Though it could be a matter of critical opinion, it’s no secret that most “Christian” films suck. I believe the general consensus is a lot of things that have been labeled in the West as “Christian” suck. Specifics at least. Sorry Hillsong Young & Free, I have no desire to worship the Divine creator of the universe to an overproduced techno track with a repetitive pre-chorus. Why would any of us?
On my side of the world consumerism is king. If you can’t see it, touch it, or eat it immediately, it’s rendered expired and useless.
There’s no patience.
There’s no contemplating.
Maybe it’s because I have a degree in movies and I’m a seminary dropout. Maybe it’s because I’m an Enneagram 4 (please read this particular sentence through a thick lens of sarcasm). But I will make this mental claim loud and clearly: I know that I know that I know that cinema is a visual art form. Movies are things you think in your mind, make with your hands and watch with your eyes. So when a script is executed surrounding the character of the Holy unseen, obviously there is going to be some unbelievability (beyond the low-budget set pieces and bad acting).
You can’t see faith. You feel it.
I think the phrase goes…
“No sadder atheist than one whose life is going well and doesn’t know who to thank.
No sadder Christian than one whose life is going terrible and doesn’t know who to blame.”
I was raised to follow the protocol of self-accountability. I don’t think this was intentional on my parents behalf. It was just the relics of their own upbringing; being fostered in a good ol’ boys, white picket-fence society.
Bad grade? You should’ve studied harder.
Bad breakup? You should’ve done more.
Bad day? You should’ve taken matters into your own hands and turned that frown upside down, buttercup.
This integrated belief that I was the sole cause of blame in every situation has been the hardest thing to unlearn. Thin is the line between what you feel and who you are.
As a Christian, shame is not supposed to be part of the story. It is a baseline belief that shame and all the other shitty feelings and things we’ve done and will do in this lifetime are already rung out in bright red blood over two pieces of wood. So why do I feel shameful in a critique of a religion I cling to so tightly? When I feel confusion and pain and anger in my head?
A while back, I was having a conversation with someone whose opinion I hold highly that doesn’t claim Christianity. Or America and its soiled view point. My anxiety was reeking havoc between the two of us and the beautiful sand we stood on so far from where my passport reads. Worrying about plans and promises and the past seeping into the future, he prompted the question: “Isn’t the Christian phrase ‘Daily Bread’?”
Isn’t it?
My heart wondered why was I asking, chasing, running ragged on the hedonistic treadmill for
weekly,
monthly,
yearly Bread.
Is my constant spinning,
planning,
aggravating over time and space and circumstances I cannot control
an anti-testament to the faith I claim to practice?
Is the religion I have been indoctrinated into, deconstructed within and reformed out of, one that does not fester in the unknown, but rather trusts in it?
Am I a hypocrite?
Are we all?
Since that day I have been chewing on this rebuttal. Learning to ask my Jesus “why” instead of “when”. The blinders of the constant more more more American mindset has blurred my vision of Daily. Momentarily. Presently awake to blessing and circumstance.
You can’t see faith.
You feel it.
