Man of Steel: For Little Boys and Theologians Only

If Michael Phillips’ review in the Chicago Tribune is any indication, it seems that critics (and perhaps moviegoers) have finally had it with absurdly over-the-top, literally earth-shattering special effects sequences in big-budget action films.  It is entirely okay, and indeed often preferable, to have a movie climax that does not involve the potential annihilation of the planet.  Perhaps moviegoers are finally realizing the boredom of sheer excess—when every movie plot threatens a major U.S. city with total destruction, it’s just about the same as if none of them did.  This is a conclusion the public has needed for quite a while (and it’s a horn I’ve been tooting for some time—see my review of last summer’s The Bourne Legacy).  In the wake of such special effects love feasts as the Transformers series—and amidst legitimately awesome blockbusters like The Avengers—America is in need of thoughtful, clever, yet simple films.  Fewer special effects, more snappy dialogue, and a focus on plot.

Yes, we have overdosed on special effects, and Man of Steel may have finally alerted folks to this grave fact.  I am relieved to see that there may be light at the end of this decade’s heretofore entirely computer-generated tunnel of explosions.  How ironic, then, that I found myself loving Man of Steel, and cannot bring myself to agree with the lukewarm or unfavorable reviews that some critics and viewers have afforded it.

There are two reasons for this.

First, the battles.  The battles in Man of Steel are completely over-the-top, exhibiting each and every symptom of dumb action movie excess, including but not limited to: extreme close-ups of hand-to-hand combat that obscure the events of the brawl and render it less exciting; unconvincing computer-generated body doubles engaging in unbelievable stunts that likewise diminish the excitement of the movie; an absurd scale that requires not just the combatants, but entire skyscrapers and city blocks to be brought down over the course of the fight; disconcerting collateral damage that calls to mind the presumably grisly fate of countless bystanders, who are totally glossed over in the movie’s narrative; and volume jacked up so high that one exits the theater both dizzy and wondering how to treat a perforated ear drum.

And yet, for all that, the battles are awesome.  They are everything I would hope for in a Superman battle.  Superman punches with marvelous strength; his enemy returns a blow of equal magnitude.  Superman grabs his foe, flies a mile into the air, and slams him back to earth—and leaving his mark in the form of a crater.  Watching the battles in Man of Steel, I was taken back to my childhood, which was filled with epic battles between Godzilla and King Kong, Spider-Man and Venom, and a host of other heroes and monsters who filled my toybox and my coolest daydreams.

I smirked as Superman flew General Zodd up into space, only to be smashed by his villainous foe into an orbiting satellite and thrown back into our atmosphere (both of them catch on fire as they hurtle back down to earth, and of course neither is affected negatively by this development).  Yet the smirk was not one of cynicism, but fraternal enjoyment; I knew that somewhere on the other end of this movie was someone who agreed with me that “it would be really cool if Superman grabbed him and flew up so high that he went into space, and started punching him while he was up there, and then he crashed into a satellite, and they both fell back down to earth and caught on fire…”  You get the picture.  And yes, that also goes for the absolutely awesome scene in which Superman tackles Zodd at lighting speed, rolls him through miles of dirt, punching him savagely all the while, and eventually launches him full speed into a truck filling up at a gas station.  This is in response to Zodd bullying Superman’s earthly Mom (while he’s punching Zodd, he yells, “YOU…THINK…YOU…CAN…THREATEN…MY…MOM!?!”).  For any boy who loves his own Mom, this is seriously fun to watch.

The battles are not perfect.  The effects sometimes look a little unrealistic.  It is unclear how exactly Superman wins the fight (because spoiler alert, he wins).  And they certainly display no sense of subtlety or restraint.  But sometimes we’re not in the mood for restraint.  And what better way to indulge such a mood than in a harmless and basically innocent couple of hours in a movie theater?  If you enjoyed making your action figures bash each other across the living room and get crushed by giant boulders (i.e. sofa cushions) when you were younger, you will definitely enjoy this movie.

On to the second reason I enjoyed Man of Steel: it got me thinking about spiritual things.  I am a Theology guy, and I always comb movies, books, and shows for religious, spiritual, and moral messages.  Whether good or bad, they’re always there.  Man of Steel continues the recent superhero movie trend of self-sacrifice and responsibility so wonderfully inaugurated in 2002’s Spider-Man and continued by later Marvel and Batman films.

However, there is something about this movie that goes much deeper than the others.  Man of Steel transcends mere virtue and, I contend, delves into specifically religious and Christian ideas.  Throughout the movie, Superman is presented as a sort of Christ-figure.  On the surface level: he’s 33 years old, he’s lived a life of relative obscurity leading up to his public career as a wonder-worker, his father is dead by the time he’s an adult and he is very close to his mother, and he is met with varying degrees of both admiration and suspicion by those who encounter him.

On a deeper level, we see Superman/Kal-El/Clark as a blend of humanity and superhumanity; we see him interact with and master forces the like of which any number of humans couldn’t dream of taking on; we see him courted by evil and tempted to abuse his power by prideful superhumans who consider humanity an inferior creation; we see the hope of an entire people resting on his shoulders; we see him engage in a struggle that literally no one else could begin to take up; we see him banish evil with an act of total self-sacrifice.

I will dwell on only one scene to illustrate this point.  When Superman attacks the terraforming machine in the Indian Ocean, he is weakened by the atmospheric changes surrounding the contraption.  After fighting off a set of serpentine metal tendrils in spite of his weakened state, he is forced underneath the full blast of the machine’s world-destroying might.  We see him engulfed in blue energy emanating from the machine, apparently being pushed to the limits of his resilience and strength.  It seems that he might not survive as he scrunches up his face in pain and yells in agony.  Yet just when it seems that he won’t pull through, he launches up against this stream of energy and slices through the machine’s innards in a stunning upward flight.

Perhaps it seems absurd, but this scene got me thinking about Jesus’ suffering and crucifixion.  What I saw in the movie—Superman withstanding a torrent of lethal otherworldly energy and emerging the victor—made me look at Jesus’ act of sacrifice in a new way.  Specifically, it focused my attention on the spiritual aspect of the Passion.  Of course we often consider, especially before Easter, the extreme physical suffering Jesus went through for our sake.  But we must remember that we also believe that, in taking the burden of the cross on his shoulders, Jesus was taking the weight of humanity’s guilt upon himself.  During those awful hours of torture and death, Jesus took up the unfathomable mass of man’s evil, carried it with him along the way to Calvary, and ultimately destroyed every ounce of it.  There was more negative energy—more evil, pain, guilt, shame, regret, horror, hatred, disgust, and misery—concentrated on Jesus Christ at that time than on any other person in history before or since, or ever.  How amazing is that, that he did that for us?  The blue energy that almost killed Superman in this movie is, to me, another way of expressing the spiritual aspect of Jesus’ suffering.
 

Now I should already know the amazing nature of Jesus’ sacrifice, and in some sense I do.  But seeing this computer-generated spectacle on screen today made me realize the magnitude of Christ’s spiritual agony as he faced off against the worst stuff that evil could throw at him.  In taking our guilt upon himself, Christ did the most amazing, heroic, and wonderful thing anyone has ever done or will do.

I may not be making myself clear.  We illustrate and meditate on depictions of the physical suffering of our Savior (and this is good and important).  But how often do we reflect on the spiritual aspect?  How could it have felt to carry the punishment incurred by an entire race of beings on a single man's shoulders?  It is a fearsome thing to consider.  And we just don't think about it when we see a picture of the crucifixion, because it's not something that comes through in a picture, or even in the physical event itself.  Onlookers could not see the burden of sin Jesus took up on his way to Golgotha.  It was and is a spiritual reality, accessed and understood only through faith.  We believe it, but we could never see it with our eyes.

Man of Steel is certainly not a straight allegory of Jesus.  If it was intended to be, it’s a train wreck.  But I don’t think that was the filmmaker’s intention.  Instead, I think the idea here was to illustrate certain Christian ideas and images in interesting ways.  In that sense, the movie is a complete success.

So there you have it: Man of Steel, a film for little boys and theologians.  Go see it.  I think you might enjoy it.

The Skeptic

We don't know much about Heaven. Although we can draw on Christian revelation to acknowledge some basic facts about the place—for instance, that it is eternal and supremely fulfilling, and that it involves perfect fellowship with God—our religion is rather vague when it comes to details. I'm not just talking about the color of Heaven's wallpaper, of course, but more prickly questions like who gets in and what they have to do before they get there (yes, there's a doctrine of Purgatory, which is sort of like a training room for Heaven, but what can we say about Purgatory other than that it exists?), and—perhaps most interestingly—what happens the moment we die. Where do we go? How does it feel? These are questions whose answers do not lie on earth, and about which we can only speculate while we dwell here. What follows is just such a speculation. Join me if you will as we begin our story, on a train...

A Catholic, an Evangelical, and an atheist were riding together (this is not a joke, I promise!). Upon seeing the atheist, who was wearing a shirt that said "God is not great," the Evangelical leaned over to the Catholic and said, "He will not see Heaven. He is not saved." The Catholic answered, "I do not know."

The next moment, the train crashed, and all three men died.

Suddenly they stood in a long line of people. Jesus stood in front of the line, speaking to each person for a brief moment before sending them to his left or to his right.

When the atheist came to Jesus, he was asked, "Who do you say that I am?" The atheist, visibly struck by his experience and by the Lord's loving gaze, fell prostrate and cried, "My Lord and my God!" The Lord immediately welcomed him to Paradise.

When the Catholic stepped forward, Jesus asked, "What do you want me to do for you?" The Catholic genuflected and said, "O Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner!" Jesus answered, "Your sins are forgiven," and welcomed him into Paradise.

Finally, the Evangelical came forward. Jesus asked him, "Where are you going?" After a momentary pause, the Evangelical's quiet response was, "I don't know." Instantly the Lord embraced him and led him into Paradise.

THE END.

Esse Amari Deo Est

It was a gray October day, around lunchtime. I had reached the part of my daily routine which involved walking, and so I was. My eyes scanned the faces of the people I passed, looking hopefully for a friend or acquaintance to greet or talk to. I longed for company, but found no familiarity to converse with. Then things got strange.

Suddenly, I was in a blank white room. Although I had just been walking outside, I was suddenly seated in a comfortable chair at a high table. Across the table there sat a man, somewhat familiar looking, despite a startling appearance.

He was clothed in a deep purple robe and had shoulder-length white hair, which matched the wispy curls that covered his face, in a picturesque mustache and beard. His look reminded me of old paintings of Socrates or even of God (the kind that are painted on the ceilings of old churches), but there was one notable difference: his nose was not nearly as pointy as all of those old depictions tend to show it.

The upshot of this rounded, almost knobby schnoz was that this man, whether he was God or Socrates, looked far less stern than his other characteristics would lead you to expect. He actually looked quite a bit like Santa Claus on a diet (I was pretty sure that wasn't who he was, though).

In fact, very soon after my strange transportation, I was sure that wasn't who he was. He said to me, in a voice so jolly it made Santa Claus look like Bobby Knight,

"Hello, Joe!"

Considering how sudden and odd this change of circumstances was, I actually accepted it all rather quickly. Without much of a pause, I responded:

"Hi!"

It was a happy response, given in good cheer, because there was something about this guy's demeanor, a sort of silent energy, that was contagious. And he spoke English. I quickly ruled out Socrates.

"I suppose you're wondering what you're doing here," he stated matter of factly, but with just as much light-hearted mirth as his greeting.

"Well, yeah--I certainly am," I responded, "but I'm also curious--who are you?"

"Who am I? Well, you're not the first to ask that question, but the full answer would take a little longer than you might realize, so...let's shorten it up by saying that there is one word which would point you toward who I am. Would you care to hazard a guess at what that word is?"

"God?"

"Yes! Such a wonderful boy, you are! I am God."

"It's nice to finally see You face to face!"

"Well, you're not really seeing Me face to face. If you truly saw Me face to face, things would be a little more intense than they are right now. Think of this as a vision."


"Okay." I sat expectantly, waiting for the vision to continue.

Nothing happened. God just sat there, staring at me, smiling.

I stared back, and realized that this His eyes were the most arresting thing about Him. I've heard the eye described as the "window to the soul," but I never really understood how much of a window it can be until I saw His eyes. The longer I stared, the deeper those piercing jewels became, telling stories, stories of woe leading to redemption and ending in joy, all without words, without images. It was fascinating, sort of a unified magnification of all the eyes I'd ever looked into, but with something more added, Something huge and full of energy and love. Suddenly the silence was broken by His voice:


"You never have to feel lonely, you know."


His words surprised me. The deep joy in His voice was overlaid now with a measure of concern, which may have been there the whole time, but was more noticeable now.


It took me by surprise, but I knew exactly what I wanted to say to Him. Not angrily, but with a genuine thirst for understanding, I asked:


"If I don't need to feel lonely, why have I felt that way? If You are so close, how come I never heard You speak back to me?"


"I tried. But you can't talk to someone if they aren't willing to listen.
So many times like today...you walked, thinking you were alone."

There was something in how He spoke and looked at me, something so close to every memory I had, bringing up days and feelings long past, things that even I had forgotten about--all at once, vivid as life itself, and with such understanding and compassion, but mixed with a sense of painful incompleteness, that tears welled up in my eyes. I had been hit full force with the melancholy of memory.


I found words.


"You were there the whole time. I knew it, but not like this. I didn't realize...I'm sorry."


He didn't acknowledge the apology, but responded:


"I have spoken to you all of your life. I have spoken to you through my Word. I have spoken to you through your family's love. I have spoken to you in all the times of joy. I have spoken to you in the leaves of Fall and the snows of Winter, the warm breeze of Spring and the cool rain of Summer. I have spoken to you in every moment of inspiration you've ever had. I have spoken to you by creating you. I have spoken in many ways, even many ways which you cannot yet understand, but my message has always been the same. Do you know what that message is?"

He didn't have to ask, but He did. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I responded:


"I love you." The light in the room was getting brighter with our every word. I sensed things were coming to an end.

"Yes! I love you, too! Above all, remember that! And tell everyone you meet that I love them, too!"

My vision was fading as the light expanded, brighter and brighter, into a world of True Light, and when I could see no more--my eyes shut tightly,


and I was back on the ground outside.


My eyes were fine. My face was dry. Nothing on the outside had changed, it seemed; but the first thing I saw was a tree whose yellow fire matched the blazing of my own heart, and so I pressed on toward my destination.

The Big Race

Once there was a big race.

Three men lined up next to each other on the crowded starting line, excited to begin running.

At the gunshot that signaled the start, the three were off, as fast as bullets. They quickly distanced themselves from the rest of the contestants, as they were among the fastest runners present.

The first man couldn’t help but start thinking while he pounded his way alongside his fellows.
“I saw a girl running back there who looked absolutely beautiful,” he thought. “Perhaps I’m running this race to meet her. I’m not one to fool around with destiny—I’d better slow down so she can catch up.”

This he did, and he met the girl after just a few short minutes of deceleration and detection. She was a slow runner, but he was willing to limit his speed in order to keep pace with her. They had a pleasant conversation through the rest of the race, and when they finished it out they took a handy 12th place.

The second man, too, had seen an enticingly attractive lass at the start of the race. Hoping to meet her in the same manner as the first man, he began to slow down in order to reach the crowd of other runners and search for her. To his surprise, this action was unnecessary, because the very girl he’d spied at the onset of the race then came surging ahead of the pack, soon catching up to the second man, who had already begun slowing down.

It is a pity that he had done this, because the pleasant conversation that ensued could just as easily have been carried out at the vanguard of the race—for these two people happened to be the fastest and ablest runners of all. Neither knew this of the other, though, so they finished together in a mediocre 10th place.

The third man, alone at the front of the pack, didn’t think very much during the race, or at least tried not to. Although an imperfect runner, he knew the secret to success in running, which is also the secret to success in anything else—focus solely on the goal, pouring heart and soul into its achievement. He executed this principle to the best of his ability.

His concentration, too, was flawed and fallible. He fell prey to distraction in the form of a familiar or intriguing face, a memorable piece of scenery, or a peculiar sensation.

But for this, too, he had concocted a counteraction: he had resolved beforehand to remind himself of his goal every time he saw a tree—and this was no rare occurrence, considering that he lived in a temperate inland climate!

So it was that our “little engine that could” puffed his way at the front of the pack, muttering to himself near-constant reminders of his goal, when he spied an odd sight in the road ahead of him, something he had not seen for the entirety of the race—namely, another runner.

This runner happened to be a girl, and happened to be a beautiful girl, at that. Although physically appealing, her beauty lay more deeply in her presence than any particular physical attribute. The mere idea of her, as a romantic might put it, was what attracted this man the most—the mere idea that there was another so focused and driven as to reach his position…and, he suddenly realized, to swiftly overtake him!

With a startled determination, the man redoubled his efforts and surged forward—not to catch up with the girl, but to reach the finish line as quickly and skillfully as possible, devoting all his craft and energy toward that goal. He soon overtook her.

His feminine challenger seemed not disheartened, but somehow inspired by the man’s energetic surge ahead, and thus there began an epic whirlwind of back-and-forth, action against action, as each racer would pull ahead, be superseded by the other, and then regain the lead once more. It was in the middle of this cycle that the finish line was crossed.

The results were indisputable; both racers had crossed the line at the exact same instant. They had tied for first place. Afterward, the two enjoyed a victory celebration of ice cream and milkshakes, which would subsequently be recognized as the first of many dates leading up to a long and happy marriage.

* * *

One might be tempted, like that first man, to say that those two had run the race in order to meet one another. They themselves would testify, however, until the day they died (within the same hour of one another, as it happened), that they each ran that race solely to finish it, and not just to finish it, but to finish it in the best way they knew they were capable of.