identify themselves as such) does not preclude things like premarital sex, cursing, gambling, and carousing, to name a few things. The game is rapidly slipping out of our hands; all the momentum seems to be on the other side. The culture celebrates things like homosexuality, teenage pregnancy, irresponsibility, materialism, and sees little distinction between most Christians and themselves, especially on the last issue.

And how do Christians respond? By looking at each other on Sundays, shaking their heads, donating some money to the politician that sounds like they’ll fight for our beliefs, and maybe throwing up a prayer or two. Not good enough.

It has been said that the best defense is a good offense. Perhaps the best way to turn the tide in the battle for the hearts and minds of the current generation isn’t to retreat to churches and huddle around in small groups of like-minded individuals. Perhaps the best way to defend our beliefs is to go on the offensive, to speak out in our workplaces, to refuse to see movies celebrating Godless behaviors, to distinguish ourselves from the world, to counterattack with the Gospel of Jesus Christ when the world throws their values and mentality at us. 

Here’s the thing, though. Offense can be, well, offensive. We need to be willing to be offensive. We don’t have to present the Gospel in an offensive way, but the Gospel itself will be offensive to lots of people who don’t like the idea that they can’t do whatever they want to, that their actions and desires have actual consequences, that a morality higher than themselves will judge them. Are we willing to be that offensive? Speaking the Truth in love, but still speaking it? Maybe it’ll mean you don’t get invited to parties as much, or people mock you for being a religious fanatic, a “fundamentalist.” And (gulp) you’ll probably have to start doing some serious reading into the Word, and other resources about the Word, because once you draw a line in the sand, those who don’t like lines will come after you. They’ll start nitpicking everything you do and say. They’ll look for the tiniest particle of hypocrisy, and pounce on it immediately.

One of the side benefits (note: read with serious sarcasm) is that this will inevitably lead to more conversations with God, more reliance on Him for wisdom, patience, strength, and love. Just like you truly understand something when you have to teach it, you really will behave like a Christian once you put yourself out there as an exemplar. Isn’t it just like God to combine the witnessing and winning of new converts with the deepening and enriching of your own relationship with Him in the same process? I love that kind of multitasking. 

A few notes in closing. This is a general principle. I’m not advocating that you immediately start picking verbal fights with people, nor start badgering people to get saved. Your personal situation is unique and the Lord will dictate how to use you in the lives of those around you. Again: the Lord will dictate, not you or I or your pastor. That’s the key element to the whole dang opera. This is the Lord’s work, not yours, and it’s His responsibility to win people to Him. All we have to do is make ourselves available to do and say and be whatever He tells us. And depending on where you are in life, and who you are, and what you do, that’s going to be different. Your end of the bargain, again, is to be available, to be part of the offense, to say things when He prompts you to, or offer to pray, or volunteer at soup kitchens, or sell your car and buy a cheaper one so you can give away the excess to missions. Whatever He calls you to, you have to be ready to do. 

And second, “you” includes me. I’m not preaching from Mount Pious here, a spiritual giant talking down to all you peons. I’m in the same boat. But I want to make a difference. I want to go on offense. I’m tired of seeing social rot creep over our culture, of ever diminishing values and virtues blared across the airwaves. Are you tired of that too? Do you want to start doing things that have eternal value and endurance? Do you want to fight on the front lines? Saddle up, pilgrim. The world is at war; the battle is joined. Are you in, or out?

Animation and Incarnation

The original Star Wars trilogy is far superior to the more recent prequels that fleshed out the origins of Darth Vader and the Skywalker family. My main contention has always been that the original films were, for lack of a better word, more real, than the prequels. Perhaps “real-looking” would be more accurate; Jedi, lightsabers, blasters and space ships are, sadly, no more real than fairies and elves. But the appeal of the original movies (at least, one element of the appeal, and a reason for their endurance as beloved movies) is that the world seemed real. The places seemed real, the weapons and spaceships had a quality of verisimilitude to them. They were grungy and imperfect. And therefore more real.

It’s strange that we define reality by imperfection. The reason why a formulaic romantic comedy is entertaining is that it isn’t real. The problems are cute or easily solved, the endings too trite or convenient, and the emotions too pure. Why else would we like to see them, if only to be distracted from the mess that is reality? 

And this is what’s interesting: we instinctively grasp when something’s not real. Star Wars is a prime example, but even look at animated films. As proficient and advanced as animation technology has become, no digital image that is sustained on screen for more than a second or two cannot fail to be recognized as the fakery it is. Again, I was impressed by the aliens in the original Star Wars films because they were real aliens; that is, actual costumes with makeup and prosthetics. The new movies relied on computer animation to generate the aliens, and they lacked that sense of reality. It’s one thing to make the logical leap into a world of the Force and interstellar travel; it’s another thing to be constantly reminded that what you’re seeing was created on a computer. Your brain automatically maintains that distance of thinking, “Hmmm, that’s impressive bending an entire cityscape on top of itself like Inception did, but I still know it’s just a dream. [Like that irony?] Even as I’m in the dream I know it isn’t real.” As opposed to the experiences where you forget you’re watching a contrived experience, carefully crafted and manipulated, and just let yourself be caught up in the story and characters. 

Here’s a more recent example. I’d been eagerly looking forward to Cowboys and Aliens all summer. A mash up of genres like cowboys and aliens, with James Bond and Indiana Jones? Sign me up! On the other hand, I’d never heard of the movie Crazy, Stupid Love until it came out and some friends of mine recommended it. I left C&A feeling nothing. I’d made no connection to the characters or their plight. Creating a realistic world was less important than plodding through the plot and including cool special effects while allowing posing opportunities for Craig and Ford. The bullets and laser blasts never seemed real threats, and when the Indians captured our heroes you knew that they would end up helping the ragtag bunch in driving off the space invaders. No imperfections to be found.

Crazy Stupid Love, however, was chock full of imperfections. No character in this film is perfect. That is, acts in an ideal manner in relation to the plot’s twists and turns, with the possible exception of the son who pines for the older girl who’s in love with his father. The two male leads are far from ideal, and so their ultimate success and hope and change feels earned, and allows the audience to walk away with a feeling of validation, the sense that imperfection is not always doomed to produce failure and despair. That’s all we really want, isn’t it? To know that imperfection, while inevitable, can still produce laughter and joy and love?

And yet…and yet. We crave perfection, don’t we? We eagerly valorize sports heroes like Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods who seem to be perfect at their chosen profession. We flock to public figures like Barack Obama who hold out the prospect of perfection in their hands and through their speeches. How else did a little known senator from Illinois sweep aside long-time public figures like Hilary Clinton and John McCain on the way to the White House? Because he seemed too good to be true, and therefore too good to not be true. We pant after celebrities and follow their every doing because they appear to be perfect, to have the perfect life. They’re rich, famous, good-looking, talented, funny, flawed (but only on screen) and they have perfect teeth (except the Brits). 

We are torn, in fact, between the two desires: a desire to see life as it is and not as it should be, or a desire to see the imperfections of life correctly expressed; but also to see the idealized version, to hope in the possibility of perfection. That’s why we’re so eager to build up heroes, and simultaneously delight to see them torn down. Tiger Woods was the ultimate golfer, a brilliant competitor who demonstrated near perfection in a sport that few ever truly master. He was everything to everybody: humble, good-natured (except on the course), well-spoken, and a family man. Couple that with the blending of blacks and Asians with the white sport of golf, and he seemed every bit the unifier that Obama promised to be. Which is why when it came crashing down we were mesmerized and appalled and fascinated. A string of mistresses? A possible beating from his Swedish model wife? Half a billion dollar settlement for divorce? We couldn’t get enough.

Of course, the only thing we like better than a success story crumbling before our eyes is the redemption of that success story into something greater. Witness the career of Robert Downey Jr., a brilliant and talented actor from an early age who ran afoul of the law for narcotics and whose career basically vanished for a time. He worked his way back and now is one of the most bankable stars in Hollywood with two global movie franchise to his credit. Or a sports analogy of Andre Agassi. Once the brash egocentric star who ushered in the 90s era of flamboyant sports stars only to see his career plummet to the point of being ranked in the 290s after being a top ranked player. He worked his way back into prominence and won more tournaments, becoming more beloved as a humbler, diligent, and driven competitor than the young, selfish, hip star of his earlier days.

Isn’t this a curious dynamic? Bipolar are our desires in our celebrities and idols. We want perfection and imperfection simultaneously. We want reality and the ideal together. We want God and man in one package. We want salvation and redemption to come through the thorough destruction and degradation of a human being who, being perfection, assumed the imperfection of the world so that God might be real to us. Don’t we?

No other story combines the dynamics of perfection with imperfection like the Incarnation. Other myths and legends of gods and divines are either too imperfect (the Greek gods come to mind; read over their exploits and machinations sometime, it’s almost literally a soap opera!), or too perfect (like the Buddhist conception of Nirvana, the ultimate unity that disregards the notion of good and evil in favor of oneness and harmony. We either look at the Greek gods and say, “How are they any more deserving of praise and adoration than any human? The only thing that separates them from me is the amount of power they possess” and write them off, or we view with askance the denial of evil in the world, the lack of imperfection. Like the cantina in Coruscant where Obi-Wan Kenobi visits the four-limbed alien Dex, the absence of imperfection, other than an artificial imperfection that we immediately identify as fakery, rings false to our minds. It strikes discord with our experience of reality and we cannot believe it.

But the story of Jesus of Nazareth beautifully and perfectly weaves the imperfection of reality as we experience it with the perfection that all human hearts desire. The perfection of Jesus as he interacts with his followers and the dregs of society pierces our hearts as we read about Him. Who has ever shown such unconditional love and acceptance of the broken and needy? Even modern skeptics who spend their entire lives denying the Gospel admit to the lovely character of Jesus. Ghandi famously said of Christianity, “I love their Christ, I don’t like their Christians.” He was a devout Buddhist who still felt admiration and affection for the central figure in an entirely foreign religion that contradicts much of his own. How powerful is that? Jesus is perfect, the ideal portrayal of what humanity could and should be, and would be if not for sin.

Which brings us to the imperfection that is our daily experience. Cruelty, hate, privation, loneliness, pain, failure, fear, disgust, envy, lust, pride. In short, Sin. We instinctively know that Sin is both real and wrong. Wrong in the sense that it doesn’t belong; otherwise we wouldn’t recoil from it quite so much. Certain experiences are universally agreed as being wrong, and no one could ever read the Gospel account of Jesus and claim that He deserved His execution, in one of the most sadistic, tortuous methods ever devised by man. Bad things happen to good people, and nothing worse ever happened to someone as good as Jesus, because no one has ever been as good as Jesus. But the curious thing about the story of Christ is that Jesus seemed to know it was going to happen before it did. He courted it, in fact, by travelling to Jerusalem and striking at the heart of the religious authorities who constituted His main adversaries during His earthly ministry: the clearing of the Temple. He continually criticized the religious establishment, knowing their possible response; it’s almost like He meant for it to happen, isn’t it?

Why? Who in their right mind would want to be tortured to death for something they didn’t do? Not even for a noble reason like sacrificing oneself to save someone else the same fate. At least, the same physical fate. For that indeed is where this story diverges from anything else in human history. The story doesn’t end in death, as all human stories do. The perfect Man suffered the personification of imperfection that is this world; the worst fate imaginable. Even worse than we can comprehend, because in addition to the physical suffering, we’re told that God placed on Him the sins of all mankind. Imagine perfection touching the epitome of imperfection, sin. And if that was where the story ended, on that old rugged cross, then it would just be a terrible, depressing story, one more example of this world’s imperfection. 

Three days later. 

Perfection comes back from the dead. 

And we haven’t even gotten to the good news yet! Because if the Resurrection was just for Jesus’ sake, we might leave the theatre with a warm feeling but that wouldn’t last very long. The next instance of imperfection pops up and we’re back to the drudgery of life, right? That’s if all this was is a nice story to amuse and inspire us. If the story is true, though, and moreover what Paul writes about is true, then the death of the Lord Jesus for us was to put the Life of the Lord Jesus in us. He died a death like ours so that we might enjoy a resurrection like His! We were nailed to that cross along with Him, buried in the tomb, and we rose again on that third morning. We are alive! Because He is alive! And our spiritual resurrection mirrored His physical resurrection because through the mysteries of faith we are now sharing the spiritual life of Jesus. Perfection has replaced imperfection. And even though we still sin and struggle and die physically, we have the capacity to live perfect lives as we bow in surrender to the life of Jesus that lives in us. As the Father is in me, Jesus said, so shall I be in you. God in man, and the perfection of God is greater than the imperfection of man. 

Now that’s good news.