Today is probably the most gorgeous day of my life, and I am sitting on my porch in a white wooden rocking chair, reflecting on a movie, of all things.
THE movie. Avengers: Infinity War came out last week, we’ve all been breathlessly waiting for months and months for April 27th, 2018. We’ve seen all of the Iron Man, Captain America and Thor films, welcomed Ant-Man and Black Panther into our already superhero-packed lives. And, finally, here it was. Yesterday, my boys and I sat in a noon showing, giddy with excitement. (Yes, we did knock off from school, and before you judge me or call child services or the truancy czar, how many days of 5th or 7th grade in April do you remember? Right. And there is at least a chance that, years from now, they’ll tell their boys how their grandpa let them take an unexcused absence to see a great movie, hopefully on the way to a noon movie with that same grandpa, already waiting in the theater lobby with 4 more overpriced collector’s cups;)
Infinity War was awesome, and I can’t tell you anything about it. I’m not going to ruin it for you.
But it did remind me of last week’s Daffodils.
All of the people (mostly guys of a certain age) in the theater were connected. We nodded to others wearing Captain America and Spider-Man t-shirts, we talked to each other, we stopped pretending we were in soundproof cages, oblivious to each other, and acknowledged that we were having An Experience together. We were all Daffodils, and we were all at a celebration. Of course, we were celebrating that we were alive and made for this time and space, made for connection, made for each other, by The God Who made everything. There was a film that included friendship, honor, sadness, grief, passion, life, death – it was a beautiful illustration of the creative spark that is instilled inside of us by our Creator.
Maybe we knew that God was what we were really in awe of, and maybe we didn’t.
The best movies & songs, sports teams (even the worst of the sports teams, the New York Giants), faith communities, provide us with these extended communities. Even this, here, now. All spaces that join us, that jar us out of our worry, anxieties, loneliness, despair, out of our isolation, are sacred. They point to the relational God that made us in His image, that said, “It is not good for man to be alone.”
Obviously, I’d like us to acknowledge that God. I’d love nothing more than if we would open our eyes – bushes are burning all around us – and turn all movies (turn all things) into worship. But until then, I’ll savor the moments, shadows, the breadcrumbs that are leading us home.