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| Let's be honest, this story has always needed something more ... |
Done right, Story embodies snippets of truth and beauty, the offspring of holiness and humanity. Not always in the characters or events themselves, but certainly in the storytelling process itself. Story is fundamentally an arc, a hero’s journey from weakness to death, then to resurrection and eternity (not necessarily to a Heaven-like eternity; occasionally he arrives at damnation, as in the case of a tragedy). Story is adventure, growth, risk, all within the context of significance.
Obviously, no one incarnation ever bears the full weight of the glory behind it. Therefore, no single story arc can ever tell the whole truth of reality. But despite its limitations, one story can momentarily demonstrate the touch of the infinite upon the finite.
[Ok, ok, enough of the flowery, nebulous, pseudo-poetic rambling. Sometimes I love using my epic voice because that’s the only way to express what I’m experiencing deep inside. But other times (most of the time) it’s just me getting into a style of writing that’s weirdly long-winded and meandering. Worst of all, it borders on banality. Which is annoying to me, and therefore must be appalling to audiences. (Sorry guys, couldn’t resist that alliteration ... now you know of my shameful weakness for tacky prose.) Life is epic, but it’s also mundane. And if you forget either half of the equation you behave/write like a small-minded nincompoop.]
Anyways, so years ago I promised to write a post about “The Ultimate Story” and never did. Which is silly because that idea has come to define a good portion of my career choices, my outlook on life, and even elements of my personality. So it’s probably time to write said post.
When I was a kid, I used to read voraciously, like eight books at a time. The librarian knew our family as the one with the children who dragged their book bags out the door, because the bags were too heavy to carry. Anywho, I could not get enough of stories! Then the LOTR movies hit during my preteen years, spawning a slew of other “epic” film series. And I was swept away. No, I did not geek-out and buy my very own Ring of Power, but I did get caught up in the movies and read all the books. (A replica ring might have come into my possession at some point in time … but it was totally just a freebie that came with that awesome Arwen bookmark I exchanged for several weeks’ allowance. NBD.)
Fast-forward to college/maturity: I took a class called "Story Structure" during my freshman year. Best class ever. I changed majors over it. It served as my entrance into the film world. As per my education, I read fabulous books on story theory, like Vogler’s The Writer’s Journey, which detailed the fundamental character arc for every story, and McKee’s Story, which further delved into the philosophy and composition of storytelling. Today these books sit on my bookshelf in places of honor.
But one of the best books I’ve ever read about Story was something I stumbled upon outside of the classroom. It’s a little book written by John Eldredge called Epic: The Story God is Telling. It’s not very thick and it’s not tremendously academic. But it expanded upon my understanding of Story, placing it within a much richer context ... namely life. There is a subtle but inherent imprint of Story upon reality, specifically reality informed by a Christian worldview. And for someone who feels a deep connection with and passion for Story (and Christianity), that’s powerful, intoxicating stuff. Let me share a little of this lovely fairy dust with you:
Following his resurrection, Christ walked through the clouds and strolled into Heaven (Heaven being the home of the Trinity). And with Him enters everyone who is in Him. Through Christ we go home to the presence of the Trinity. And there we are reinstated back in the community of life, beauty, and goodness.
I wish I could better describe what that good state is like. But I don’t fully understand it. And it doesn’t help that our cultural conception of “ultimate good” features the gauzy fashions of selfishness and contradicting/shifting mannerisms. Unfortunately we’ve all (even the believers) got this messed-up idea that existing in proper relationship with the Creator is stale and deadening, and that what is truly good and right and beautiful exists somewhere else. I suppose that is the fundamental lie which has plagued humanity for all of history. Golly, you’d think by now we’d see it for what it really is: a stinking horror of a façade.
Sometimes I like to dream about what Heaven will be like. I envision it being full of adventure, discovery, and play – all the while filled with rich meaning and understanding and peace. I see myself running through tall green forests, leaping and climbing, delighting in and giggling with my fellow creatures and my God. Not that there won’t be any seriousness. I’m sure there’ll be a grave joy present, strengthening and fueling all the laughter. We’ll finally be conscious of eternal realities, but I don’t think that’ll render us somber, static statues or dull, droning choirs. I’m pretty sure that deep-seated peace and satisfaction provide a better foundation for mirth than temporal narrow-mindedness or physical need ever has. The finite has always lived at the pleasure of the infinite. After all, creation was born when the Trinity bubbled over with joy and satisfaction.
There’s an ending to the story for each of us (one which we’re all hurtling towards much faster than we realize). Eventually there has to be a reconciling of our personal realities with the deep reality … our sin will face off with our home. And the truth is our sin does not belong in our home. We’re not going to want to bring the trash into the house. I’m not talking about excluding certain types of evil people, like Hitler. I’m talking about the evil behaviors, attitudes, and choices which unfortunately define my character and yours. We are not as different from Hitler as we’d like to think. I'll say that again because I think its important to understand - we are not as different from Hitler as we'd like to think. It’s not just Hitler who doesn’t belong in Heaven. (Seriously, do we want Heaven to be just another Earth?)
I think we can no longer deny who we are: deeply broken and twisted people. We must accept this reality. Please don’t misunderstand; accepting yourself as an alcoholic does not cure you of alcoholism. But it does enable you to pursue the cure. And there is only one cure for the sin disease. Short of time travel, there’s no way to revoke the past and forge a clean identity. So the only way out of this reality is to tie our broken souls to the God-Man, and through Him embrace death as we deserve … and through Him be birthed into a new reality. In this new reality, we can grow back into the great creatures we were intended to be. Through Christ, the sons of God will once again participate in blissful community with the Triune Godhead.
That is Life; this is Story: we were once good, the echo of God. And in desiring to be more than just the echo of God, we broke ourselves. But God has issued a stance of unity with us; this unity can heal us back into harmony, if we will allow it and begin the journey home. If not, I’m afraid our future will be nothing more than our past – and in fact less than our past, because it will be devoid of hope.
Obviously, no one incarnation ever bears the full weight of the glory behind it. Therefore, no single story arc can ever tell the whole truth of reality. But despite its limitations, one story can momentarily demonstrate the touch of the infinite upon the finite.
[Ok, ok, enough of the flowery, nebulous, pseudo-poetic rambling. Sometimes I love using my epic voice because that’s the only way to express what I’m experiencing deep inside. But other times (most of the time) it’s just me getting into a style of writing that’s weirdly long-winded and meandering. Worst of all, it borders on banality. Which is annoying to me, and therefore must be appalling to audiences. (Sorry guys, couldn’t resist that alliteration ... now you know of my shameful weakness for tacky prose.) Life is epic, but it’s also mundane. And if you forget either half of the equation you behave/write like a small-minded nincompoop.]
Anyways, so years ago I promised to write a post about “The Ultimate Story” and never did. Which is silly because that idea has come to define a good portion of my career choices, my outlook on life, and even elements of my personality. So it’s probably time to write said post.
When I was a kid, I used to read voraciously, like eight books at a time. The librarian knew our family as the one with the children who dragged their book bags out the door, because the bags were too heavy to carry. Anywho, I could not get enough of stories! Then the LOTR movies hit during my preteen years, spawning a slew of other “epic” film series. And I was swept away. No, I did not geek-out and buy my very own Ring of Power, but I did get caught up in the movies and read all the books. (A replica ring might have come into my possession at some point in time … but it was totally just a freebie that came with that awesome Arwen bookmark I exchanged for several weeks’ allowance. NBD.)
Fast-forward to college/maturity: I took a class called "Story Structure" during my freshman year. Best class ever. I changed majors over it. It served as my entrance into the film world. As per my education, I read fabulous books on story theory, like Vogler’s The Writer’s Journey, which detailed the fundamental character arc for every story, and McKee’s Story, which further delved into the philosophy and composition of storytelling. Today these books sit on my bookshelf in places of honor.
But one of the best books I’ve ever read about Story was something I stumbled upon outside of the classroom. It’s a little book written by John Eldredge called Epic: The Story God is Telling. It’s not very thick and it’s not tremendously academic. But it expanded upon my understanding of Story, placing it within a much richer context ... namely life. There is a subtle but inherent imprint of Story upon reality, specifically reality informed by a Christian worldview. And for someone who feels a deep connection with and passion for Story (and Christianity), that’s powerful, intoxicating stuff. Let me share a little of this lovely fairy dust with you:
Act I – Divine Happiness
In the beginning there was something good. We all came from Something Good and Happy. We must have! If not, then we have zero hope of achieving any goodness or happiness or fulfillment. The prerequisite to any story is that there was something good going on, to which the hero is trying to get back. This is the concept of trying to return home, an age-old story theme. I think it was Odysseus who said that, ‘Only fools seek adventures; the truest desire in man’s heart is to find his home.’
In the beginning there was something good. We all came from Something Good and Happy. We must have! If not, then we have zero hope of achieving any goodness or happiness or fulfillment. The prerequisite to any story is that there was something good going on, to which the hero is trying to get back. This is the concept of trying to return home, an age-old story theme. I think it was Odysseus who said that, ‘Only fools seek adventures; the truest desire in man’s heart is to find his home.’
Here’s how that looks in real life: that glorious primeval/prehistoric (or more accurately the preprehistoric) reality is the Trinity. A self-satisfying, self-causing, eternally-existent God; three persons in one – Father, Spirit, Son. True society, fundamental authority, and boundless creativity originate in the Trinity. That is our home, where we come from, where we long to return. And it’s not a musty, stale, sad old-person home. It’s a secure Fellowship, a joy which exists independently of us, the joy which invented us, and the joy which welcomes us into the party.
The Trinity is our Genesis.
Act II – Houston, We Have a Problem
The mirror cracks. The mushroom cloud rises. Eve bites the apple, and hello Evil.
Sin is not the passive younger brother of Evil. It is the real deal; heinous, highly-active, radio-active stuff. Nor is it “necessary” to life, the Yin complementing the Yang. Sin is totally unnecessary and uncalled for, an atrocity that should never have occurred. I think deep in our hearts we know that something eternal has been broken. And I think in the secret chambers of our souls, we know that we’re responsible for accomplishing these quiet tragedies.
Sometimes it’s hard to remember how sinful we are. We’re not a terribly introspective culture. I mean, sure, we like to bash our society as a whole. But we’re not very good at admitting our own personal faults. And yet the evidence of our selfishness and hubris is everywhere. Maybe it doesn’t show up in polite society. But it is ingrained in the woodwork of humanity. In our homes, in our beds, in our journals, we see the selfishness and apathy of our own hearts. Ugh. I hate thinking about this, because it fills me with guilt and fear and anger. So I do my best not to think about it. Because to acknowledge it throws me into free-fall; I have done wrong and I can’t change the past. The insanity of it is I can’t change the future either. I wish I could just decide to never sin again, but I know very well that’s a futile resolution. I will never be sin-free. A friend of mine once said, “We can control ourselves, but we can’t change ourselves.”
True, we were victims at the Fall. The Snake deceived us in the Garden, twisting and obscuring truth, confusing us to think beauty and goodness was elsewhere. Nevertheless it was our lips that embraced the fruit, rejecting what was given to us as good. Regardless of what the Snake said or didn’t say, we are more than just victims – we are also villains. Except we ended up the double victim. We cursed God, but inadvertently cursed ourselves. (It’s crazy how tightly intertwined the two can be, Villain and Victim, Causality and Casualty … just sad and crazy.)
This was the Fall, present in the opening chapters of Genesis … and present in the following annals of every human civilization.
Act II – Houston, We Have a Problem
The mirror cracks. The mushroom cloud rises. Eve bites the apple, and hello Evil.
Sin is not the passive younger brother of Evil. It is the real deal; heinous, highly-active, radio-active stuff. Nor is it “necessary” to life, the Yin complementing the Yang. Sin is totally unnecessary and uncalled for, an atrocity that should never have occurred. I think deep in our hearts we know that something eternal has been broken. And I think in the secret chambers of our souls, we know that we’re responsible for accomplishing these quiet tragedies.
Sometimes it’s hard to remember how sinful we are. We’re not a terribly introspective culture. I mean, sure, we like to bash our society as a whole. But we’re not very good at admitting our own personal faults. And yet the evidence of our selfishness and hubris is everywhere. Maybe it doesn’t show up in polite society. But it is ingrained in the woodwork of humanity. In our homes, in our beds, in our journals, we see the selfishness and apathy of our own hearts. Ugh. I hate thinking about this, because it fills me with guilt and fear and anger. So I do my best not to think about it. Because to acknowledge it throws me into free-fall; I have done wrong and I can’t change the past. The insanity of it is I can’t change the future either. I wish I could just decide to never sin again, but I know very well that’s a futile resolution. I will never be sin-free. A friend of mine once said, “We can control ourselves, but we can’t change ourselves.”
True, we were victims at the Fall. The Snake deceived us in the Garden, twisting and obscuring truth, confusing us to think beauty and goodness was elsewhere. Nevertheless it was our lips that embraced the fruit, rejecting what was given to us as good. Regardless of what the Snake said or didn’t say, we are more than just victims – we are also villains. Except we ended up the double victim. We cursed God, but inadvertently cursed ourselves. (It’s crazy how tightly intertwined the two can be, Villain and Victim, Causality and Casualty … just sad and crazy.)
This was the Fall, present in the opening chapters of Genesis … and present in the following annals of every human civilization.
Act III – The Battle
This is where most stories begin. Fallout is the world into which heroes are born, a world echoing with loss and groaning under many burdens. I think everyone knows that there’s something majorly wrong with the world. But I don’t think we have a clue of what to do about it. We try to isolate it, treat it, burn it, eradicate it. But there’s always another problem. Another war. Another disease. They say the only certainty in life is death and taxes. So resistance is pretty much futile. But we don’t really have a choice, do we? So we continue to fight, to sacrifice, to love. And we think it’s maybe enough. But it’s certainly not happily ever after.
Because we can’t address the fundamental issue; our sin against God. We may nobly deny ourselves, play the hero, and overcome a particular temptation. But we cannot die to all our wrong impulses, not in a way that would truly kill them off. We can wipe humanity off the face of the earth but we can’t wipe sin off the face of humanity. There is no chemo for sin; or if there was, it would kill us before it healed us.
So far Act III doesn’t look any better than Act II. Entre Jesus.
The life of Jesus Christ (roughly 4BC - 30AD) distinguishes Act III from Act II. The arrival of God on earth, the cosmic identification of the Creator with devolved creation (most prominently demonstrated by Christ on the Cross), is the only thing that has truly tipped the scales in all of human history. Jesus Christ’s incarnation pushed the plot forward, pulling us out of a damned repetitious Act II cycle. And like any good story, his death was the climax of human history. But like any good story, his death was not the end of it. There was a resurrection. And this is what propels the story forward. This is what breaks the cycle. If Christ had stayed dead, he would have accomplished nothing – just another tragedy, the ultimate absurdity and horror (God’s own suicide).
So far Act III doesn’t look any better than Act II. Entre Jesus.
The life of Jesus Christ (roughly 4BC - 30AD) distinguishes Act III from Act II. The arrival of God on earth, the cosmic identification of the Creator with devolved creation (most prominently demonstrated by Christ on the Cross), is the only thing that has truly tipped the scales in all of human history. Jesus Christ’s incarnation pushed the plot forward, pulling us out of a damned repetitious Act II cycle. And like any good story, his death was the climax of human history. But like any good story, his death was not the end of it. There was a resurrection. And this is what propels the story forward. This is what breaks the cycle. If Christ had stayed dead, he would have accomplished nothing – just another tragedy, the ultimate absurdity and horror (God’s own suicide).
But he did not stay dead. He didn’t stay dead because he is Life – the one who grants existence to each being. And in his resurrection, he demonstrated/became mankind’s only hope. He came to earth as a man, to join us in our humanity, to identify with us. He died with us, our depravity destroying his life. Then he rose, and pulled us up with him, his holiness superseding our fatality. It is only through identification with Christ that we can ever hope to overcome the human condition and live beyond death and decay. And I don’t just mean physical death or decay (though that’s part of the package too); I mean spiritual/social/personal death and decay (also known as sin).
Christ’s death and resurrection provides our only road home.
Act IV – Happily Ever After
The fact of the matter is we all long for a happy ending. We may appreciate stories that don’t end happy, but that’s just because they accurately reflect our current predicament: an ugly world where perfection doesn’t exist. But they don’t fulfill our deepest, ultimate hope. And the good news is that a happy ending does exist.
Act IV – Happily Ever After
The fact of the matter is we all long for a happy ending. We may appreciate stories that don’t end happy, but that’s just because they accurately reflect our current predicament: an ugly world where perfection doesn’t exist. But they don’t fulfill our deepest, ultimate hope. And the good news is that a happy ending does exist.
Following his resurrection, Christ walked through the clouds and strolled into Heaven (Heaven being the home of the Trinity). And with Him enters everyone who is in Him. Through Christ we go home to the presence of the Trinity. And there we are reinstated back in the community of life, beauty, and goodness.
I wish I could better describe what that good state is like. But I don’t fully understand it. And it doesn’t help that our cultural conception of “ultimate good” features the gauzy fashions of selfishness and contradicting/shifting mannerisms. Unfortunately we’ve all (even the believers) got this messed-up idea that existing in proper relationship with the Creator is stale and deadening, and that what is truly good and right and beautiful exists somewhere else. I suppose that is the fundamental lie which has plagued humanity for all of history. Golly, you’d think by now we’d see it for what it really is: a stinking horror of a façade.
Sometimes I like to dream about what Heaven will be like. I envision it being full of adventure, discovery, and play – all the while filled with rich meaning and understanding and peace. I see myself running through tall green forests, leaping and climbing, delighting in and giggling with my fellow creatures and my God. Not that there won’t be any seriousness. I’m sure there’ll be a grave joy present, strengthening and fueling all the laughter. We’ll finally be conscious of eternal realities, but I don’t think that’ll render us somber, static statues or dull, droning choirs. I’m pretty sure that deep-seated peace and satisfaction provide a better foundation for mirth than temporal narrow-mindedness or physical need ever has. The finite has always lived at the pleasure of the infinite. After all, creation was born when the Trinity bubbled over with joy and satisfaction.
Heaven is where we can truly live – and live happily ever after.
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I think we can no longer deny who we are: deeply broken and twisted people. We must accept this reality. Please don’t misunderstand; accepting yourself as an alcoholic does not cure you of alcoholism. But it does enable you to pursue the cure. And there is only one cure for the sin disease. Short of time travel, there’s no way to revoke the past and forge a clean identity. So the only way out of this reality is to tie our broken souls to the God-Man, and through Him embrace death as we deserve … and through Him be birthed into a new reality. In this new reality, we can grow back into the great creatures we were intended to be. Through Christ, the sons of God will once again participate in blissful community with the Triune Godhead.
That is Life; this is Story: we were once good, the echo of God. And in desiring to be more than just the echo of God, we broke ourselves. But God has issued a stance of unity with us; this unity can heal us back into harmony, if we will allow it and begin the journey home. If not, I’m afraid our future will be nothing more than our past – and in fact less than our past, because it will be devoid of hope.
I don’t like the sound of that ending. I prefer the sound of “happily ever after.” But I think life is kinda’ like a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book; we decide our own destinies.
Incredible, Erin. Thank you for writing this.
ReplyDeleteI'm reading a book called Surprised by Hope right now would (compellingly)take Eldredge's description of Heaven -- "I envision it being full of adventure, discovery, and play – all the while filled with rich meaning and understanding and peace" -- and revise it to a description of the new earth, very much present and not "otherworldly" as though physical creation is bad. It will be a place of ultimate peace and adventure and discovery when Jesus finally overthrows the last enemy called Death on a cosmic, universal scale and raises those who have "fallen asleep" to a new creation, like his.
Your sense of story is a huge gift to learn from, Erin. Thanks again for doing this!