Inside Llewyn Davis

A man with a guitar in one hand and a cat in the other.

In one hand, pleasure, identity, livelihood, talent, escape, release, the ideals of life itself.

In the other hand, an unpredictable series of mistakes and mishaps and not always the best of responses to either one.

Taking care of one seems to mean letting go of the other, neither of which is really an option. The rest is an endless, complicated, seemingly impossible balancing act. 

It's the strongest image I've seen in a movie for a long time. And the performances were great, too.

Advent 30: On being humiliated

Would you vote for a president who ran his campaign on the promise of getting himself killed?

Would you let a homeless guy give you a bath?

Would you worship a baby?

The humility of Christ forces us to check our hearts, our motives, our interests, our own humility. Because accepting what this man has to offer--and especially the way in which he offers it--requires humility in its own right.

We talk about how the Jews were hoping for a savior-king that would establish an earthly kingdom and deliver them from Roman rule and make their own nation great again. Isn't that what most of us would like, too? It would certainly be easier, less intrusive. Find our guy, vote him in, get us the tax breaks so we can start living our best life now, where we can all finally go about our own business.

Instead we have a homeless guy trying to wash our feet. When was the last time you let a homeless guy wash your feet? (Because if anything, shouldn't you be washing his?)

Is that the savior you want? Is that the savior you're looking for?

Wait...do you even want a savior? 

In our first months in France I could have said I had only one French friend. He was a schizophrenic. It was uncomfortable. Here I am coming to save the day in France and the only person who's interested has schizophrenia. Not only that, he served us. Invited us to his house. Gave us food to eat. Shared his rhubarb with us. Played with our son. Taught us French. Prayed for us. Called just to check in. It was humiliating. I'd be OK with a friendship like this if I had the superior position, if I was the one serving him. But here, I had to accept the fact that he wanted to serve us. I had to accept the fact that we needed his service.

No, we don't want a savior. Because it's humiliating. It's intrusive.

I think this is part of what Peter is coming to grips with in the upper room, as Jesus makes the rounds with the wash basin. "Me too?" he asks worriedly. "You shall never wash my feet!" Exasperated, he sarcastically gives in, still protesting, "Fine, but go ahead and wash all of me, then!"

"If I do not wash you, you have no share with me," Jesus gently insists. In other words, let me serve you.

I recently talked with several people who agreed they like prayers of gratitude and prayers of intercession for others but not prayers that request things for themselves. The argument is mostly that others are worse off then we are, others need the prayers more than we do. Sounds noble, generous, selfless. We might even say it sounds humble. But at the core it's the proud refusal of a savior. We don't want help, can't admit we need help. We want to be the savior, not the ones who need saving.

We talk often about Christ's humility, that it's a model that determines our service. That's important: in humility, count others more significant in yourselves.

But service too often makes us the savior, which is exactly the more comfortable role we'd prefer to play. Ironically, serving others can give us a twisted sense of superiority rather than the humility we thought we were displaying.

When we talk about Christ's humility, it is first about letting ourselves be served by such an unexpected, humble source. It's about following this earthly-failure-of-a-king who plans to get himself killed. It's about letting a homeless man wash us. It's about telling a helpless dependent baby that he's exactly what you had been waiting for. Those are humiliating things to do for a capable, clean cut, upper middle-class American. And that's exactly the point.

For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.

New Nickname

The other kid, growing in mischief and sense of humor, has taken to calling me Peep Peep. No one's sure why, other than growing mischief and sense of humor.

Sometimes it's authentically sincere and endearing, as in,
"Good morning, Peep Peep." or "I love you, Peep Peep."

Sometimes it comes with a mocking too-big-for-one's-britches edge, like a random,
"Hey, Peep Peep!"
that sounds almost like Bart Simpson calling his father by his first name.

Sometimes it's a backhanded way of obeying, as in,
"Would you do this please?"
"Alright, Peep Peep."

And sometimes there's no question, he's making fun of me, as in,
"I smell a stinky diaper."
"Good job, Peep Peep."

Good thing I've always had a soft spot for the mischievous kids with a bizarre sense of humor.

Advent 29: True Christmas Melancholy

True Christmas melancholy does not come from working on the 25th, being far from family, lacking a lover, rain instead of snow, or not getting what was on your list.


Peace among those with whom He is pleased. Luke 2:14

Peace for whom? There is a somber note sounded in the angels' praise. Peace among men with whom he is pleased. Without faith it is impossible to please God. So Christmas does not bring peace to all. -John Piper, December 6

Behold, this child is appointed for the fall and rising of many, that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed. Luke 2:34-35
Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. Matthew 10:34


Who do you want to trust? Augustus? Herod? The civilized Western World with all of its progress? Or the source of this humble baby, born quietly in the alleys of Bethlehem?

There was no place for them. Luke 2:7
His own did not receive him. John 1:11
You refuse to come to me that you may have life. John 5:40

We prefer our earthly rulers, and our earthly way of ruling. And what a way.

Then Herod became furious, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem. Matthew 2:16


So we wait, we hope. We pray, we plead. And we groan.

For the creation was subjected to futility, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Romans 8:20-23


Lord come with fire,
Lord come with fire,
Everyone's wasting their time,
Storing up treasure in vain,
Trusting the pleasure it gives,
here on earth.

Advent 28: Our Christmas Stories, or, Case Studies in Redemption

Christmas is the Gospel story, the story of God's intervention, his rescue plan. And if Advent is a time of waiting, then it's a time of remembering what our own 'walking in darkness' was and what it felt like. If Christmas is the joy of a Savior's birth, Advent is remembering how desperately we needed that baby to be born.

That's why I read Psalm 107 as an Advent psalm. Four case studies in redemption. What we were, in dire straits, and the drastic, powerful, gracious means God employed to gather us and make us his own. Four hopeless problems, four miraculous solutions.

He brought us out of trouble and gathered us from the four corners of earth, so let us give thanks for his goodness and his steadfast, eternally enduring love!

In one corner of the earth, we wandered through the desert, with no home, no food, nothing to drink.
In another corner, we sat in darkness, close to death, afflicted prisoners, in the bondage of slavery because of our rebellion and hatred of God and his ways.
In the third corner, we were foolish and we reaped what we sowed, suffering consequences that we ourselves chose, denying whatever was good for us, and thus getting progressively, dangerously closer to death.
In the fourth corner, we went about our business, successful and productive, important and powerful, independent and not hurting anyone, but when we saw God's power in raging storms we quickly recognized the limits of our control, and we were absolutely terrified.

That is who we were. This is the desperate waiting, the expectant longing of Advent.

But God. When we cried out to him, He delivered us. Every time.

Those who were lost, he put us on the right path that led to a new home. Where our soul was hungry, he gave us good things until we were satisfied.
Those who were enslaved, he brought us out of darkness, burst chains, shattered doors, cut bars, and set us free.
Those who were foolish, by his Word, he healed us, delivered us from our destructive ways, changed our desires.
Those who were frightened by our finiteness, he calmed the storms, got our attention, and restored rest and peace.

And so we all respond in gratitude for the salvation and the hope that comes with Christmas. Which corner were you gathered from? What is your Christmas story? The response is the same each time:

"Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
    for his wondrous works to the children of man!"

Advent 27: The Whole Universe Waiting, Expecting, Rejoicing

"Mary sees clearly a most remarkable thing about God: He is about to change the course of all human history. The most important three decades in all of time are about to begin." -John Piper, December 2

"God is guiding foreigners to Christ to worship him, and he is doing it by exerting global--probably even universal--influence and power to get it done." -John Piper, December 8


It's this idea that the very universe, the cosmos, in all of its immensity, from the tiniest ant to the most distant galaxy, they all knew about this baby. While his own people did not receive him, his birth going unnoticed like just any other, every other member of the universe was waiting, expecting, and rejoicing.


The world was about the change forever. And it almost went by unnoticed...but the leaves, that night, rustled with a rumor. News rang out across the open fields. A song drifted over the hills. The wind whispered it softly in the sycamore trees, that waved their moonlit branches to the sky...The skies shouted it to the seas that thundered it to the waves that roared it to the great white whales that sang it to the starfish in the deep. And tiny sandpipers danced it on shining sands..."It's time, it's time!" The running rivers bounded over boulders and the otters clapped and played and sang to the ducklings that splashed and quacked to the salmon that leaped and leaped. And tiny field mice and insects and little creeping things and sparrows and robins and every single blade of grass squeaked and hummed and chirped and sang..."It's time, it's time!"
-Sally Lloyd-Jones, Song of the Stars


Car l’univers, oui l’univers cherchait l’enfant
Sans le savoir !
Les sangliers dans les fourrés suivaient leurs traces,
Les lièvres et les renards humaient leur piste,
Ils ont levé un épervier à tire d’aile
Et les fourmis se réveillaient d’un long sommeil.
Toutes les bêtes endormies sentaient l’approche
De ce qui s’en venait lentement en ce monde,
De ce juste avec un visage rajeuni
–car il était le père du premier Noël–
De cette femme frêle aux yeux cernés d’espoir,
Portant le sacrement des hommes sous sa robe
Conduisant doucement, tendrement, humblement
Son enfant vers son terme.
-Jean-Luc Gadreau, Noël aux Goélands


Excerpts from Psalm 104:
 He set the earth on its foundations,

    so that it should never be moved. 

The mountains rose, the valleys sank down
    to the place that you appointed for them. 

You make springs gush forth in the valleys;
    they flow between the hills;

they give drink to every beast of the field;
    the wild donkeys quench their thirst. 

Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell;
    they sing among the branches. 

From your lofty abode you water the mountains;
    the earth is satisfied with the fruit of your work.

He made the moon to mark the seasons;

    the sun knows its time for setting.

You make darkness, and it is night,
    when all the beasts of the forest creep about.

O Lord, how manifold are your works!
    In wisdom have you made them all;
    the earth is full of your creatures.

Here is the sea, great and wide,
    which teems with creatures innumerable,
    living things both small and great.

These all look to you,
    to give them their food in due season.

When you give it to them, they gather it up;
    when you open your hand, they are filled with good things.

When you hide your face, they are dismayed;
    when you take away their breath, they die
    and return to their dust.

When you send forth your Spirit, they are created,
    and you renew the face of the ground.

May the glory of the Lord endure forever;
    may the Lord rejoice in his works. 

Isaiah 1:3

The ox knows its owner,
    and the donkey its master's crib,
but Israel does not know,
    my people do not understand.

And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.
-TS Eliot

Isaiah 55:12

For you shall go out in joy
    and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you
    shall break forth into singing,
    and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. 

All these stories and songs and legends and folklores surrounding the animals at Jesus' birth, these aren't just cute and quaint and nostalgic tales for kids that sell well, they just very well might be the truth of the cosmos. 

See also: this song and this song. 

Drive

Our little old country town put together its first Film Noir Festival over the past few days. It was an admirable initiative, but from the turnout I saw, was not exactly a success. Part of the festival was a retrospective with highlights from the noir genre, which gave the opportunity to go with some new friends to see 2011's Drive -- a movie that's been on my to-see list for the past two years -- and in English no less.

Halfway through our after-film discussion, after referring simply to the main character as "Ryan Gosling" over and over again, we wondered why none of us could remember his name. We stopped, thought some more, but no. No name is given. He's our man, our guy, the kid, mommy's friend, the neighbor, and of course the driver. Fitting, because that's about all the information we get on him anyway. He drives. That's about it.

If this were Fast and Furious 8, that's the one-dimensional character we'd expect, but the real experiment and the real success of this film is how much we somehow care without knowing anything about him, not even his name.

Like most films in the genre, it's an ugly story of debts and payments, of kill or be killed. But the Driver is reluctant. He didn't really want in, and now he really wants out. And that's where the questions begin.

Doesn't his reluctance make him innocent? He's not so much committing violence as much as he is enduring it. If he's defending himself and more importantly a woman and her child, doesn't that make him noble? These are acts of protection, maybe even sacrifice. I think these are the things the typical viewer leaves saying or wanting to say, maybe even what we're supposed to say. We see him desperately trying to escape, fighting for love, and so we root for him, the underdog, the handsome hero, the valiant prince.

But come on, says the skeptical moralist, these are some pretty atrocious acts, far from innocent. How did he fall into this vicious circle in the first place? And couldn't there have been other options to get out sooner?

So the questions continue. We don't know much. Do we know enough about him to even actually say?

After all, who is this guy? What's his identity? What's his story?

More importantly, what's his nature?

He watches cartoons with a little boys and asks, "Is that a bad guy?" Of course it is, the kid says. "How do you know?" Because it's a shark. "There aren't any good sharks?"

He warns the last man standing through the fable of the scorpion and the frog. The scorpion convinces the hesitant frog to take him across the river, after all, the scorpion won't kill the frog or else they'd both die. But when he stings the frog halfway across and the stunned frog asks why: "I'm a scorpion. It's my nature."

Are there good sharks? Are there good scorpions? Are there good men?

And the credits roll with another great synth-pop refrain repeating: "A real human being, and a real hero." And therein lies the tension.