Avatar: Environmentalist Manifesto, or Retelling of the Gospel?

So, I realize I'm a bit late to be getting on the Avatar train, and as such, probably someone else has addressed this and potentially done a far better job than I will. Still, Story is kind of my life; and though I've been immersed in a great number of stories over the last two months, I feel that Avatar provides a unique opportunity to engage in some story analyzation. Which, if you know me, is one of my most favorite activities in the world.

I went to see Avatar yesterday with my parents, who came into to Austin from San Antonio to hang with me, since all three of us are STILL looking for jobs in Texas. (Curse you, economy!!)
Anyway, we debated on a few options, but went with Avatar, and I have to say, I really didn't know what I was in for. I knew that there were blue people, and the premise of humans using Avatars to communicate with the Na'vi. (Btw, let me insert this sidebar here, before I get too immersed: Navi is actually the Hebrew word for prophet [and one of about ten words I remember from my semester of intro to Biblical Hebrew courtesy of Dr. Bolger.]) But I wasn't quite prepared to have it invoke such strong reactions in me, even knowing that I tend to be a little more sensitive to stories than some people.

Afterward, I scrambled to make sense of why I got so drawn into the movie. Was it because it was visually stunning? Was it because it appealed to the greenie in me? Or was it something even a little deeper?

Eleven years ago this April, I attended a convocation at my college where the speaker used another James Cameron epic as an illustration that would change my life. He used the movie "Titanic" to explain the gospel, and the Gospel to make sense of the success of "Titanic." I had never heard anyone do anything like that before, and it shaped the way I forever looked at stories. Now I'm going to do the same thing for Avatar. (**Incidentally, if you haven't seen the movie and don't want the story spoiled, you should probably stop reading right here.**)


According to that speaker (John Eldredge), the gospel can be broken down as a four act play. I've heard of others using five and six acts, but I'm going to stick to JE's four for now:
Act One, Eternal love. Act Two, The Entrance of Evil. Act Three, The Battle for the Heart. Act Four, The Kingdom Restored.

Act One isn't just about Eden. It's about a world that was created out of the love and community of the Trinity. So for Avatar, it's not just about how Pandora echoes Eden. It's about the Na'vi and their connectedness. I don't want to overchiristianize a story that was probably never intended to be understood as a Christian story. But I think here are spiritual truths to be gleaned, as well as some amazing spiritual imagery.
On Pandora, the Na'vi care about each other, they care about the other creatures, and they care for their world. There's something about the way they live which hearkens back to the charge given Adam and Eve in the Garden.

Act Two was what really got me agitated. There's always a villain in our epic stories, because there's a villain woven into our own Story as well. Just as Satan tempted Eve and brought about the destruction of paradise, Pandora has it's villains also. And oh, how I hated them. Parker Selfridge was the calculating company man after the bottom line, and Colonel Miles Quaritch was the militant head of security bent on crushing any opposition. They both profess to be willing to try diplomacy first, but their tactics and habit of depersonalizing the Na'vi as "savages" and "blue monkeys" illustraated their true motives.
I really, truly hated Quartich in a way I've not hated a villain in a long time. Often bad guys are complex, manipulative, selfish, and even crazy; Quartich was simply evil. He was single-minded in his purpose and committed to his worldview that taking the mineral "unobtanium" was his job, his right, and took delight in destrying anything that got in his way. As such, he embodied a description of our Enemy as given to us by Jesus: "The thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy." Yep, those were pretty much Quartich's objectives, and he enjoyed it.

Act Three is the battle. It's also the part of the story we're all in right now in our larger Story. In Avatar, it took Jake Sully sacrificing his place with the humans to rally the Na'vi. It was a people united to fight together. The battle was fierce and brutal. And perhaps you noticed as I did that like many epics, there was a tipping point. There's always a moment where everything looks lost for the good guys--heroes are dying or on the brink, and it looks like good will be defeated. It is only then, when everything is darkest, does the tide turn.

Act Four is the Kingdom Restored. In other words, the good guys win. Things go back to being good again. This is really a crucial point of any epic. Perhaps not all heroes live to see the kingdom restored. But their deaths were not in vain; much good comes of the battles they fought and the lives they gave. In Avatar, the mercenaries are sent packing and Pandora once again belongs to the Na'vi. And Jake, the hero, dies in his human form and is reborn as one of them.

I feel like I could draw so many more spiritual parallels from Avatar than environmental ones. I mean, yes, the message could be boiled down to "you can't take whatever you want, just because you want it," which is something every two year old ought to be taught. Though the religion of Pandora was denounced by the Vatican recently and certainly isn't Christianity, there were some interesting symbols. There was the Tree of Souls, of course--a holy tree to that people; and the way Jake's avatar was covered in the "seeds of Eywa" was akin to a baptism.

Let me end by saying this: "Avatar" is by no means a Christian film. That said, if you or someone you know enjoyed it, you can certainly draw spiritual parallels and truths from it. As Arthur holms said, "All truth is God's truth." If you have friends who need to hear (or be reminded of) the gospel and who like Avatar, don't be afraid to use the story to point to Christ, and our place in the larger Epic we're all in.

Twenty Ten, So Far

It’s a new year. We are less than two weeks in, and since it’s been a good long while since I blogged, I thought now was a good time to catch up. December was a crazy and stressful month for me, so I didn’t get around to blogging any of my thoughts then.

But my schedule’s pretty wide open at the moment, so here I go.

So far in 2010, I have:
• Moved to a new state
• Read five books
• Watched season 2 of Chuck (and almost all of season 2 of Psych)
• Been homesick for Pittsburgh
• Slept on a couch all but two nights
• Lost the job I was supposed to have when I got out here

Yeah, that last one sucks. It’s a long story, and apparently there’s no one to point a finger at, but the transfer I thought I was getting didn’t happen. So now I’m here in Branson, MO, living on my bff’s couch and trying to figure out Plan B. What a way to start a new year: homeless and unemployed.

People keep telling me that I’m here for a reason…and either I believe what I say I do, or I’m faithless. I’m having a hard time with this whole thing, because I miss my friends, family, apartment, and the job I used to have—the one with awesome coworkers and medical benefits.

Anyway, so in between working on not being bitter and pissed off, and trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life, I have actually been having fun. It would almost be like vacation, except my cat is here, and all my stuff is in storage. As previously mentioned, Brianne (my bff) and I have been watching lots of TV. Specifically Chuck. (We seriously love us some Chuck.)

So then, we got all excited, because season three just premiered. And like, last year, we were all freaking out because it looked like it might not even get a third season, and we were buying subway sandwiches and writing letters and talking our friends into watching season one on DVD. But now it’s back, and it’s AMAZING.

This is the part where I pretend I’m the kind of blogger who writes reviews that people actually read. I just feel compelled to gush about Chuck for a moment. During the first three hours of this season, we have laughed hysterically. And swooned. And gasped at unforeseen deaths. The music is top-notch as always; Buy More shenanigans fill out the spy drama and angsty romance. And the hair. Oh, the hair. After watching all of season 2 this week, I have a newfound appreciation for what they are doing to Zachary Levi’s hair this season. It finally suits him. I don’t know why it took so long, but thank God. Oh—also, Chuck now has super powers (via the 2.0 intersect) that enable him to do pretty much anything. Sometimes.

Partway through the two hour premiere, I realized that Chuck has the same problem that Peter Parker does in Spider-Man 2. (I know, I’m a huge geek. I’ve come to terms with it.) SM2 is not just one of my favorite superhero movies, it’s in my top 10 list of favorite movies of all time. (It also served as an impetus for me to write down the angsty superhero love story that I’d been thinking about for years, also known as “The Jagged Edge of Lightning.”)

In SM2, Peter Parker finds himself in quite a predicament: he can’t hold down a job, he can’t have the girl, and he can’t always catch the bad guy. Because his powers begin to fail. Inexplicably. In Chuck s3, Chuck finds himself out of two jobs, without his girl, and unable to catch the bad guy, because his intersect powers aren’t working. General Beckman tells him it’s because he’s too emotional (allow me to indulge in an eye roll, because I’m not a fan of Beckman. She’s too emotion-less!). Well, Pete had a similar problem: his powers begin to misfire in part because he’s so in love with MJ, and yet he can’t tell her, because she’s engaged, and he’s afraid to let her know about his whole alter-spider-ego. But when he stops trying to suppress all those pent-up emotions—voila! He gets back to his old Spidey self.

Something tells me that Chuck’s going through a similar transition. Everyone keeps telling him not to let his emotions get in the way, but that’s one of the things that makes him Chuck, and not your average superspy. (That and his geeky humor, aversion to violence, and ubiquitous Chuck hi-tops.) He’s just got to find the right balance, and in the meantime, it will be fun to watch the mishaps.

But those days he spent in his bathrobe, eating cheese balls, watching TV, and growing a beard? A similar fate may await me (minus the beard) if I don’t find a job soon. Chuck had an existential crisis, and I am too—for the third time in two years. This is about having more than a job, a five year plan, or some shiny new resolutions.

I am waiting for my path to be illuminated, but right now the road’s pretty dark. If I am here for a reason—not just here in Missouri, but jobless and homeless—I’d like to know what that reason is. I’m not a big believer in coincidence or accidents. Maybe I made a mistake. Or maybe, like Chuck and Spidey and pretty much all my favorite heroes, I just can’t see the whole story yet.
What I wouldn’t give for a glance at my next few chapters.…

An explanation and an excerpt...

So what's been going on?
Um...work. Lots and lots of work. I've read some good books lately, too. C. S. Lewis' Space Trilogy (I'm on the third one now, "That Hideous Strength"). "Downsiders," by Neal Shusterman. "An Abundance of Katherines," by John Green. And some others.

I have been trying to write more, but I'm working on about half a dozen different things, so progress is slow. However, I thought it was time I put something new up on my blog so as not to completely abandon it.
So: here is an excerpt from something I've been working on.
It's called "Blind Like Love" and it's about a broken-hearted girl named Brianne (after my bff) who is finishing college with a pottery class and guitar lessons from a blind adjunct professor, Evan Anderson. I'd love to know what you think.

Chapter Six

“I believe in music the way
some people believe in fairy tales....
The music is all around you.
All you have to do is listen.”
—Evan, “August Rush”

“Okay, first things first,” Mr. Anderson said as he settled across from me in the empty pottery studio. “This,” he patted the guitar as he cradled it, “is Grace. As in, 'Amazing Grace.' She was my grandfather's, and the first thing he learned to play was...”

“Amazing Grace.”

“Right. So that's what he named her. And, that was the first thing he taught me, when he gave her to me.” He gave her a quick, arpeggiated strum, and grinned. “She says 'hi.'”

“Right. Um, hi, back, I guess.” I picked up the guitar he'd brought for me. “Does this one have a name?”

“I brought the black Martin, right?”

I checked the name at the top, by all the tuning pegs. “Yep.”

“Right. That's Roxy.”

I was glad he couldn't see the somewhat skeptical look on my face. It seemed silly to be naming inanimate objects.

“Now, I know this feels a little weird, for me to be teaching you guitar. I mean, I have worksheets and textbooks for you, and obviously I don't go by them. But that stuff—that's just mechanics. I learned how to play both guitar and piano before I lost my sight, so I know how to read music and chords, and I understand chord theory. Honestly, you can learn that stuff from anyone. I think you can even teach it to yourself online. But I'm of the school of thought that music is not taught.”

“It's not?” Then what was I paying him for?

“Well, not exactly. Now, some would disagree with me—after all, music has a very mathematical quality to it. It has set rules and forms. It follows patterns and structures. Right?”

“Sure.” I strained to remember the one chord theory class I'd taken. “That sounds right.”

“Well, I think that while music—like other forms of art—contains structural properties and guidelines, it is inevitably something that either flows out of you, or not. That's why I don't charge for the first lesson. This is basically to see if it's in you, or not.”

“If what is in me?”

“Music. Art. Some people think they have it, but they're really just regurgitating formulas. Others don't know they have it, and never try. But think of the great artists: they weren't people who just studied colors and lines and concepts. They painted what they saw, what they felt. Same for musicians. You can study all you want, but it won't make you a musician if you're not one. To really be good, you have to feel it, in your soul. You have to mean it. It's not science. It's...philosophy.”

He was losing me, rapidly. “Huh?”

“I mean, it's something you let soak into you, and flow back out. It's like a religion, or a relationship. When you devote yourself to God, or to a person, you make a commitment. You spend time with them. You study them. Music, really, is like love.”

That sounded interesting. “How so?”

“Well, like I said, you can't just base it around formulas. A plus B equals C. I mean, yes, if you put this finger here, and this finger there, and strum, you get E minor. But making music is about so much more than that. Like a good relationship, you have to put in time and work. But just being with a person and talking to him, even taking care of his needs, doesn't make it a romance. Just like just playing chords doesn't make someone a musician.

“You have to feel it. Like love, music fills you up, heart and soul. You think about it. You obsess. You hear it, you notice. Even when no one else does. You get lost in it, sometimes. That's what makes someone a musician. Even over talent. Just like...a relationship can look perfect from the outside, but be dying. People can play and sing without meaning it, but the great ones...like relationships that last...they mean it. They know it, they feel it.”

“Wow,” I whispered. A little chill went down my spine. “I've never heard anyone talk about music that way. Except in the movie 'August Rush,'” I amended. “You start off all your classes like this?”

He shrugged. “More or less.”

I drew a deep breath. “Well, I'm not sure if I really fit that description.”

“Well, let's find out.”

“How?”

“What's your favorite song?”

I gawked at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I...I don't have one favorite,” I told him. “I couldn't possibly.”

“Why not?”

“You should see my iPod,” I said, forgetting that he couldn't actually see it. “Seriously. I have so many different genres and artists and songs I love. I tried to make a playlist of my favorites? Yeah, it's over two hundred songs. Songs I love. I have a hard time even picking a top five.”

He smiled. “And they are?”

I sighed. “Um, 'Cannonball,' by Damien Rice. 'On Fire,' by Switchfoot. 'The Breaking of the Fellowship,' from the Lord of the Rings soundtrack. 'Clocks,' by Coldplay, even though I know it's overplayed. And...oh, I don't know. There are too many others. Isn't a top four good enough?”

“Yes,” he replied. “In fact, you just told me exactly what I needed to know.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You love music. In various styles and formats. You seem to cut across genres and labels and trends. That means something.”

“What?”

“Well, I think it means you're more of a musician than you know.”

I shrugged a little. “Yeah, but, everybody likes music.”

“Not exactly,” he returned. “Some people just like a certain kind of music. And some people just use it as background noise. Some people play music to remind themselves of another time in their life. Some people just listen to the radio and like certain artists because they think they're supposed to—for them, it's just another trend to follow.”

“I guess when you put it that way....”

“Yes, Brianne, you're more unique than you realize.”

“Fantastic.”

He overlooked my sarcasm. “Now, before we get into learning chords, I assume you're most interested in learning worship songs, correct?”

“Um, yeah. I guess. Though I suppose it would be cool to learn a Coldplay song or two.”

He nodded. “I think we can manage that. What kinds of songs are you guys into at IV?”

“Mm, mostly Chris Tomlin, Matt Redman, and David Crowder stuff. Some oldies. Some hymns.”

“Okay. I'll try to pull some music for you. I've found that most people are more motivated to learn chords if they are learning to play a song they like. For now,” he rifled through a folder, feeling the corners of each sheet, “let's start with this one. It's what I teach all of my students on the first lesson.” He handed me a piece of music.

“Amazing Grace,” I read.

“Yeah. A classic. It's my grandpa's favorite. Grandpa Ray taught me to play the guitar, and since the first thing he learned was 'Amazing Grace,” he figured it should be the first thing I learned, too.”

“And now you carry on the tradition.”

“Exactly. You know the song, right?”

I snorted. “Who doesn't?”

“Right. So you can see the letters at the top of the music—those are chords. G, C, D, and E minor—all very simple, basic chords. Once you learn those, you'll be able to play practically any song in the world. Just maybe not in your key. But that is what this is for.” He felt around in his guitar case and pulled out a funny looking metal contraption. “This is called a capo. You squeeze it here,” he demonstrated, “and you fit it on the fretboard,” it clamped onto the neck of his guitar, “and it puts your song in a different key. I have a circle of fifths for you that helps with transposing, too. And a map of the fret board to help with chord theory.”

“Okay, slow down, Mr. Anderson. I learned a little tiny bit about chord theory, but that was a few semesters ago, so. I barely remember the stuff I'm learning this semester.”

“Okay,” he laughed. “Sorry, sometimes I get ahead of myself. Let's try a C chord first.” He positioned his fingers on on what he called the fretboard and pressed down on the strings. Then, with his right hand, he strummed. “That's a C. Think you can give it a try? Put your fingers where mine are.”

I looked at his fingers carefully and tried to mirror him.

“Okay, now give her a strum.”

I did. It sounded like crap. I let out a grunt of irritation.

“That's okay. Everyone sounds like that at first. Try adjusting your pointer finger down one string. And make sure you press down hard, with just the tips of your fingers.”

I tried again, and it sounded slightly better.

“There you go! You got it!” My teacher was effusive with praise. I was glad he couldn't see my skeptical expression. “Yeah, strum some more. That's a C. Good job. Now let's try a G.” He repositioned his fingers, and once more I copied him. “Okay, good. Now a D.” He taught me an E minor also, and after reviewing, he suggested we try the song.

My fingertips were already sore from pressing down on the thin metal wires that passed for strings. But I gave it a shot, haltingly getting out each chord. It sounded awful, and I knew it.

“Let's try it together,” Mr. Anderson said. He began strumming, and then singing. It was too low for me to sing, so I concentrated on trying to match him and play the same chord at the same time. My strumming was horrible. I stopped after the first verse, but he kept going.

I tried to make my fingers remember where they should go to correspond with each letter. I still didn't sound as good as he did. He had the easy, relaxed strum of someone who's been playing for years and loves it. And he could sing, too. It wasn't a classically good voice, like someone who would do well in show choirs; he had a unique, kind of soulful, yearning voice.

He sang Amazing Grace like he meant it. And though it didn't matter whether his eyes were open or closed, he closed them anyway, as if by default, to shut out the world a little. Like he forgot I was there. So I just listened as he sang the last verse, about singing praises for eternity. Then he circled back and sang the first verse again, and suddenly I felt awkward.

The last line of it—“was blind, but now I see”—stuck out to me, and I wondered how he felt, singing that. He chose to sing it a second time, and chose to teach the song to me in the first place, so it clearly didn't offend him. His strumming stopped and he fell silent. “You stopped playing,” he said.

“My fingers hurt,” I told him.

“Ah. Well, you'll develop callouses. Start by practicing a few minutes every day. Work on the chords we learned, and I expect you to play the whole song with me next time. And sing,too.”

“Um, okay. But how will I practice? I told you I don't have a guitar.”

“Well, you can hang on to Roxy for now. I told you I'd help you find one, and I will. You just worry about practicing. Okay?”

I ran my hand over Roxy's smooth, varnished surface. “Okay. So...I was kind of crap.”

He smiled patiently. “You did fine, Brianne. Trust me, everyone sounds like that when they start out. You'll get better with practice.”

“Yeah, but you gave that whole speech about trying to see if the music was in me, remember?”

“Right.”

“So is it?”

He didn't answer right away. “I didn't hear you sing,” he said. “When I played 'Amazing Grace.'”

“It was too low for me,” I told him.

“You a soprano?”

“Yeah. I can sing some alto parts, but that was just too low.”

He thought for a moment. “Then let's put it in your key. What do you think, C? Or D?”

“Um...” I tried to remember what Clarke would transpose songs into if I was singing lead. “D?”

Evan strummed a few bars. “That sound right?”

“I guess.”

“Then let's hear it.”

I cleared my throat nervously. I was relatively used to singing in front of people, but in the sudden solo performance for an audience of one, I found myself feeling awkward and unsure. I was beginning to think I didn't really have the music in me after all.

Mr. Anderson graciously, quietly started me off, though it was clearly not an ideal key for him. “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound....”

“That saved a wretch like me,” I joined in. “I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind,” I tried not to falter, “but now I see.”

Mr. Anderson's gentle chords soothed my jitters; the key was good for me, and I found myself singing the very familiar song with my own eyes closed. And we were in our own little world, the two of us making music that colored the darkness behind my eyelids. I felt as in that moment that the music had a weight and substance to it, like it meant something.

On the final verse, he joined in again, adding a little harmony—I was impressed. He was really very talented. But somehow, he made me feel like I was talented, too. And it was more than that: I felt like our song had lodged somewhere in my soul. It had soothed some rough corner of my heart and I wondered if he felt that way every time he sang.

“That was really beautiful, Brianne,” he said, in the silence that followed our duet. “You have an amazing voice.”

I shrugged modestly, as I always did, then caught myself. “I enjoy it,” I said.

He nodded. “I can tell.” He felt for his case and began putting Grace away, as well as the rest of his materials. “If you keep at the guitar, I have a feeling you'll find you enjoy that, too,” he said, as he gathered up his things and headed for the door. “Don't give up too quickly. It'll be a challenge at first, but you'll get it.” He turned and flashed me a smile. “You do, by the way.”

“Do what?”

“Have the music in you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” My words were simple, and completely inadequate to express the joy I felt knowing he thought so.

“See you Tuesday.”