Category: Movies

Confession and Consequentialism

In Malick’s “A Hidden Life”, the question that most captured my attention pertains to the importance of words. How important are true or false confessions, and why? The lead character, Franz Jägerstätter, refused to swear loyalty to Hitler, which finally resulted in his execution, and persecution and hardship for his family. Everyone advised and admonished him to consider the consequences – for himself, for his wife and children. He was told that he could regard signing a loyalty statement as a meaningless act; it was just a piece of paper.  But if he refused, it would have dire consequences for himself and his family. Furthermore, his refusal would never be publicly known, and would never have any consequence as a political statement.  He was told that his refusal was totally a matter of selfish pride.

But he was unmoved by these considerations of consequences. He simply could not voice words contrary to what was in his heart. His over-riding concern was his own integrity.

What shall we say of this? One point to make is that there is always someone who hears and knows what we say or refuse to say.  Whatever words we utter within someone’s hearing is a witness, and it is beyond human wisdom and foresight to foresee the consequences.

But what is of utmost importance are the consequences for our own soul. Consider Proverbs 18:20-21 — “With the fruit of a man’s mouth his stomach will be satisfied; he will be satisfied with the product of his lips. Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruit.” We must be careful about our words, for the sake of guarding our own personal integrity. When you speak what is truly in your heart, it reinforces and establishes your conviction; it guards your integrity, and it guards your soul. And this is not primarily a self-serving interest; for a Christian, it is a matter of loving and serving one God with all of your heart and soul and might. On the other hand, words or symbolic gestures that deny what is in the heart undermine one’s own being; they undermine whole-hearted love for the Lord, and lead to the loss of one’s own soul. Personal integrity, upheld and guarded by the words of the mouth, is of infinite value, surpassing any external consequences in this life.

Essentially the same issue is addressed in Martin Scorsese’s “Silence”. A Jesuit priest in 17th century Japan is pressured into symbolically denying Christ, as the means of delivering his parishioners from a horrendous torture-execution. The appeal was the same, that a gesture that could be regarded in his heart as meaningless would be the way to save his people from death, and would thus be an act of loving mercy. But to obstinately refuse their demand would be an act of selfish pride. In this case, he finally relented to their demand, and denied his Lord.

The crucial difference between the two cases was the matter of faith and hope. In the latter case, the priest was focusing on the consequences on earth. But Franz, in “A Hidden Life”, was focused on the greater and living hope in the age to come, wherein the destiny of his own soul and the souls of his family took precedence. When one has such an eternal hope, then virtue ethics and consequentialist ethics become one. Malick makes it clear at the end of the film that Franz and his wife were driven by this hope. This is what has always been the crucial factor in Christian witness. The stories of early church martyrs show that they were not driven by an earthly prideful “courage”. They were not driven by a desire to be remembered and honored in future generations, as was the tradition of Greece and Rome. They were rather driven by a love for the Lord and an indomitable hope in the resurrection.

On La Dolce Vita and Other Vanities

Several “great” films from Europe near 1960 have a common theme: the vanity of what society regards as the “good life”. La Dolce Vita is an example, as also are ”L’Avventura” and “Jules and Jim”. In style, they were innovative, but in message they repeat what had been said many times before, e.g. in “Rules of the Game” and “Children of Paradise”. These and many other films acknowledge and lament how the privileged classes, especially those who have the luxury of idleness, and who misconstrue cultural sophistication to be wisdom, are in fact quite impoverished – superficial and despairing. To me, these movies become a bit tiresome in their smug despair, refusing to explore any avenues of hope. I would compare it to the bankruptcy of Epicureanism, bourgeois decadence, or the aesthetic stage of Kierkegaard. I would also refer to Agur’s plea: “give me neither poverty nor riches” (Prov 30:8).

There is a kind of person who prefers, in their pride, to self-indulgently exult in misery, rather than open themselves up to a hope for healing. We know from Agur, and many other scriptures, that it is their pride that is at the root of their downfall. I prefer movies that not only expose the superficial, but actually attempt to discover something beyond the superficial – as in Bergman, and more so in Tarkovsky. And, even better, movies that send a strong message of hope and redemption, such as those of Yasujiro Ozu, Satyajit Ray, Robert Bresson, the Dardenne brothers. Their movies follow the example of Job, Ecclesiastes, Lamentations, and the lament Psalms; they are realistic about the darkness, but they shine beams of light into that darkness.

La Dolce Vita (F. Fellini)
The Marcello – Emma relationship is at the crux of this movie: the woman’s full commitment to a genuine love, and the man, Marcello, refusing commitment to anyone or anything, in the vain hope of finding something better. His predicament is characteristic of the life of wealth and cultural sophistication, critiqued in the movie as empty and dead. In this stratum of society, everyone is bored and disillusioned. It is similar to what is presented in “Children of Paradise”, except with a more definitive negative stance.

Is this movie primarily a critique of Marcello, and his associates, in their arrogant rejection of all that is good and real, in their refusal to ever make commitments? Or, is it more a critique of traditional institutions and society – that all is vanity, unworthy of commitment? We should probably see both of these critiques.

In the closing scene, the grotesque dead fish is probably a symbol of the church (i.e. Roman Catholicism), which had once been meaningful and helpful, but is now an ugly corpse, an object of pathetic curiosity. Marcello is then beckoned by a girl, who represents angelic innocence, but he is unable to hear or accept this call to potential deliverance. She then turns to face the camera (similar to the closing of “400 Blows), as if also beckoning the audience. In this, at least, there is a glimmer of light and hope.

Jules and Jim (F. Truffaut)
First of all, there is the theme of the captivating attractions of Catherine. She exults in her power to possess her lover(s), and she exults in the idea of exercising total unconstrained “freedom”. She refuses to be “understood”, because she sees any kind of predictability as a constraint on her freedom. She is therefore driven to prove this freedom by impulsively irrational behavior. She demands total faithfulness from her lovers, but she refuses to respond in kind. She can be faithful to no one or no thing that would restrain her freedom. She is the Queen, and she walks to a different drum. It reminds me of Kieslowki’s “Blue”. Jules and Jim are each captured by her charm and beauty, especially her charm. And, as Proverbs 31:30 says, “charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain”. She is like the adulteress of Proverbs, whose way is the way of death, and her lovers are like the naive, simple-minded youth who falls prey to her deceptions.

A sub-theme is the contrast between this kind of romantic love, and the true friendship between Jules and Jim. The latter is meaningful and lasting.
In this movie, the darkness is in the destructive lust for an absolute freedom, the attendant exercise of power over others through charm and charisma, and the destructive captivation of those who succumb to the charms. The glimmer of light is in the alternative possibility of self-giving friendship.

L’Avventura (M. Antonioni)
This “Adventure” also concerns the lives of self-centered and superficial people of privilege. They desire to find satisfaction in others, but refuse to give themselves to others. They become at times conscious of guilt and remorse as well as vanity, but none of them find any escape or hope of redemption. The main character, Claudia, is on an “adventure” of developing a new identity for herself, by taking on the role of her lost friend Anna, continuing Anna’s struggle to “find herself”. In the end, she gives herself to the emotionally adolescent Sandro, as if there is nothing better available in this world.

The following two movies in Antonioni’s trilogy, La Notte and L’Eclisse, also present the vanity of modern life, and the lead women characters’ failed attempts to find fulfillment in love-relationships. These three movies are totally dark and despairing, as I had also concluded about “Children of Paradise”. To identify evil, but to suggest there is no hope for deliverance, is only a very small step away from embracing evil. Either position is nihilistic surrender. One can admire this movie for technical and artistic quality and innovation, but its message is poison for the soul. It is charming but deceitful. To admire such works for their artistic sophistication is like admiring Adolf Hitler’s rhetorical skills. If one recognizes evil genius, one must also recognize it as ultimately evil.

Hiroshima Mon Amour

An important theme in this movie (by Resnais, 1959) is that of remembering and forgetting – particularly, remembering and forgetting evil events and losses. This theme is developed in the context of a one-day love affair between a Japanese man who had lost his family in the Hiroshima bombing, and a French woman who had lost her first love, a German soldier killed in Nevers. These two events are on vastly different scales, but are qualitatively similar for the affected persons.

In each case, the survivor feels guilt for continuing to live, and feels a duty to remember. Love demands unending remembrance, for the greatest offense to the departed would be to forget. As noted in Ecclesiastes (e.g. 1:11; 2:16; 9:5), to be forgotten is the ultimate evil.  But our attempts to maintain the memories are never adequate. No representation or narration can do justice to the truth of the event, to the value of that which was lost. Furthermore, in opposition to this demand to remember, are the demands of life – to go on living for the future, to be liberated from the past. It is expected that a time to mourn is to be followed by a time to dance. But the heart doesn’t buy it. The mind accepts temporality, but the heart yearns for eternity.

There is thus a tension between these two necessities: to remember and to forget. To remember, so as to honor those who have died, means participating with them in death. Opposed to this is the drive to live, which demands forgetfulness. The compromise is to remember at a safe, ironic distance – the distance of representation. Such ironic detachment is pervasive in this film – in it’s screenplay, direction and music. The dilemma is to choose between denying the love and the beloved of the past, or denying any possibility of love in the present and future. Does the future necessarily dishonor the past?

The inadequacy of representational remembrance is analogous to the distinctions between Kant’s phenomena and noumena, between Heidegger’s beings and Being, and between what the author of Hebrews calls the seen and the unseen (Hebrews 11:1-3), and between earthly representations and heavenly realities. Memories fade, and representations conceal as well as reveal. 

Returning to the more specific questions addressed in Hiroshima Mon Amour, to live in memories and representations is a pale substitute for real experiential living. To truly honor the loves lost to the past, one must embrace the loves available in the present and future.  The movie suggests such a resolution in its closing lines, where the woman tells her Japanese lover: “Hi-ro-shi-ma, that’s your name.” He then replies: “It’s my name. Yes. Your name is Nevers. Ne-vers in France.” Each one accepts and embraces the indelible imprint of the past upon their partner, and because of this the new love honors the past love. Her love for him, intermingled in her thoughts with her past love for the German soldier, gives her a deeper understanding of Hiroshima than anything she had seen in the museum. Her own past love is also “remembered”, not explicitly, but in that the past is embodied in the person of the new love. This re-living of her first love surpasses its narrated objective representation, which she rationalizes as a “two-penny romance”. In all this, there is a supposition, or hope, that love has a transcendent dimension that is universal and eternal, and that every present experience of love honors what has been lost. In this, there is a hope of redemption, which is a recurring theme in all the arts, drama and literature.

For Christians, such secular hopes of the world should not be surprising, even though we know them to be false and vain. Adulterous affairs have no real redemptive value. The world fails in its attempts to remember or to find redemption. We accept the judgment of Ecclesiastes, that under the sun, all is vanity. But it is the appeal, the hope and the assurance found in scripture that there is a God who remembers and who is our Redeemer. The hopes that are of the world are false, but are nevertheless pointers towards that which is true, the substance and reality that is in Christ. It is in remembering Him, and His remembering us, that no soul is forgotten. And it is by abiding in His love, that we can live and love into the future, without dishonoring the past.

Umberto D. – If You Want a Friend, Get a Dog

One’s initial reading of this film may see it as another critique of society’s treatment of the poor. But more thoughtful consideration reveals something deeper. Vittorio de Sica said it is about alienation and consequent loss of dignity. When directors and writers are willing to comment on the meaning of their works, we should take their comments seriously. It is good to allow an author or artist to actually communicate with us, instead of merely using their works as a springboard for our own thoughts.

The real tragedy is not Umberto’s desperate economic situation, but the fact that no one connects with him – no one understands or cares. That is, no one in a position to offer real help. He has his dog (Flike), and there is the maid in his boarding house, and he has some comaraderie with fellow pensioners and charity dependents. But those who were climbing the economic ladder were too self-absorbed to show any concern for Umberto. As James points out, we are more likely to find true friends among the poor than among the rich. (James 2:5-7).

This film was opposed by the Italian government because it appeared to be a critique of the society and the government. It was also unpopular among viewers, because it confronted them with painful issues at a time when they wanted to be optimistic, at the beginnings of an economic recovery. This surprised de Sica, because He didn’t intend it as a critique of the system, but of human nature. To put it in Christian terms, it’s not about systemic evil so much as human sinfulness.

The issue is selfishness, which divides and isolates people. It is not hate, in that there is no intended malice; but it is contrary to love in that it is preoccupied with one’s own interests, with no regard for the interests of others. The true opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. This sort of selfish striving is condemned in Ecclesiastes 4:4: “Every labor and every skill which is done is the result of rivalry between a man and his neighbor. This too is vanity and striving after wind”. This kind of evil is especially likely when a formerly oppressed people are given the opportunity for economic advancement. That was the situation of Italy in the early 1950’s, a time of recovery from the devastation of war and the prior depression. It was a similar situation for Russia in the 1990’s. Selfish materialism destroys relationships and solidarity between people, and undermines self-worth and dignity. The greatest damage to the soul is for those who are economically succeeding, like Umberto’s landlady. This film is thus a critique of a society that is striving to win the world, and is thereby losing its soul.

Shane, Violence and Manifest Destiny

In common with many classic films of the Western genre (e.g. My Darling Clementine and High Noon), Shane presents violence as a regrettable but necessary means to an end: establishment of a civil and peaceful society. And this is in the wider context of the transitions from generation to generation, and transfer of power and sovereignty from one nation, tribe or ethnic group to the next. Shane explicitly deals with the sequence of the “taming” of the west initially by fur traders, who were succeeded by free-range cattlemen, who were then succeeded by homestead farmers and ranchers. This is part of the larger picture of successive migrations and invasions, whereby one people and their civilization displaces another. And these transitions are usually violent. In OT scripture, this is what occurred in the Israelite occupation of Canaan, where it is represented as an execution of God’s judgment, with the violence serving His purposes.

Do all the other similar violent displacements of one people by another also somehow serve God’s eternal purpose? Is it the necessary means for filling the earth, exercising dominion, eventually filling the earth with His glory through His image-bearers? It is certainly a messy process, this sausage-making; but isn’t it the same kind as what has been occurring in the evolution of species from the beginning of life? There is much violence and destructive “evil” in it, and when it is exercised by humanity the violence is mostly sinful. But isn’t it somehow necessary? The OT teaches that aggressors are often His instruments of wrath, even though they too are held accountable, and each one will be judged according to his motives.

The progressive development of life and of human civilization are part of God’s plan, but progress and development of any kind requires the destruction of the old to make room for the new. This is true on the small scale in the cycle of life and death of individuals, as well as the larger scales of civilizations and species. And it is true of this creation as a whole, which is to be succeeded by the new creation. It is only in the death of the old that there can be a resurrection to the new life of the new creation.

Even though most individual acts of violence are sins, due to their self-serving motives, God, in His sovereignty, is causing it all to work out for the good. One way or another, these continual disruptive and painful transformations must occur. The NT teaches that persecution and suffering are necessary to the development of Christians as individuals, as it is for the church corporately, and as it was for Jesus, in whom we have fellowship in suffering. We cannot opt out of the process – He has not taken us out of the world – but our duty is to be engaged in a way that expresses God’s love. At times, that may place us on the side of either advancing or resisting a particular “invasion”, and may place us in either the role of a warrior or a peacemaker. There is a time and a season for each. But in all cases, we are to act according to faith and according to love, and accept that this painful struggle is a necessary part of this world.

High Noon Heroics

There is no question that High Noon was an exceptional artistic achievement: the screenplay, the direction, and especially Gary Cooper’s acting. At one level, it is primarily a story of individual courage: standing up for what is ethically right and honorable, in spite of receiving no community support, and in spite of fear. This is a message that can be widely accepted and honored, without dispute. Other layers of meaning and interpretation, however, have been matters of controversy.

First of all, the writer (Coleman) regarded it as an allegory for the McCarthy-era HUAC hearings and associated Hollywood blacklistings. He stood alone in refusing to “name names”, and he was abandoned and betrayed by his colleagues. That experience affected the screenplay, and for some people, their attitude toward the film was greatly influenced by their political views on the HUAC investigations.

Today, the political layer of messaging is interpreted and evaluated according to more general applications. The movie presents a courageous individual (Will Kane, the town Marshal) who is impeded and opposed by a complacent and cowardly community. It is a harsh critique of the community, explicitly expressed by the judge who packs up and leaves town, making cynical comments that seem to question the viability of any democratic republic, and hence the American experiment. Coming from Coleman, a former Communist, it may very well reflect the doctrine of bourgeois decadence and the inevitable demise of Western democracies. It was certainly understandable that patriotic Americans would take offense, especially for such messaging to occur within the Western genre. This continues to be a legitimate cause for controversy.

Another consideration is that the romantic narrative of a hero confronting “the system” underlies much of today’s political activism. Those who imagine themselves in such a narrative can find in High Noon (as well as a huge number of other Hollywood films) a hero to identify with. For this reason, attitudes toward the movie can continue to divide along political lines.

Rising above such political concerns, what should be the Christian perspective? The scriptural doctrine of sin, e.g. in Romans 1 and 2, supports a very pessimistic view of both individuals and communities. They are all corrupt. In line with such pessimism, Benjamin Franklin said that the framers of our constitution had given us “a republic, if you can keep it”. The complacent and cowardly community in High Noon has fortunately not been characteristic of American society. But such corruptions nevertheless often appear, and we cannot rely on any system of human government to prevent it. We should interpret High Noon’s dismal view of the community as a comment on universal human depravity, neither restricted to nor excluded from any particular nation or society.

From a Christian perspective, we should also critique the notion of individual heroism. Consider Kierkegaard’s Knight of Resignation, who might boast in his ethical self-sufficiency, in his virtuous courage. But the gospel calls us to be saved by grace, through faith: to take the leap to become a Knight of Faith. For this knight, perfect love casts out fear, and he can rejoice in the midst of persecution. His way of life transcends courage and heroism, and precludes boasting in virtuous achievement. For a Christian, courage is not an independent virtue; courageous behavior is derivative from faith and love. We are to be theocentric rather than anthropocentric. So we should consider the Cooper character (marshal Will Kane) as an example of high ethical achievement for people “of the world”, but not as an adequate example for the Christian. We, as Knights of Faith, should look rather to the humble love and faith exemplified in Jesus and Paul.

As with any work of art, this movie should not be judged according to its potential abuses or misapplications, but rather according to its most favorable interpretations and applications. Nor can we expect non-Christians to deliver a Christian message. For a work that has no claims of authority over us, a reader-response hermeneutic is appropriate. My approach is to simply appreciate High Noon as among the best that the world can offer in humanistic art and wisdom. After all, the Knight of Resignation must precede the Knight of Faith.

Black Narcissus and Holiness

I’ve just completed a re-viewing of Black Narcissus (Powell and Pressburger, 1947), and am more than ever impressed by its artistry. And what about it’s message? Even though it is somewhat discomforting, I’ve concluded that’s a good thing. Even though it feels at times like an attack upon Christian faith, I’ve decided to accept it, and welcome it, as a valid and friendly rebuke.

The story is about an attempt to start a convent in the Himalayas of India, to offer education and medical care. It is a place that is extraordinarily attractive, yet resistant, even threatening, to intruders. It is an intensified snippet of the creation. The movie offers an extravagant portrayal of the beauty, sensuality and harshness of the place and its people. This environment elicits thoughts, memories and desires that the nuns had been trying to suppress; and as with any confrontation with truth, it forces transformation. It is a confrontation that can drive some to madness, but will drive others to a closer knowledge of God.

From a Christian perspective, this story deals with the larger issue of holiness: how to be in the world, without being of the world; how to love the world without being subject to the lusts of the world (1 John 2:15-17). The message that is conveyed in Black Narcissus seems to be consistent with that of scripture: the doctrine of incarnation, and the concrete examples in Jesus’ life. He came “eating and drinking”, sharing in all that it means to be human. The call to holiness, or to “deny yourself”, is not a call to retreat from life, but to live for others. Conversely, the false holiness of isolation follows the false god of deism. Holiness is not achieved by a withdrawal from the world, motivated by self-serving fear, but by full self-giving engagement, motivated by love. The nuns in Black Narcissus were not prepared to meet the demands of this kind of holiness.

The failure of the nuns’ mission was due to their half-heartedness. They were trying to serve in practical ways, yet holding back from full engagement. In suppressing their own human fullness, they were unable to fully give themselves to those they were trying to serve. A deeper experience of the natural world, as was provided in this Himalayan convent, inspires a deeper self-questioning and self-knowledge, and in this case it made them aware of their shortcomings. As one of the characters noted, the intensity of the place forces people to take extreme positions, of either full engagement or complete withdrawal. Half-way measures are doomed.

I consider this message to be similar to that of Wender’s “Wings of Desire” or Bette Midler’s “The Rose”. It is a teaching that applies to major decisions of vocation, and it applies to the daily decisions of how to live and relate. It sometimes means simply “showing up”. Much of it is summed up in Paul’s instruction: “rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep”.

Chasing the Wind

I’ve been revisiting some classic movies – chronologically – and the most recent was Children of Paradise (Carne, 1945). It is deservedly ranked among the greats, as an artistic achievement and as engaging entertainment. It makes some good points, e.g. the idea of truth as a revealing or unveiling of the meaning behind visible phenomena, which is characteristic of poetic realism. It also shows due respect for ordinary people, the “gods” in the theater balcony. However, from a Christian perspective, I find serious deficiencies in its message.

Like many movies, it presents a compelling and true picture of vanity. Beginning and ending in street carnivals, its main characters are actors and role-players, both by vocation and in their personal lives. Their “love” relationships are totally unsatisfying and dysfunctional, with everyone pining for the unobtainable, harboring immature and selfish notions about love. Their lives are superficial tragic-comic dramas.

All this is true to life for many people, but it is only a half-truth, in that there is no hint or prospect of hope. The characters are well-developed, and you care about them, but there is hardly any character development. It presents an overly pessimistic, cynical, even nihilistic view of life. This has been a trend in many subsequent European movies, e.g. by Antonioni and Fellini. Such movies seem to wallow in vanity, leaving it ambiguous as to whether it’s a critique, or a despairing acceptance, or an embrace (e.g. L’Aventurra, 8 1/2). This is also the final resting place of Bergman, who eventually gave up the struggle with his strawman spider-god, and resigned himself to hedonism in Fanny & Alexander. I suppose it’s also the theme of David Lynch’s absurd surrealism. His movies, such as EraserHead, Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire, are very clever and intriguing, enticing the viewer to solve the puzzles, but generally to no worthy end. He seems to be challenging us to the impossible task of constructing coherence, in order to convert us to Nihilism. I expect Qoheleth would reckon all this as madness and vanity.

On the other hand, I consider Tarkovsky as highly profitable. His movies are just as perplexing and puzzling, he freely and ambiguously intermingles dreams and “reality”, but in the end, he has important things to say. With some effort, one can take away something worthwhile. Perhaps it’s that surrealism as an artistic method can be put to good use, but as a philosophy it is vanity.

Thus, I draw a distinction between movies that present dismal situations and perplexing mysteries as challenges to overcome, and movies that just seem to say there is nothing more to life, so give up the search. Such emptiness invites evil. It is a destructive influence on civilization, like telling a suicidal person: “why not?” For this, I find fault.

Nature and Grace

In “The Tree of Life”, Terrence Malick refers to two ways of life: the way of nature and the way of grace. This is no doubt in the tradition of Aquinas (as “taught by nuns”). This grace is a gift from God, which perfects nature, and is embedded in nature. Nature is not totally autonomous and isolated nor totally corrupted, but God is immanent, incarnate, and exercising providence through nature. For example, Proverbs 8:22-31 speaks of lady Wisdom’s role in creation, by which His wisdom is incorporated into nature. Note, incidentally, that this wisdom is a “tree of life” (Proverbs 3:18).

I believe a roughly equivalent presentation of these two ways, perhaps more comfortable for Protestants, is that of living according to the Spirit versus living according to the flesh (Romans 8:1-17). Revelation by the Spirit supplements empirical sensory experience. When we are open to and responsive to such revelation from the Spirit, we can see God and His love in the book of nature. It is a knowledge acquired through empirical experience, but transcending such experience, by grace, or by the Spirit.

In “The Tree of Life”, there is a remarkable scene in the sequence on creation where the dinosaur spares the life of it’s prey. It reveals nature and its evolution as involving something more than rivalry for survival, “red in tooth and claw”. It reveals an element of grace. Some biologists surmise that sociality and a kind of altruism developed solely because they have survival value for a species. But Malick seems to be saying here that there is something more – that there is something mysterious that comes from outside of nature, the mystery of grace (or the gentle breathing of the Spirit). And part of our own personal journey in life is to acquire the eyes to see, and to become responsive. The mother in the story, and the brother, had the vision to see it clearly, and they walked according to it. The father came to this awareness much later, and regretted the wasted years when he was blind to it. He had lived most of his life in vanity, “under the sun”, as described in Ecclesiastes.

The story is about seeing that there is something more to life and to the world than our superficial “under-the-sun” experience, to see that there is grace in the world; and even to see it, and to learn of it, in the tragedies of loss – perhaps especially in such tragedy. When they asked God, “where were You?”, God replies with the same question, as He had done with Job: “Where were you when I laid the foundations…?” (Job 38:4). This challenge stimulates a train of thought that opens the eyes and opens the heart. The laments in scripture are similarly confessions of those who sank into the lowest depths of grief and despair, but who then rose up to the highest expressions of faith and hope in God (e.g. Psalm 22, 102). That is the same dramatic arc that we see in “The Tree of Life”.