"I would rather die today than live another day of this death."
Thus speaks Snow White in the recently released movie, Snow White and the Huntsman. I am not about to write a rave review or a cynical account. I'm sure you can find plenty of those elsewhere, and they are probably much better written too. However, I found this movie very striking. Yes, it was creepy and disturbing in parts, but then Real Evil, no matter how sugar coated, is just that: creepy and disturbing. I suppose some could mock the heroine for being too good and too pure to be realistic, but then Real Good, no matter how battered, is just that: good and pure.
Snow White possessed a genuine yet non-ostentatious beauty, and her womanly innocence at not being sure if she could bear to kill someone made her appealing. So much of that side of womanhood has been lost in our culture. Yes, there is a time to ride and to fight but there is also a time to cherish life. That is what defines the Good from the Evil. That is what distinguishes the mother with the work worn hands and calloused knees from the political lady screaming for battle against anyone who would ask the government to stop funding Planned Parenthood. They both fight, but one is full of blood lust and the other is full of love. Love for life.
Life. That is what Snow White brought to everyone she met. Ailments of those around her started disappearing. Her simple beauty brought out the best in people. She kindled hope wherever she went. She noted the sacrifices of her people, and though afraid she resolved to make her own sacrifice so her people could be free from the reign of evil. The Enemy had occupied Snow White's kingdom long enough.
However, the Enemy seemed to be invincible. The only one who could kill the evil Queen was Snow White herself. Why? Because her purity gave her power. Only by the fairest blood could the witch's blood be spilt. Only her sacrifice could free her people. Only she could be their weapon.
Is it just me, or does that story not yell, "Redemptive analogy!" high and low? Can't you feel the vibes of the Gospel? Can't you see Jesus peering at you through the lines? I can. Call me Miss Christian Wannabe Artist Who Makes Up Analogies Out Of Stone, but this one seems pretty obvious to me. And it excites me that things like this are lapped up by the public even today. It makes me want to shout, "This is real, people! This story has happened--is happening, right under your noses, only it's even better!!!"
My favorite scene of the movie is not when Snow White finally slays the Witch (I'm pretty sure you would have guessed that ending anyway). It's when she speaks to her people. She has just "risen from the dead," brought back by love that is stronger than death, and she has wandered out to the courtyard where her people are. The night is dark, but her long white dress lights up the evening. Every eye is on her. She begins to speak. Although some have called her speech "tepid," I found it warming my blood in a way such people wouldn't understand.
She proposes her plan: she will offer herself as the only weapon that can slay the witch. They must not be content with the way things are. They must fight. Fight for freedom. Fight for light. Fight for life. And then she utters these words that have imprinted themselves firmly on my brain:
"I would rather die today than live another day of this death!"
Then,
"Who will ride out with me? Who will be my brother?"
How could a script writer know the kind of effect such words could have? Do they know that Jesus has invited me to ride out with Him? Do they know that one day Christ's people will have the chance to ride at His side in the white cavalry? Do they know that Hebrews 2:11-12 calls those who believe in Him brothers of Christ? I believe He is extending this invitation out to everyone every day. "Who will ride out with Me? Who will be My brother?"
And then there's that first sentence, resembling an onion it's so full of layers.
I would rather die today than live another day of this death.
Do we ever allow ourselves to live in death? Do we refuse to see the love and compassion of God because we don't want to be accountable to somebody besides "our own truth"? Do we labor to win the love of God and end up enslaved in self-condemnation (Romans 8:1)? Do we hold onto our worries instead of casting them on God (1 Peter 5:7)? Remember that Jesus came so that we can have life, and have it ABUNDANTLY!!! (John 10:10) We don't have to live lives of death anymore; Jesus died so we could live lives of life.
At the same time, are we content to just live that life all to ourselves? Shouldn't we develop that same Snow White spirit that says that we would rather die than see the world continue to live in death? Shouldn't we be yearning to see that covering swallowed up for all time and living in faith for it to happen (Isaiah 25:7)? Shouldn't we be fighting for that life for others? Shouldn't we be waiting in breathless expectation for the time when Jesus returns and we can join Him in ending this living death for good?
I'm not saying that I live this way. But I am saying that I want to. I want to make those choices: to live to the full today, to fight for life for others, and to live longing for the day when Christ shall come and we can ride with Him to end this death forever. We already have our Weapon. He is fairest of them all. His blood has proven it.
Let's live lives of life.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Free Gifts
What is my purpose?
Has God called me to anything?
How do these messages apply to me?
Do I need to change myself?
Am I seeking my pleasure above the glory of God?
Am I not being evangelistic enough?
Is it really that obvious that I'm troubled?
Am I going about with a frown on my face?
Am I behaving too much like Martha instead of Mary?
What are people thinking of me?
These and other self-centered questions raged in my mind. I chased after their answers in vain, like I so often do when I try to catch falling leaves on a windy autumn day. Uncertainty and worry are ravenous animals. But in the midst of their devouring, I read this passage:
"I, I am he who comforts you; who are you that you are afraid of man who dies, of the son of man who is made like grass, and have forgotten the LORD, your Maker, who stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth, and you fear continually all the day because of the wrath of the oppressor, when he sets himself to destroy? And where is the wrath of the oppressor? He who is bowed down shall speedily be released; he shall not die and go down to the pit, neither shall his bread be lacking. I am the LORD your God, who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar--the LORD of host is his name. And I have put my words in your mouth and covered you in the shadow of my hand." (Isaiah 51:12-16)
It was perfect. But then why does it surprise us again and again that the living Word of God can speak directly to our hearts today? Why should we be taken aback when just a few verses of the active Word can comfort, convict, remind us not to fear, encourage, magnify God's bigness, equip with fresh vision, and reveal God's compassionate love? Surely if God can speak a universe into existence with just a few words then He can speak life into my brittle heart with just a few verses.
I also recalled a handful of lessons I learned at the Feast. It's important to take in the breath of the Gospel and remember that God is in control no matter what the future holds. The hands that hold the seven stars are the same hands that hold you and me, and we need to listen to truth instead of the lies and despair clamoring inside and around us. Besides, God is caring and sovereign. We can look to the future with breathless expectation.
About this time I was striding in the great outdoors, my arms folded around my laptop. The air was fresh yet still. The trees still blazed their colorful anthems all around, and few leaves had begun to fall. I reflected on my questions, but I no longer reached out grasping fingers for the answers. Hope was clinging to me instead.
In the midst of this, a lone leaf landed in my arms. I hadn't reached for it, hadn't changed my pace for it, or even seen it coming. But there it lay, with absolutely no effort on my part. God's gift to me.
God's free gifts usually fall into our laps when we aren't expecting them or trying to earn them.
Has God called me to anything?
How do these messages apply to me?
Do I need to change myself?
Am I seeking my pleasure above the glory of God?
Am I not being evangelistic enough?
Is it really that obvious that I'm troubled?
Am I going about with a frown on my face?
Am I behaving too much like Martha instead of Mary?
What are people thinking of me?
These and other self-centered questions raged in my mind. I chased after their answers in vain, like I so often do when I try to catch falling leaves on a windy autumn day. Uncertainty and worry are ravenous animals. But in the midst of their devouring, I read this passage:
"I, I am he who comforts you; who are you that you are afraid of man who dies, of the son of man who is made like grass, and have forgotten the LORD, your Maker, who stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth, and you fear continually all the day because of the wrath of the oppressor, when he sets himself to destroy? And where is the wrath of the oppressor? He who is bowed down shall speedily be released; he shall not die and go down to the pit, neither shall his bread be lacking. I am the LORD your God, who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar--the LORD of host is his name. And I have put my words in your mouth and covered you in the shadow of my hand." (Isaiah 51:12-16)
It was perfect. But then why does it surprise us again and again that the living Word of God can speak directly to our hearts today? Why should we be taken aback when just a few verses of the active Word can comfort, convict, remind us not to fear, encourage, magnify God's bigness, equip with fresh vision, and reveal God's compassionate love? Surely if God can speak a universe into existence with just a few words then He can speak life into my brittle heart with just a few verses.
I also recalled a handful of lessons I learned at the Feast. It's important to take in the breath of the Gospel and remember that God is in control no matter what the future holds. The hands that hold the seven stars are the same hands that hold you and me, and we need to listen to truth instead of the lies and despair clamoring inside and around us. Besides, God is caring and sovereign. We can look to the future with breathless expectation.
About this time I was striding in the great outdoors, my arms folded around my laptop. The air was fresh yet still. The trees still blazed their colorful anthems all around, and few leaves had begun to fall. I reflected on my questions, but I no longer reached out grasping fingers for the answers. Hope was clinging to me instead.
In the midst of this, a lone leaf landed in my arms. I hadn't reached for it, hadn't changed my pace for it, or even seen it coming. But there it lay, with absolutely no effort on my part. God's gift to me.
God's free gifts usually fall into our laps when we aren't expecting them or trying to earn them.
Where I'm supposed to be
An entire month has passed.
Oh yes, I like stating the obvious. Obviously.
I glance over the scrawly pages of my journal. My eyes light on September 22.
"A day or two ago Aunt Sharon thanked me for all my help with the Bible school. I said I didn't think I was doing that much, and she said, 'But I keep seeing you with the girls, helping with cooking, leading choir, and doing the Feast display. That's quite a bit. Thank you for just being here!'
'Well, thank God,' I told her, 'because my plan wasn't to be here!'"
It's true. If it had been left up to me, I wouldn't be here right now. I would have been far away, buried in classes on ancient Greece and the U.S. Constitution. I would have had evening catch-up sessions with my friend each night as we flossed our teeth together. I would have been chirping through Handel's Messiah with the choir. I would have gotten to sample my cousin's gourmet cooking in his very own kitchen.
But it wasn't meant to be.
And yet--and yet . . . I don't regret it. Do I still miss that lovely dream? Sure I do, but neither am I sad about it. If I had gone far away to college I wouldn't have gotten to buy bowls of chocolates for the Bible school girls or run down the sand dunes with them or make a choir happen for the Convention. I wouldn't have gotten to play sports twice a week in the dearest gym I know or had the thrill of creating a unique display for the Convention or the delight of attending almost every single meeting in that same Convention. I wouldn't have had that awesome impromptu prayer meeting or had that same focus to battle for people I love or have gone on that crazy expedition in the woods. I wouldn't have talked about Jesus with with my former English student on that mountain hike or had that chance to visit my brother in Pennsylvania or the opportunity to mail odd packages to college buddies. I wouldn't have flooded my friend's room with sticky notes reminding her of her identity in Christ or have seen my brother conduct his choir or curled up and watched that thought-provoking movie with that friend. I wouldn't have heard that song of trust that my brother sang, moving me to tears. I wouldn't have had that song singing in quite the same way in my own life.
I don't always think like this. Usually I either enjoy the moment and move carelessly on or ask analytical questions about the purpose of my life. But sometimes, at unexpected moments, I have this sensing:
I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
And for that, I am thankful.
Oh yes, I like stating the obvious. Obviously.
I glance over the scrawly pages of my journal. My eyes light on September 22.
"A day or two ago Aunt Sharon thanked me for all my help with the Bible school. I said I didn't think I was doing that much, and she said, 'But I keep seeing you with the girls, helping with cooking, leading choir, and doing the Feast display. That's quite a bit. Thank you for just being here!'
'Well, thank God,' I told her, 'because my plan wasn't to be here!'"
It's true. If it had been left up to me, I wouldn't be here right now. I would have been far away, buried in classes on ancient Greece and the U.S. Constitution. I would have had evening catch-up sessions with my friend each night as we flossed our teeth together. I would have been chirping through Handel's Messiah with the choir. I would have gotten to sample my cousin's gourmet cooking in his very own kitchen.
But it wasn't meant to be.
And yet--and yet . . . I don't regret it. Do I still miss that lovely dream? Sure I do, but neither am I sad about it. If I had gone far away to college I wouldn't have gotten to buy bowls of chocolates for the Bible school girls or run down the sand dunes with them or make a choir happen for the Convention. I wouldn't have gotten to play sports twice a week in the dearest gym I know or had the thrill of creating a unique display for the Convention or the delight of attending almost every single meeting in that same Convention. I wouldn't have had that awesome impromptu prayer meeting or had that same focus to battle for people I love or have gone on that crazy expedition in the woods. I wouldn't have talked about Jesus with with my former English student on that mountain hike or had that chance to visit my brother in Pennsylvania or the opportunity to mail odd packages to college buddies. I wouldn't have flooded my friend's room with sticky notes reminding her of her identity in Christ or have seen my brother conduct his choir or curled up and watched that thought-provoking movie with that friend. I wouldn't have heard that song of trust that my brother sang, moving me to tears. I wouldn't have had that song singing in quite the same way in my own life.
I don't always think like this. Usually I either enjoy the moment and move carelessly on or ask analytical questions about the purpose of my life. But sometimes, at unexpected moments, I have this sensing:
I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
And for that, I am thankful.
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