Thursday 14 November 2013

The Lion King and the Deep Story of Life #2

PREVIOUSLY ON ‘THE LION KING’:
Mufasa shows Simba the whole of the Pridelands and tells him that “everywhere the light touches” will be his. But he warns him never to go out of their kingdom, into the shadowlands. Scar wants Simba dead, and he tempts him – telling him about the Elephant Graveyard, and that only the bravest lions go there. Simba takes Nala, lies to his parents and they run away into the graveyard, where they are attacked by Scar’s hyenas, and are about to be killed when Mufasa bursts in, overpowers the hyenas and generally saves the day like the legend that he is. (This is an EPIC scene which we’ll come back to later on…)

So here we are – we’re only interested up to 1:35 – “We’re pals right?” – “Right.”


When we were watching this scene recently there were genuinely audible sighs coming from my mates, possibly even from me. In the middle of the film, this scene always just hits me right in the guts, but at the same time it’s beautiful. Why?

Simba steps in his Dad’s paw-print and realises how small he is. And I know that feeling. So often we think we’re big enough and brave enough and strong enough to deal with everything by ourselves – we’re independent people, we don’t need help – and then the moment comes when we lose control, when it starts to turn sour, when there’s nothing we can do and nothing we can say… And we look down at our little paw-print and realise that we’re just not big enough. But sometimes - if we look closer - we can see, like Simba does, that our Dad is a lot bigger.

And then Mufasa looks at his child and says, “Simba, you deliberately disobeyed me.” And he knows it’s true. “And what’s worse, you put Nala in danger.” And he knows that’s true too. And we know that feeling, don’t we? When you don’t want to look at anyone and there’s a cold lump in your chest because you know it was wrong, and you know it hurt people. And there’s nothing you can say you’ve just got to wait for, “I forgive you.” You’ve just got to hope for “I still love you.”

And Simba says, “But you’re not scared of anything!” – and the King replies - “I was today. I thought I might lose you.” This bit is so much truer than we know. Mufasa is more powerful than anyone else, he rules in his kingdom. But because he is a good father, he cannot control his son. Because he’s a good father he doesn’t force Simba to stay in the cave, he doesn’t  build huge walls to keep him in, he doesn’t put an electric tag around his ankle. He lets his son be free. He makes obedience a choice. And because he loves him enough to make him free, the mighty King is vulnerable to this little cub. He is scared, because for all his strength, all his power, he knows that some day he might lose his little boy. And when his little boy deliberately disobeys him, when he runs away, when he risks his life – it breaks his father’s heart. And I believe that God loves us enough to set us free, and it breaks his heart that he might lose us. The Creator of the Universe is our Dad; and he sits at the window and weeps, and waits, and hopes that some day we’ll come home.

But somehow, despite all the pain, all the heartbreak; despite all the times we put Nala in danger and she really does get hurt – our Dad, the mighty King, still smiles when he looks at us, and laughs and plays with us like the best dads do with their kids. And when we draw up close to him, and ask: “We’re pals right?” He always says, in a voice too strong and warm to doubt: “Right.”


Thursday 7 November 2013

The Lion King and the Deep Story of Life #1

A few weeks ago I watched the Lion King. Again.

And I love this film, I love it so much it is ridiculous, I have seen it on VHS, on DVD, even in 3D. At some point I’ve probably seen it illegally. But if ever a film was worth a criminal record, that film is the Lion King.

One of the reasons that I love it so much, is because I think it’s true. Now, obviously, I don’t quite mean that. I don’t mean that the lions really do sing and dance or make schemes with hyenas or friends with warthogs, what I mean is that a lot of the basic story in that film (which is, apparently, based on Hamlet) is the same as the deep story of humanity. We love it so much because it’s us.

Now, as you probably know, I’m a Christian. And I believe that the story of Christianity is the deep story of who we are, the true story of us and the world and God.

So I’m going to attempt to tell what I believe is the story of humanity with a few clips from the best film ever.

#1.



Watch it first, we’re only really bothered with the first 40 seconds.

So. The picture we’ve got here, is exactly how the story starts. We’re Simba, God’s our Dad. He’s our Dad and he’s the King. And he shows us a beautiful, epic, exciting kingdom, and says, “Kid, it’s all yours. There’s just one thing…” The whole of existence is ours to enjoy, but then there are the shadowlands, the darkness, the danger-zone, and our Dad tells us we should never go there. There’s danger there, there’s pain. There is fear, and darkness, and death.

And what’s our shadowland? Like Simba says: “I thought a King can do whatever he wants”. The shadowland, the elephant graveyard for humanity is simply us deciding to do whatever we want, not whatever He wants. Our Dad, the King, loves us, and he wants to give us everything, but we were born free. We were born free to follow ourselves and not our Father, to follow the voice that tells us that “the bravest lions” can do whatever they want. Free to leave the land where the light touches, and wander into the shadowlands of pain – our pain, each other’s pain, His pain.

And isn’t it funny that as soon as Mufasa tells Simba he should never go there, we know that he will? Because that is what people always do. We want what we shouldn’t have, eat the forbidden biscuit, all that jazz. We are born free, and we are born doing the thing that we’re not supposed to do. And at the start we’re just throwing our food and eating our little sister’s sweets and that’s quite cute, but we get older and it gets nastier. The shadowlands get darker and more dangerous.

But good news is, our Dad is running…

TO BE CONTINUED.

*Relevant bible bit: Genesis chapters 1, 2 and 3: http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=gen%201&version=NIVUK

Sunday 3 November 2013

An Unexpected Metaphor

Two delightfully surprising things have happened to me this week – and it turns out one is a metaphor for the other. Which, as an English Lit student, I find rather pleasing.

I say two things, but in truth there have been many delightful things this week because Rachael came to visit. While I’d love to take up hours of your life with witty prose on the multiplicity of entertaining escapades and, lets be honest, packets of biscuits that made up our time together, I will restrain myself and only mention one little thing. Rachael does a thing occasionally, * SOPPY ALERT * * SOPPY ALERT * where she says ‘thank you’ to me for being lovely. And this is a uniquely wonderful thing. Unique because those ‘thank you’s are ones that no part of me is asking for. It’s not like when I get someone a present that I think is a goodun, and as soon as I choose it I’m looking forward to the gratitude they will no doubt display; or when I hoovered my room before she came and was so proud of it that I told all my friends, then her when she arrived, (and now anyone that reads this as well…) in the hope of people being impressed at my good-boyfriendness! The alleged ‘loveliness’ that I have displayed in these moments is not something I do because I think I should. It’s not something I do because I’ve been told its what good boyfriends do, or because I think Rachael will be grateful for it and think I’m great. The best times are when I’ve done something simply because * SOPPY ALERT * I love her and it is a joy to be kind to her. It’s what I want to do. And then she thanks me and I think – what? And I say ‘it’s a pleasure’ and I actually mean it. It’s an honour. It’s what I want to do.

So in technical terminology that was the ‘vehicle’, and now for the ‘tenor’. That was the metaphor, and this is the thing it’s a metaphor for. If that makes sense.

Just now I was chatting to my brother on Skype. Which again, was lovely in itself but I won’t waste your time. And at the end I just asked him to pray for me, because I realised that recently I’ve been reading this awesome book * ADVERT ALERT * (‘The Cost of Discipleship’ – Dietrich Bonhoeffer – EPIC) and it’s talking about how brilliant it is to obey Jesus. To do what he wants. How letting us obey him is actually awesome kindness from him. But anyway, it’s making me dead keen to know what he wants me to do – for him to tell me to do something so I can obey him. This probably sounds quite strange but bare with, bare with. I told Andy this and asked if he could pray for me to sort of realise or hear what Jesus wants me to do. And then he said,
“Well, I think to be honest brother, what you’ve been talking about, just loving people and being with them and telling them about Jesus, I think that’s the thing.”


And I thought, ‘Oh’. 

I thought, ‘Good point’.

I thought, ‘Well yeah, this week we started an Alpha course and chatted about Jesus and that was amazing and I really got to know people and I loved it. And all the way through the last few weeks I’ve been getting to know awesome people, and I’ve had so many beautiful conversations about Jesus and how beautiful he is, and exciting things are happening in my friends lives,  and… so on and so forth...’ 

But the feeling was a lot like the feeling when Rachael thanks me for being lovely.

Talking to people about Jesus – whether other Christians or not – started out quite scary. I knew it was the right thing to do because God was way too good not to share, but I still had to really battle with myself to get the courage and actually say something. But without me noticing really, that’s changed. What started out as doing what He wanted me to do, is now just what I want to do. I was surprised when Andy said it because it doesn’t even feel like obedience any more. I talk to people about Jesus simply because I love Him and I love them. It’s just a joy. It is a genuine and constant delight. It is what I’m here for, sharing Jesus and his love has become genuinely the best bit of my life, * CLICHÉ ALERT * it’s what gets me out of bed in the morning.

So this is an unexpectedly marvellous thing about trying to do what Jesus wants. After a while, you find that, somehow, you want what he wants. And you do it. And it’s epic. And it feels like you were born for it because you were.

Some theologian once said: “If you love God, you can do what you want.” I think he was right.