Failure, Real Life, and Terri

In the TOTALLY under-the-radar 2011 film Terri, John C. Reilly and Jacob Wysocki play a high school guidance counselor and a troubled teen, respectively. They form an unlikely bond (sounds like a indie movie, right?) as Reilly tries to help Wysocki pull himself together. In this scene, Wysocki has confronted Reilly about a lie he's told, and this is Reilly's response:

"Life's a mess, dude." Truer words were never spoken, until seconds later when Reilly says, "Maybe I will do better, or maybe I'll do even worse. I don't know. I screw up all the time, 'cause that's what people do."

The story Reilly tells about the secretary in his office and the temp who replaces her is a moving (in an "oh my gosh, I'm just like that" way) description of the brokenness of human life, and yet another reminder of the distinction between our insides and our outsides. We think, as Reilly's temp does, that the important thing is how we appear. We know when it's appropriate to be sad, and so we make our display. We know we're supposed to love our neighbor, so we act the part. But Reilly (and usually, the people in our lives, too) see right through us. We are significantly more transparent than we believe we are, and everyone knows, inherently, that what's most important is what's inside us.

And then Reilly admits that, ultimately, he's just like his temp. He messes up. He does his best (we all do), but he's likely to keep messing up. This is true of enlightened guidance counselor types and this is true of Christians. We screw up all the time, 'cause that's what people do (see: the Armstrong/Hamilton Conundrum). I have a good friend who once said, "People are bad, and Christians are people." Simple, yet profound.

As usual, the best news for us is the Good News, and the Good News is only good if it's true for Christians, too: "Jesus said to them, 'It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners'" (Mark 2:17).

The Truman Show and Fleeing a Good Deal

In Peter Weir's 1998 film The Truman Show, Jim Carrey plays Truman, a man who unwittingly lives inside a giant television studio, his life broadcast to the world in the highest rated show of all time. His family, friends, neighbors...everyone in his life is a paid actor. As the film opens, Truman begins to suspect that there is something false about his surroundings. In the film's climax, Truman sets off to leave the island on which he lives, finally getting to speak to the show's creator (Ed Harris' Cristof), at the climactic moment:

Note the perceptible pause when Cristof tells Truman that he "is the creator...of a television show." We are clearly meant to think of Cristof as God. Cristof tries to tell Truman that the world "out there" is no different than the world to which he's grown accustomed, but the audience knows the difference: inside the studio, Truman isn't "free" in any real sense. His psyche has been manipulated to make him fear water, his potential mate and best friend are chosen for him, even the advertisements he sees and the radio he listen to are designed to have a particular desired effect on him. He is steered.

Outside, the audience believes that, at least, he will be able to make his own decisions. This is why they cheer so raucously when he makes his courageous decision to leave the world that has been constructed for him and go it on his own.

We feel the same way as the audience, which is why we "leave" (i.e. disbelieve in) a God who is controlling (i.e. constraining our free will) and embrace a God who supposedly gives us our freedom. But look at what Truman is leaving!

"In my world, you have nothing to fear. I know you better than you know yourself. It's okay...I understand. I've been watching you your whole life. I was watching when you were born, I was watching when you took your first step. I watched you on your first day of school...when you lost your first tooth...you belong here. With me."

Throw away the specific details of the plot, and you begin to see: when we throw off the shackles of a "controlling" God, we are running away from a loving deity who has watched over and cared for us for our entire lives, who creates a place in which we belong, he calls us "okay" and understands us, and promises us a life without fear! And yet we still celebrate our striving for freedom! We are sure that we can do better, if only we are allowed to exercise our freedom!

But Cristof is right. The world out there (in freedomland) is just as controlling, just as enslaving, as our God, and yet not at all caring. Worse, outside of our "controlling" God, we are expected to save ourselves; to live lives worthy of eternal glory. Inside, we have been chosen -- a world has been created just for us -- to be part of God's life, and family, forever. 

The film ends soon after the above clip, but anyone who has lived here, outside the studio, for even a few minutes can easily imagine Truman running almost immediately back into Cristof's waiting arms and comforting embrace, like the prodigal son realizing that a controlling but loving father is infinitely preferable to the "freedoms" of a pigsty and bean pods. 

Barry Zito, a Broken Leg, and the Outer Christ

Barry Zito was once known as one of the most dominating pitchers in Major League baseball, winning the 2002 Cy Young award. Then, in 2007, he signed a huge free agent deal with the San Francisco Giants and became known as the worst signing in recent memory, a choke artist who never lived up to a tenth of his contract, much less the entire $126 million. As evidence, note that when the Giants made the playoffs in 2010, they left Zito off the roster completely, and went ahead and won the World Series without him.

Finally, during last year's playoffs (and eventual World Series victory), Zito began pitching well, in the face of all expectations. In the recent ESPN The Magazine "Interview Issue," he took a stab at explaining why:

I was raised so out of the box. From a spiritual side, my grandmother founded a religion [Teachings of the Inner Christ] and a teaching center in the '60s in San Diego, and I was raised on that. That's where a lot of the eccentric, Zen things [for which he is famous] come from. But I just needed more structure, and sometimes you have to go through difficulty and physical trials to really get broken down. In 2011, I got broken down physically as well as mentally. In August of that year, I committed my life to God. I realized I'd been relying on my own strength for so long, and man, I'd been wearing it. So this was about finding a strength outside of myself. The way I was raised, that's a concept I never would have given any credence.

I had this very odd injury in April of 2011 -- a lisfranc ligament tear. I came off the field after never being hurt in 11 years and said: "All right, something bigger is going on here. A message is being sent, and I've got to listen." A few months later, my best friend told me an old story I really love. A shepherd will be leading his sheep, and one of the sheep will be walking astray from the pack. The shepherd will take his rod and break the sheep's leg, and the sheep will have to rely on the shepherd to get better. But once that leg is completely healed, that sheep never leaves the side of the shepherd ever again. That's a really beautiful metaphor. A lot of things happen to us as people, and we realize we've been relying on our own strength for too long. I got a tattoo, and it's the only one I have, of a golden calf on the inside of my right biceps. I show people that, and it signifies idolatry and that I was putting things before God.

Doesn't the name of Zito's grandmother's religion just say it all? "Teachings of the Inner Christ," indeed. Zito needed a savior from without (the Outer Christ), since the one from within wasn't doing him any good. The illustration is instructive too, as it can only be seen as a good thing from the perspective of a healed sheep. In the moment? To the sheep which has just had its leg broken? God might not seem such a sympathetic figure. As Tullian Tchividjian says in his book Glorious Ruin, "God doesn't save you from suffering, he saves you in suffering." The potentially disturbing metaphor of a shepherd breaking the leg of his sheep takes on a much more compassionate tone when you understand that shepherd himself has suffered and died for the lives of each one of his sheep.

Barry Zito needed the freedom that came from a reliance on the Outer Christ to pitch well. He never suggests that this is a path recommended for others, or that it will necessarily produce "results." Results become, if anything, a natural outgrowth. Note how much of all of this is natural, rather than chosen. It took a "very odd" injury for him to have his eyes opened. In the same way, though having our leg broken by the shepherd is never something that we would choose for ourselves, it is often the only way for God to open our eyes to our paralyzing need, and to the truth that there is a shepherd there to nurse us.

Grace, Weight Loss, and Dodge Ball

There was a time (perhaps we're still in it) when you could basically mad-lib a movie script and get it made: Loveable loser played by (insert comedian to taste, preferably Will Ferrell ) takes up or plays (insert sport) and is initially a failure, only to overcome the evil (insert either successful comedian or dramatic actor looking to have some fun), get the girl and save the (insert beloved gathering place or institution). Semi-Pro, Talladega Nights, Blades of Glory, Balls of Fury, Kicking and Screaming, Cool Runnings, and Major League all fit that formula in more than one way, and that's just the tip of the iceberg. Our subject for today is Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story, starring Vince Vaughan and Ben Stiller (it's almost unfathomable that Ferrell doesn't have a cameo in this movie).

Vaughan and Stiller own competing gyms, and take very different approaches to weight loss. Anyone who has tried to lose weight will recognize these two methods (perhaps not in this exaggerated form, but still).  Here's Stiller, opening the movie in a commercial for his outfit, Globogym:

Stiller clearly thinks that self-hatred is the only way to overcome one's natural inertia.  In other words, you're not going to get off the couch and lose that weight unless you hate who you've become. If you can't recognize your hatefulness? He'll be happy to tell you about it. Now Vaughan, at end of the film, for Average Joe's Gym:

You can immediately see the difference.  "You're perfect just the way you are. But if you want to lose a little weight..." And the final shot of Stiller, back to his pre-Globogym self serves as the nail in the coffin of self-hatred's long term success as a diet plan.

Theologians might call these two gyms Law Gym (Globogym) and Grace Gym (Average Joe's). The law says "Be fit!" but doesn't have anything other the the commandment itself to get you there. So it keeps yelling, telling you that you're not good enough, that you're not skinny enough, that you should hate this you and move on to a better one. Grace, on the other hand, says that you are beloved, despite yourself. In Christianity, we understand that this beloved-ness is on account of Jesus Christ (in other words, it's not quite "you're perfect just the way you are"). This relationship between law and grace holds true no matter the law, whether it's "Be fit," or "Be successful," or "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength."

Surprisingly, belovedness despite perceived fault is the only true motivator. Vince Vaughan is right: when you feel loved and accepted in advance, you can begin to consider what you really want to do. There's no need for a personal trainer! People who live under the weight of the law will, over time, like Ben Stiller, self-destruct. It is only grace that leads to a healthy life, no matter what you weigh.