Because everyone loves a good story
Masterful Poems 3: “The Lantern Out of Doors”
“Out of sight is out of mind.”
Never was a truer word spoken. As soon as I walk away from a task for a minute, it’s likely I won’t remember what I was doing until I stumble upon it a while later. This is most tragic when I’m making grilled cheese. But the tendency has an even worse effect: I can often forget to care for people who aren’t in my direct line of contact day in and day out. I fully intend to check up on them, reach out to them, and pray for them, but instead my myopic mind focuses on the people and tasks right in front of me, and I fail to follow through.
Even people with the best memories and the most helpful reminder strategies may still fail to pursue someone when he or she need it most. We can unintentionally contribute to feelings of hurt, loneliness, and maybe worse. Sadly, it’s the nature of humanity to be inconstant; our good intentions aren’t enough. This is just the predicament that today’s poem talks about.
“The Lantern Out of Doors” by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Sometimes a lantern moves along the night,
That interests our eyes. And who goes there?
I think; where from and bound, I wonder, where,
With, all down darkness wide, his wading light?
Men go by me whom either beauty bright
In mould or mind or what not else makes rare:
They rain against our much-thick and marsh air
Rich beams, till death or distance buys them quite.
Death or distance soon consumes them: wind
What most I may eye after, be in at the end
I cannot, and out of sight is out of mind.
Christ minds: Christ’s interest, what to avow or amend
There, éyes them, heart wánts, care haúnts, foot fóllows kínd,
Their ránsom, théir rescue, ánd first, fást, last friénd.
My Favorite Poet
You may remember from a previous post that Gerard Manley Hopkins is my favorite poet. He was a Jesuit priest living in England in the mid- to late-1800s, and he wrote the most intricate poems in praise of the Creator. Take a minute to savor the flawless word selection and rhyme scheme in this piece, and after this post be sure to scamper off and read some more of his poems. You won’t regret it!
Now, down to the nitty-gritty.
A Universal Curiosity
Have you ever noticed that our eyes are always drawn to light in the darkness? At night I find myself staring at glowing power buttons in my baby’s room or the headlights passing in front of my house. People glare at the cell phone user in the front of a dark movie theater and grit their teeth. Even Gollum knew he had to give Frodo specific instructions in the Dead Marshes: “Don’t follow the lights.” But once the light is off or gone, we don’t usually continue to think about it. We’ve moved on. After all, it wasn’t that interesting.
In Hopkins’ day, before electricity was made available to people, I’m sure it was even more absorbing to see a lantern passing his window in the night. Hopkins confesses his curiosity and wonders where they’ve come from and where they’re going so late. He watches their light bobbing away, wading through the darkness until it’s out of sight.
The Attraction of Bright Beauty
Unpacking his metaphor, Hopkins muses about the magnetism of certain people. Some folks seem rather ordinary, but there are those whose “beauty bright” attracts our inner eye. He doesn’t mean that physical appearance (“mould”) is the only characteristic that draws us to another person; it could also be their mind, personality, similarities, or “what not else,” so long as they’re “rare”—a light in the darkness.
Those who are blessed with this kind of radiance pierce the thick, damp darkness that often clouds our perception. We’re dimmed by a preoccupation with our own affairs, but the “rich beams” of these souls attract our heart’s gaze…at least until they’re out of sight. Both separation and death effectively remove their light from our vicinity, and then they are gone.
The Sad Truth
No matter how unique a person is, “death or distance soon consumes them,” snuffing out their radiance. Like a lantern winding its way around a bend in the road, their light is gone no matter how hard we peer after it. We cannot be at the end of their road to meet them there, so we are consigned to strain our eyes after them until we give up and move on. After all, “out of sight is out of mind” eventually.
Granted, those most precious to us leave an eternal imprint on our hearts that time does not erase. But Hopkins is probably speaking here about those whose time in our lives is more brief—lanterns passing in the night, if you will. And although the tendency to forget is awful, Hopkins isn’t the only one who struggles with it. In fact, he makes sure to use both “my” and “our” throughout the poem, including us in his confession. He lived cloistered away from society, but he had seen enough of human nature to know that every passion is subject to entropy, and self-absorption is universal.
Our First, Fast, Last Friend
But note the simplicity of this reassurance: “Christ minds.”
He does not simply take a casual interest in us until He gets distracted with something else. He doesn’t even focus His attention on us until we choose to withdraw from Him. Instead, He is the embodiment of commitment and constancy, watching, loving, caring, and pursuing us. We are not a pastime for Him; rather, he pursues us to “avow or amend” what He sees in us. Where we fail to follow through, Christ is faithful.
No mere passive observer, Christ is even our “ransom” and “rescue.” He interposes himself in our danger and accompanies us in our loneliness. We are never out of his sight and, therefore, are never out of his mind. His omnipresence enfolds us, and his light illumines us. He is at the beginning and the end of our journey, and he will not leave us in between. Regardless of the inconstancy of man, Christ is our “first, fast, last friend.”
Source of digital poem text: https://www.bartleby.com/122/10.html
One Word
Choose one word.
Connect. Imagine. Simplify. Transform. Thrive.
Is it just me, or does it seem a little stressful to choose for yourself the one word that will define you—the one word that you can “focus on every day, all year long… One word that sums up who you want to be or how you want to live.”1 Yikes! How am I supposed to pick just one? I can’t even settle on one task for the next ten minutes, much less one passion for the next 366 days. (Apparently it’s leap year, in case you forgot to muster up one more day’s worth of inspiration.)
No pressure.
Can’t Choose, Won’t Choose
Now, I’m sure a lot of people have chosen very good words and will change and grow accordingly. I’m a little jealous of that, actually, but I don’t think I’ll be able to pull it off. For one thing, I can rarely make a decision and stick with it come what may. As new factors come into play, I usually change my decision accordingly.
For example, I may plan for Monday to be grocery day. There, that’s my word: grocery. I’ll get groceries and do my meal prep. But when Monday turns out to be rainy, I’ll change my word in an instant. Who gets groceries in the rain? That’s miserable. Suddenly, Monday is deep-clean-the-basement day. (A compound word is still a word, right?) But it’s possible that I’ll remember another task in the middle of that, and my word will change again.
One day, my husband will be the patron saint of longsuffering. And facial twitches.
A Nearly-Impossible Standard
Granted, this is not as much a problem with the one-word resolution as it is with my brain. I’m too squirrely. But the idea also feels ever-so-slightly degrading as well. I mean, it’s been only three centuries since Jonathan Edwards wrote his resolutions. He didn’t write just one word, mind you; he wrote 70 complete resolutions. And, lest he forget them, he re-read them every week. He even made a resolution for the occasion of breaking his resolutions: “Resolved, if ever I shall fall and grow dull, so as to neglect to keep any part of these Resolutions, to repent of all I can remember, when I come to myself again.”2 This guy thought of everything!
In light of that kind of diligence, it’s kind of a bummer to imagine a slouching millennial sipping locally-roasted coffee and scrolling his iPhone 783 for “one-word resolution ideas” by which to direct the course of his year. But I digress.
The Flaw in the System
Regardless of where you fall on the resolution spectrum, I’m sure you’ve made enough resolutions to discover their unsatisfying nature. I don’t even mean our tendency to break or forget them; I mean, if you examine it deeply enough, there is even a kind of emptiness in keeping them. Why is that?
Maybe the trouble with making up our own resolutions is that they can never give us everything we want them to. Sure, if I resolved to stop eating so much sugar and to start working out every day, I would probably start getting fit. That’s just science. And if I resolved to read a book a week, I would probably start getting smarter. That’s just logic. But even though these surface results would inevitably come, I’d still be lacking the fulfillment of their deeper motivations. Let me explain.
The Goal Behind the Goals
Often our desire to be fit is not only a determination to be the healthiest version of ourselves so we can live long and prosper; we also want people to think we look good. Our desire to read books isn’t always about enriching our minds as good stewards; we also want people to think we’re well-read, well-rounded, and well worth conversing with. We want to recycle so we can do our part for the planet but also so others will approve of our responsibility. We want to simplify our belongings so we can be organized but also applauded. We want to be more generous because it’s a good thing to do but also a good thing for others to know that we do.
It’s not a flattering description, to be sure. If you object to my exposing the baser aspects of our motives, know that I feel the same way! I would deny it if I could, but the scrap of honesty inside me forces me to admit how much I want to improve so I can win approval—glory, if you will—from others.
An Age-Old Desire
The truth is, this isn’t a new problem. In fact, Jesus addresses something very similar in John 5. He is talking with the Jewish religious leaders about one of their most sacred resolutions: to search the Scriptures diligently. That sounds like a worthy resolution if I’ve ever heard one. But Jesus exposes their motives and warns them about the emptiness of their pursuit.
“You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that bear witness about me, yet you refuse to come to me that you may have life” (John 5:39-40). Jesus sheds light on their action and their motive. Their action is a diligent search of the writings of Moses. They think they will find eternal life, but they’re rejecting the Source of life that the Scriptures are pointing to, namely Jesus.
Full, Yet Empty
So what is their motive? They don’t want Jesus; they want glory—approval—from each other because of their diligence. Sadly, that rotten motive prevented them from benefitting at all because it prevented them from believing. “How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?” (v 44) They didn’t sense their need for God’s approval because they were full of each other’s.
But the tragic truth is that their quest for approval betrayed them in the end. “Do not think that I will accuse you to the Father. There is one who accuses you: Moses, on whom you have set your hope. For if you believed Moses, you would believe me; for he wrote of me” (v 45-46). The object of their pursuit would destroy them in the end because they mistook the penultimate thing for the ultimate. The writings of Moses were there to point to Jesus. To miss that is to miss everything, no matter who else is applauding you.
Too Close to Home
“Well, too bad for those Jews 2,000 years ago,” I’m tempted to think. “How unfortunate for them. Good thing it doesn’t have anything to do with me.” But that’s where I’d be wrong. Consider that Jesus’ warning to them would read just about the same if I swapped out their resolution for some of mine.
“You work out, read books, recycle, simplify, and give because you think you’ll get admiration, but these good things are meant to point to me, the Source of all good things. You keep yourself from gaining my approval because you’re so focused on the approval of others. The resolution on which you set your hope will accuse and betray you in the end.” God forbid that I spend all my efforts in penultimate pursuits when the Giver of glory is calling to me! I want to set my hope on the only One whose applause matters.
A Better Word
So this year, while I may not be able to keep 70 resolutions or even choose one perfect word for myself, I think I’m all right with that. Instead, I’ll try to use every pursuit as a means of seeking Jesus, the only Source of approval that can satisfy me in the end.
I guess that’s one word after all.
Jesus.
1 https://oneword365.com
2https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/the-resolutions-of-jonathan-edwards, Resolution 3.
Awful Poetry for Children: A Small Rant
“Puppy wuppy loves his tasty bone.
Watch him wagging his little tail as he is running all the way home.”
I’ll be the first to admit I’m no poetic genius. I don’t read nearly as much as I should, and I’d certainly be cast out by true poetry snobs. But even I have to protest about the quality of some of the stuff passing as “children’s poetry” these days.
I wrote the poem above as an example, but it’s so close to one of my son’s books that it’s scary. I’m not here to throw any individual author under the bus, but I’m sure you can think of several books that are just as bad, am I right? So what’s the problem with children’s poetry these days, and what can be done about it? Let’s take a look.
A Dismal Realization
Although I don’t read a lot of poetry, I do enjoy styles as diverse as Shakespeare’s sonnets, Emily Dickinson’s musings, Shel Silverstein’s gags, and Gerard Manly Hopkins’ meaningful wordplay. They don’t all have a set meter (which is the rhythm of a poem) or rhyme scheme (which is the pattern of vowel sounds), but they all pay careful attention to detail and word selection. Sheesh, even Dr. Seuss is a master of meter and rhyme! (Does it still count if you’re making up the rhyming words? I’ll assume it does.) To me, the quality of the poem matters just as much as the content.
So imagine my chagrin as I’ve been reading books to my 1-year-old son and realizing, “Wow, some of this stuff is garbage.” Granted, the writers may be very busy people. They may have grander aspirations than churning out couplets about farm animals. They may feel they don’t need to perfect one little poem for one little book since it’s just for kids anyway. They may want to be real writers some day, for heaven’s sake!
Well, mister, let me tell you how I feel about that.
The Writer Loses
First off, if an author tries very hard to write a good poem for children but it turns out rather poorly, I wouldn’t really blame him. I would blame the editor for passing it and the publisher for printing it, but I probably wouldn’t blame the author for writing it. If, however, an author feels that children aren’t mature enough to need good poetry or interested enough to want good poetry, then I would strongly disagree. And I would smack his face with a wet noodle.
Even if the quality of a book didn’t matter once it was published, the author who slacked off would still be doing himself a disservice. All current writing is practice for future writing. If an author allows himself to write sloppy poems because he thinks it doesn’t matter, then he’s missing a chance to hone his skill and sharpen his mind. He’s also revealing that he doesn’t respect his readers—neither the small ones or the big ones. Reading poems like “puppy wuppy” feels like being consigned to a 10-page trip to purgatory. No author should have that kind of omnipotence.
The Reader Loses
But the ones who suffer most at the hands of lazy children’s authors are, of course, the children. To use an analogy, everyone knows the maxim, “You are what you eat.” (And yes, I’m aware of the irony of writing this one-handed while I polish off a Christmas cookie. Seriously.) But studies show that a child’s first 500 days of life—from conception to age 2—are the most critical for nutrition. Their diet during these formative months may help determine their immune systems, allergies, and even which genetic characteristics to display. No pressure, moms.
My real point here, as I’m sure you see, is that our literary diets always have a direct correlation to our mental structure, but I believe the most crucial time to read good books is during childhood. To quote a very non-scientific source, Kathleen Kelly says it perfectly in the movie “You’ve Got Mail”: “When you read a book as a child, it becomes a part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your whole life does.” I couldn’t agree more.
Good Books Are for Everyone
Childhood reading even directs the taste for future books. Dr. Seuss may lead to Silverstein, Kipling, and Shakespeare, but poorly-written books may dampen a child’s desire and squelch his interest in future reading. How many of you thought you “hated reading” only to find out later that you hated reading boring books but loved reading good books? Plenty, I’d wager. But I’ve known many high school students who retained their “hatred of reading” because they’d never been exposed to better books. That makes me shed teardrops on my tomes. Brethren, these things ought not so to be!
So rather than dumbing down poems intended for children, why not give them well-crafted, age-appropriate poems and teach them to enjoy it? That’s the sort of thing C.S. Lewis was passionate about. He wholeheartedly believed that a book which wasn’t good enough for adults wasn’t good enough for children, either. This doesn’t mean that the book should include agendas, jokes, or innuendos intended for the parent reading the book. Rather, it means that if an author churns out garbage, he can’t expect anyone to enjoy it—not even a child. “We can be sure,” Lewis says, “that whatever does not concern us deeply will not deeply interest our readers, whatever their age.”1
The Choice to Be Choosy
The more I consider this topic, the more I’m determined to read better books to my boy. Sure, he’s only one and isn’t taking copious notes on the poetic structure of his bedtime books…yet. But his mind is a little sponge, and he’s already absorbing the rhythm and rhyme of language. (He’s quite advanced, you know.) The books I read him will teach him what is good, beautiful, true, and worthy of imitation.2
The choice of quality literature will become even more important over the next few years as well, and I want to be up for the challenge. That’s why I’m asking you, dear reader, for recommendations. What are some well-written children’s books that you’ve enjoyed? Who is a children’s poet that you would recommend? Feel free to leave a comment below!
As for me, I think I’ll go stash some better books on my baby’s night stand. So long for now!
Sources:
1 C.S. Lewis, On Three Ways of Writing for Children
2 Philippians 4:8
The Fun of Indiana Jones 1-3: Part 2
The heroism and action of Indiana Jones may owe a lot to James Bond,1 but the horror, humor, and style pull from different sources altogether. Want to see a few ingredients that have made the franchise memorable for over forty years? Let’s take a look.
HORROR LIKE HITCHCOCK
Melting faces, cascading corpses, seething snakes, and hordes of bugs, bats, and rats: sounds like a real horror movie, right? But these are just a few of the unnerving images we get to enjoy in Indiana Jones. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a big ol’ chicken when it comes to scary movies. I mean, I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life; reality is scary enough. So while I don’t make a habit of watching anything Hitchcock, every red-blooded American has seen enough clips from Psycho and The Birds to become familiar with his style. That’s why I still feel qualified to cite the Hitchcockian influence on Indiana Jones.2
If the scariest part of the movies was a bug infestation or a boxcar full of snakes, though, the term “horror” might be an overstatement. But Lucas and Spielberg crossed the line in The Temple of Doom. Once you show a pagan priest ripping a man’s heart out through his chest, you’ve left Spookyville and entered Horror City, a fact that many parents asserted after their children watched this PG-rated violence. Thus, the PG-13 rating was born, and we’ve all been more forewarned and forearmed ever since.3 Personally, I was glad the other Indy films weren’t quite so gruesome. Bugs? Sure. Human sacrifice? Not so much.
CLASSIC HUMOR
But it’s not all blood and guts with Indiana Jones. The films’ lighthearted tone keeps them from wallowing in the macabre. Even The Temple of Doom starts out with a jazzy little musical number by Willie Scott, the ditzy female lead. Although poisoning, shooting, screaming, and general mayhem ensue afterward, the music and dialogue keep us entertained rather than worried.
One of my favorite funny moments from Raiders of the Lost Ark is when Marion is modeling her satin nightgown in front of a dusty, double-sided mirror while Indy is gingerly examining his injured face on the other side. When she flips the mirror to get a better look at herself, she cracks him in the jaw with the wooden frame and sends him howling to kingdom come. I love that kind of gag. And if Lucas and Spielberg were trying to make up for the heaviness of The Temple of Doom by making The Last Crusade the funniest of all, I think they nailed it. The father/son dynamic between the Jones boys is perfect.
ICONIC STYLE
To me, the final aspect that makes the films so memorable is the iconic style of the costume, music, characters and quotes. First, everyone knows that Indiana Jones is synonymous with a bull whip, a leather jacket, and a brown fedora. While there’s nothing unique or surprising about his costume, it has become a staple of the visual vernacular of film.
And when it comes to the most recognizable film scores, Indiana Jones is among the best. The main theme is triumphant and energetic, the catchy brass melody urging you to sally forth on an adventure, while the romantic strings section causes you to swoon. Great work, as always, Williams!
Characters
Time would fail me to enumerate all the characters who deserve attention in this trilogy, but I have to acknowledge Sallah and Henry Jones, Sr. Sallah shows up in two movies, and he really does have some of the best lines. In Raiders of the Lost Ark, he and Indy peer down into an ancient crypt that’s crawling with snakes. “Asps,” Sallah observes. “Very dangerous. You go first.” Also in Raiders, Sallah and Indy are scheming about the location of the Ark as a hitman secretly pours poison on a bowl of dates. A monkey eats one and kicks the bucket just before Indy tosses a date up in the air for himself. Sallah reaches out and grabs it just before it enters Indy’s awaiting mouth. For Casual Understatement of the Year award, I nominate the line, “Bad dates.”
Dr. Henry Jones, Sr., is Indy’s father and the perfect foil to his character. While he’s hopeless in physical combat, he’s the perfect blend of dorky, blundering, and wise. The Last Crusade has some great moments, like Indy’s discovery that his father had previously slept with Indy’s current fling. Henry protests, “Well, I’m as human as the next man,” to which Indy replies, “I was the next man.” But despite all Henry’s shortcomings as a father, he finally gives Indy what he wants—his full attention and preferred name: “Indiana, let it go.” Lucas and Spielberg really hit a homerun with this duo.
Quotes
You’ve got to love the quotability of these films! In Raiders, Marion remarks that a beat-up-looking Jones isn’t the man she knew ten years ago, to which he replies, “It’s not the years, honey. It’s the mileage.” In Temple of Doom, Indy finally jumps on a small plane to escape the man who’s been trying to kill him for the past hour. Just before he takes off, he calls back, “Nice try, Lao Che!” Then he slams the plane’s door, only to reveal the words “Lao Che Air Freight” on the side. Nice try, Indy.
The Last Crusade may be the most quotable of all. For example, Indy dresses as a flight attendant and then punches a Nazi out the window of the Hindenburg. When the rest of the well-to-do customers look alarmed, he improvises, remarking, “No ticket.” Suddenly the aircraft is aflutter with tickets waving in nervous hands. And finally, as Indy and his father escape from the Hindenburg on a biplane, Henry Jones, Sr., exclaims, “I didn’t know you know you could fly a plane!” None too reassuringly, Indy replies, “Fly? Yes. Land? No.” Happy trails, Drs. Jones.
WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
Two weeks isn’t nearly enough time to spend on these fantastic films, but I’m afraid it will have to do. We’ve looked at a few ingredients that make this trilogy and enduring classic, but there are plenty of other aspects we didn’t even acknowledge. Feel free to comment your favorite part of the original Indiana Jones trilogy, and then go grab some popcorn and settle in for a movie marathon!
Check out the next post here!
1 https://www.nytimes.com/1989/05/21/movies/meanwhile-back-at-the-ranch.html
2 http://www.theraider.net/features/articles/hitchcock_01.php
3 https://www.businessinsider.com/indiana-jones-and-the-temple-of-doom-created-pg-13-rating-2014-4
The Fun of Indiana Jones 1-3: Heroism
What do you get when you combine James Bond, Alfred Hitchcock, quotable humor, and a brown fedora? Either a complete flop or a fantastic success, depending on who’s in charge. Fortunately, when George Lucas and Steven Spielberg got together, they combined these ingredients to concoct one of the best-known and most-loved film characters: Indiana Jones.
I grew up watching the original trilogy, and I’ve been in love with it ever since. But what is it about Indiana Jones that makes him so classic? Why has the Indy enthusiasm lasted for decades? While there are plenty of reasons (his biceps being two of them), I’ll narrow it down to the films’ heroism, horror, humor, and overall iconic nature. (I apologize for my lack of alliteration. I’ll award 10 points to Gryffindor if you can give me a good synonym for that last one.) Since that’s a whole lotta info, today I’ll simply answer the question, “What kind of hero is Indiana Jones?”
AN INTELLECTUAL HERO
When Raiders of the Lost Ark first begins, we see Indy carefully choosing his path through a South American jungle in search of a golden idol. He adeptly reads the clues, whips the double crosser, finds the cave, avoids the traps, and pockets the idol, only to end up running for his life from a rolling stone and a charging mob. So far, this is a classic action film. But the next thing we know, Doctor Jones is standing in front of a class at Marshall College teaching Archaeology.1 Wait, what? The guy’s a professor? I’m pretty sure my University teachers spent their spare time playing chess and petting their cats.
But this is more than just an interesting character detail; Indy’s education and employment lend some credibility to his archaeological capers. For one thing, if he’s earned his doctorate, he probably has the aptitude to learn another language. But this guy never does anything halfway. In the movies, he seems comfortable understanding and speaking several languages, but according to some geeky sources, Dr. Henry Jones, Jr., is actually fluent in 27 languages.2 And while that’s pretty impressive, I’m even more incredulous about the amount of time off he takes during the school year! Good thing he’s tight with the dean.
A (SELECTIVELY) PRINCIPLED HERO
His professorship also explains his motivation to chase down ancient trinkets even when it puts him in constant danger. He’s a real purist about the artifacts, too, insisting that they belong to a museum rather than any individual. Indy felt strongly about this even as a teen, choosing to face mercenaries, a lion, and a vat of snakes just to see the cross of Cortez safely preserved. I hope he got a Boy Scout badge for that.
Interestingly, all three movies center around the rediscovery of religious artifacts—the Ark of the Covenant, an Indian Sankara stone, and the Holy Grail. But his passion to recover these relics doesn’t mean he gives credence to their religious significance—at least not initially. In fact, we see very little character development in Indiana Jones throughout the films, but he does seem to re-learn the same lesson at the end of every movie: simple faith triumphs over selfish motives. Of course, he never seems to remember that lesson by the next film, but what can you expect? He’s an archaeologist, not a theologian.
A HARDCORE HERO
As you know, this professor isn’t just a bookworm; he’s a lean, mean, fighting machine. He’s equally adept at the bullwhip, pistol, and fist, able to fight his way out of (almost) any situation. His resilience is astounding—he bounces back from punches, falls, chases, and other injuries, ready to take on the next bad guy or kiss the next woman. But what I appreciate is the films’ lighthearted tone about his beatings. Rather than showing him as some kind of dauntless, tireless Terminator, the movies show him getting dusty, tired, and even grumpy.
In Raiders of the Lost Ark, Indy escapes a crypt only to become a punching bag for a big German aircraft mechanic. When Jones finally gets some respite on a ship with Marion, he’s too sore and cranky to enjoy her skimpy pajamas…at least initially. And in The Last Crusade, Indy is put through the ringer as he tries to rescue his father and Marcus Brody from a Nazi tank. When it’s finally over and he collapses on the ground, safe but exhausted, he is literally left in the dust as his dad says, “Let’s go then! Why are you sitting there resting when we’re so near the end?” To me, this approach feels more relatable than a bullet-riddled hero who never breaks a sweat.
AN IRRESISTIBLE HERO
Marion Ravenwood
And when it comes to romance, Indiana Jones is an irresistible hero. In Raiders of the Lost Ark, we seen Marion Ravenwood, Indy’s ex-girlfriend, falling for him all over again even though he’d left her high and dry years before. She’s tough and independent, but she can’t hold out against his arrogant attitude and gruff assertiveness. While they seem to get pretty chummy a couple of times, he’s still fairly neutral about her by the end of the film. She, however, is chasing him up and down a staircase and offering to buy him a drink. Must be that rugged charm.
Willie Scott
Willie Scott, the female lead in The Temple of Doom, is the polar opposite of Marion, and yet she succumbs to Indy’s wiles as well. She’s quite willing to let the good doctor experiment on her nocturnal activities, and she hardly protests when he lassos her into his embrace at the end. The more surprising fact, however, is that Indy seems attracted to her, too. Don’t get me wrong—she’s pretty with her blond hair and red sequin dress, but the woman is a prissy, ditzy, spoiled wimp. She spends half the movie screaming, for goodness sake. If I were Indy, I would have been tempted to let her drop just a few more feet into the lava pit, but that’s what makes him the hero and me the peanut gallery.
Elsa Schneider
After putting up with Willie Scott for a whole movie, even a Nazi is an improvement. Elsa Schneider is a smooth, slippery snake, and Henry Jones, Sr., was right to distrust her…even if he was tipped off by her talking in her sleep. While she’s as disloyal as they come, it’s apparent she has a soft spot for Dr. Jones. Well, for both Dr. Joneses, I’m afraid. (Gross, dad.) Indiana’s pure motives and chiseled jawline inspire affection in the duplicitous doctor, and she (indirectly) shrivels a guy into a mummy in order to help him save his father. She even harbors hope of living forever with Indy, but she ends up slipping into a chasm instead. Auf Weidersehen, Dr. Schneider.
A MEMORABLE HERO
So even though Indy is cavalier with a dash of chauvinism, he is still a heartthrob to all three leading ladies and to plenty of fans. Somehow Lucas and Spielberg believed that a James-Bond-Turned-Action-Figure-Professor hero could work, and I’m glad they did.
Sources:
1 https://indianajones.fandom.com/wiki/Marshall_College
2 https://www.filmbug.com/dictionary/indiana-jones.php
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In Pursuit of Perfection: Rest
This is it, folks—the final installment. The end of this five-part series has finally come, and believe me when I say I’m quite surprised it took this long to get to the bottom(ish) of the problem of perfectionism.
As I mentioned the first week, I was expecting to write one article on the humorous side of perfectionism, sharing a few anecdotes and some silly scenarios, and then move on to the more alluring subject of Indiana Jones. But God had other plans. It turns out that my pursuit of perfection is really a pursuit of approval, identity, and rest, and thinking through those truths has taken more time than expected. But I’m glad God has taken me on this journey, and this week I’m excited to share what He’s shown me through my quest for rest.
A Familiar Problem
When I read the Bible, I’m often tempted to look down my nose at the Jews. They’re always sinning, forgetting, straying, and floundering. I think, “You silly people. Why can’t you just trust God for once?” Romans 9:31-32 is no exception. It says that “Israel, who pursued a law that would lead to righteousness, did not succeed in reaching that law. Why? Because they did not pursue it by faith, but as if it were based on works.” The Jews knew they needed righteousness, but they wanted to earn it themselves by perfectly keeping every nuance of the law. Fat chance, guys. Everyone knows you can’t earn righteousness like that. When it comes to achieving moral perfection, there’s no such thing as “good enough.”
But just about the time I’m enjoying a good scoff at the Jews’ expense, God taps me on the shoulder and directs my attention to another silly person who’s trying to achieve the “good enough” status on her own. Like Scrooge being shown his past, present, and future, I see how my own habits of perfectionism will end up much uglier than I intended. What a cheery thought this Christmas season!
Just Like the Jews
So as much as I’d like to roll my eyes in derision at the Jews, I need to realize that we’re more similar than I’d like to think. For example, my quest to earn rest is equivalent to the Jews’ quest to earn righteousness because we’re both seeking perfection. Allow me to explain: for the Jews, perfection meant keeping oodles of laws (many of them self-inflicted) so that they could rest in their own righteousness. For me, perfection means finishing my oodles of tasks (many of them self-inflicted) so I can rest in my own accomplishments. And for both of us, we truly believe that we will enjoy that rest…but not quite yet.
See, in my experience, the drive to complete just one more task is insatiable. There’s always a carrot dangling at the end of my to-do list, but I know quite well that I’m unlikely to bite into it any time soon. I tell myself that I’ll rest after this one last teensy-tinsey task, but you know the routine: as I’m working on the teensy-tinsey task, I remember about four other things I needed to do, so I scramble around between them until I’m out of time. I haven’t even completed the original task, and resting is out of the question.
Reinventing the Wheel
Even thinking about this habit makes me tired. But the ironic part is that I’m doing it in pursuit of eventual rest. I like rest! I really do! I just don’t seem to be able to achieve it on my own. I’m driven onward by some inner compulsion to do more and be better. I feel that rest is something I have to earn. And in a sense, it is wise to work first and rest later, but if “later” never comes, then life can get pretty sad and exhausting.
Once again, I find myself in a situation similar to the Jews. Romans 10:3 say, “Being ignorant of the righteousness of God, and seeking to establish their own, they did not submit to God’s righteousness.” God was right there offering them his own righteousness, but they preferred to reinvent the wheel. Their choice wasn’t just futile; it was also arrogant and sinful. I want to be critical of them, but instead I find myself relating. I try to make my own form of righteousness by living up to my own standards. No wonder I can’t rest; that’s an unachievable (and arrogant) task!
The End of the Law
So if I’m unable to grant rest to my body, mind, and soul, then what can I do? Where can I turn? Paul answers that question in the very next verse. Romans 10:4 says that “Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes.” The word “end” here could mean that Christ is the purpose of the law and also the fulfillment or completion of the law, and both of those are great news! For those of us looking for rest in all the wrong places, God gently lifts our eyes from our law-keeping up to Jesus, the end of the law.
We are no longer under obligation to keep the whole law perfectly. We never were, in fact. As Galatians 3:24-25 tells us, the purpose of the law was to point us to our need of a Savior. That’s why there’s no rest for the perfectionist; we’re not built to attain perfection on our own. The more we try to keep the whole law perfectly, the more we realize our own sin. The more we struggle against lethargy and entropy, the more we realize our limitations. Because we could never meet the standard of perfection on our own—from the law or our own expectations—Jesus lived and died perfectly in our place. Christ became the end of the law. Hallelujah!
Rest At Last
So Christ fulfills the law, offering us righteousness in exchange for nothing but mere belief. Our most impressive efforts don’t sweeten the deal for him one bit. Should we still strive to obey God’s law and use our gifts to love him and serve others? Absolutely! But our whole purpose and method will be different. Rather than working until we’ve reached the elusive finish line labeled “good enough,” we can serve and obey in the strength that God provides, and then we can rest.
For me and, I suspect, for you, that’s easier said than done. But the good news is that Christ has compassion on those who have reached the end of themselves. In Matthew 11 Christ offers exactly what we’ve been longing for: rest not just for our bodies but for our souls. He starts by condemning those in the crowd who had seen his miracles but still refused to repent from their obsession with perfect law-keeping. Then he turns his focus to those who are ready for a better way. “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden,” he says, “and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” [Matt. 11:28-29].
A Better Yoke
Do you resonate with the description “all who labor and are heavy laden?” I know I often do. To borrow Jesus’ analogy, I’m a solitary cow wearing a heavy yoke and toiling away with my plow, trying to till up perfection. No wonder I’m heavy laden! Cows aren’t supposed to plow alone. That’s why Jesus compassionately invites me into his yoke. He knows how to plow and when to rest. (Remember, God himself told us to set aside a whole day every week just for rest!)
As we become increasingly “gentle and lowly in heart,” we will find rest not only for our bodies but also for our souls. That’s what I want! The more time I spend learning from Jesus, the lighter my burden will be. The only Perfect One is plowing with me. His righteousness is mine by faith. There is nothing left for me to do but love faithfully, serve humbly, and rest.
Last Thoughts on Perfectionism
Through my study of perfectionism, God has shown me some pretty ugly parts of my character. I’d like to tweak these displays of my personality, but that would be like mowing weeds rather than pulling up the roots. What I really need is a changed heart—one that is humble enough to rejoice in the Perfect One who offers me the approval, identity, and rest that I seek. “He must increase, but I must decrease” [John 3:30].
In Pursuit of Perfection: Identity
Last time we discovered that approval from God isn’t something I can earn, even with my ceaseless efforts to be impressive. It’s only when I “cast my deadly doings down” and come to Jesus for salvation that I find acceptance in Christ. What great news! Because of the cross, God freely gives me the acceptance I could never earn.
So does that doesn’t mean I’ve forsaken my tendency toward perfectionism? Sadly, no. I may be recovering from my need for perfection-fueled approval, but my search for identity is often just as problematic. Read on to see if you can relate.
Who Do You Think You Are?
If you were asked to describe yourself to a group of strangers, how would you go about it? You would probably start with the standard reply: name, age(ish), origin, and occupation. If you were asked to describe yourself to a group of friends or family, you’d skip all that and go straight for descriptions of personality: funny, busy, anxious, organized. But what if people were asked to describe you?
Scary thought, right?
That scary thought exposes my struggle for identity. When I imagine what people think of me and how they would describe me, my perfection gland gets a turbo boost. I begin with a list of adjectives that I want people to think of, and then I begin the futile task of trying to plant the words in their head via a workaholic version of telepathy. If I want them to think of me as intelligent, I read up on discussion topics and ensure the subject comes up. If I want them to consider me thin, I do another workout video and decline the extra cookies. (This is rare, folks.) If I want to be seen as witty, classy, lovely, generous, splendid, and indispensable, I slave away to display these qualities often enough to be noticed.
Description vs. Definition
But the kicker is, how do I know if I’ve achieved it? When I hear one person describe me with one of the desired words? When three people agree with the majority of my list? When everyone on planet earth unanimously shouts, “Emily is witty, classy, lovely, generous, splendid, and indispensable!” All right, the last one would be pretty nice, but I know I’d still manage to doubt my identity. I’d wonder, “Are those really true, or have I just worked hard enough to give the illusion of wit, class, etc.?” In other words, are those how I act or are they really who I am?
See, definitions are much harder than descriptions. Definitions are permanent; they’re true regardless of performance. I may appear generous when I’m well-rested and well-fed, but that doesn’t mean I am truly generous. I want an identity that is true no matter my mood. I want to know who I am. For definitions that carry the weight of ultimate authority—the authority that a Creator has over the creation—I know of only one place to turn: the Bible.
A Relevant Challenge
In Romans 12:2-5, the apostle Paul gives us a glimpse into our true identities, but he starts with a much-needed challenge.
Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind….For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment…. For as in one body we have many members, and the members do not all have the same function, so we, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another.
Paul begins by encouraging us to “renew our minds” by letting God’s reality inform our opinion of life. Part of that process is learning to view ourselves as God sees us. It’s funny that Paul specifically warns the Romans against thinking of themselves more highly than they should. If we were to take a poll in America today, I think most of us would say we struggle with poor self-image—whether in body, skill, education, popularity, finance…you name it. But while that may be commonly referred to as a low self-esteem, I think Paul’s warning applies to us just as much. Let me explain.
Thinking of Yourself Less
Paul’s challenge to stop thinking of ourselves too highly is paralleled by his command to think of ourselves with sober judgment. That’s an important delineation. Sober judgment—or sound, honest, truthful judgment—wouldn’t allow me to think of myself as splendid and indispensable, but neither would it permit me to think of myself as worthless and unloved. The latter is as false as the former.
That’s why Paul’s command not to think too highly of ourselves is still applicable. We may not be considering ourselves too highly, in the American sense, but we are probably considering ourselves entirely too much. In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis says that a truly humble person “will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all.”1 A sober, humble outlook on life leaves us little time to consider how we’re being perceived. We will be too busy doing things that matter—things like serving the church and loving the world.
Insidious Pride
Which leads us to Pauls’ answer to the question, “Who am I, and how do I fit into God’s plan?” He tells us in verses 4-5 that we are parts of a body—individual members of a greater organism, his Church. Paul expands this analogy in 1 Corinthians 12, insisting that every body part is not only useful but integral to the healthy operation of the whole. In verses 14-19, he combats the woe-is-me attitude we call “low self-esteem” by reminding them of God’s sovereign design. When the eye stares longingly at the helpful hands or the brain thinks jealously about the useful feet, Paul reminds them that they, too, are there for a purpose.
In verses 21-26, Paul shifts the focus from the “low self-esteemers” to the arrogant, warning them against the destructiveness of pride. Author Jon Bloom puts it this way: “Pride is the knife that dissects the body of Christ into isolated parts to determine the value of each. The pride of conceit makes us consider our role or function more important than others. The pride of envy makes us covet the function of a part we consider better than our own….”2 So no matter which side of the self-obsession spectrum we fall on, Paul cautions us about looking for our identity in isolation. Regardless of performance, we are parts of a whole. It’s who we are.
A Pointless Pursuit
Bloom goes on to say, “Just like a body part separated from the body looks strange, so do we out of the context of the church. It takes the body of Christ to understand the function of a part, and it takes all the parts working together to make the body function.”3 Bingo. I’ve been scrambling around trying singlehandedly to create my identity through my work, so it’s no wonder I’m exhausted and disappointed. As a believer, I was never intended to find my identity apart from my place in the body of Christ.
And that’s the whole point. It’s impossible to find a true, lasting, permanent identity in what we do; rather, Christ frees us to serve humbly rather than slaving away in hopes of garnering accolades. I may only be a toe in the body of Christ, and I won’t even be a perfect toe, but it’s a relief to know I don’t have to create my own identity. The Creator has made me to fit a specific role that only I can fill, and that’s even better than being considered splendid and indispensable.
In Conclusion
So will this put a permanent end to my perfectionism? Now that I know my acceptance is in Christ and my identity is part of his Church, I can rest easy, right? Not exactly. Rest is exactly what I’m still searching for, and perfectionism just isn’t supplying it. Next time we’ll see what God has to say about that.
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1 https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/838381-do-not-imagine-that-if-you-meet-a-really-humble
2 https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/find-your-self-esteem-in-someone-else
3 https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/find-your-self-esteem-in-someone-else
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