Triumph of the Human Spirit

Movie watching is big in my house. It's the favorite pastime of my husband and me. Naturally we don't always agree on what to watch. On occassion our "movie night" ends badly as we erupt into an argument over who gets to pick the film. I confess, I'm usually the offender in those arguments. I am very specific about the kind of movies I will or won't watch, and I'm quite unreasonable on the matter.

I am an escapist. I like movies that make me laugh and take my mind off things. Hubby likes the deep, meaningful movies that call for change, thought, and emotion. "The Shawshank Redemption," is one of his favorites. I steadfastly refuse to watch "Shawshank." If he turns it on, I leave the room. He's begged, pleaded, cajoled - but all to no avail. I will not watch his so -called "triumph of the human spirit" movies. Why? My reasons are simple: because you have to sit through two hours of heartbreak, sadness, injustice and horror to enjoy only five minutes of triumph! I won't do it.

I wasn't always this way. In fact, I was quite the opposite. I spent an entire summer during my youth watching "The Color Purple" over and over again. I knew each line, knew when to brace myself for heartache - but I still cried every time as if I'd never seen it before in my life! Along with that I added such sob stories as, "Steel Magnolias," "Terms of Endearment," and "The Joy Luck Club." But it was "Glory" that forced me to take the vow. I left the theater so depressed after that movie that I made a committment to avoid all such movies from there on out. I've made good on that vow, to my husband's frustration.

I've not survived unscathed, however. I do enjoy history and all historical dramas, such as "Elizabeth" and "Elizabeth the Golden Age." One certainly has to brace oneself for those movies, but I've found the difficult scenes are over quickly enough for me to endure. I was proud to have recently made my way through almost two seasons of a similar historical drama before I had to walk away due to pain overload. It took me three weeks to finally get the nerve up to finish the last episode. Mind you, it was historical - which meant I knew how it would end! Even so, water streamed down my cheeks the whole time and I thought I was going to get ill.

On occassion a movie will sneak up on me. We rented a show once that looked like a happy romance, but the girl died in the end. I'm usually good at figuring out where things are going, plot-wise, but I didn't see this coming. During the hospital scene my husband looked over at me with wide, shocked eyes and said, "Are you crying?" as giant tears flowed. I shot daggers at him. He laughed. I didn't let him pick another movie for weeks.

I'll concede that I may be a bit radical in my approach to sad movies, but I don't think I'm that unusual. Most of us try to avoid sorrow. It hurts. It makes us vulnerable. It takes us places we don't want to go; places we don't have control over. Once released, sorrow tends to want to spend itself. It refuses to be denied. I don't watch "triumph of the human spirit" movies because I know that there is a good chance that they will touch off a sorrow in me that has nothing to do with the movie.

The fact is, I'm already sad. I'm sad about poverty. I'm sad about abuse. I'm sad about sickness. I'm sad about death. I'm sad about everything sin has brought to the world and her people. I've wept, and if I were brave enough I'd weep daily, over the things I've done to hurt God and others. I've certainly wept over what others have done to me. I've wept for my nation, wept for people I'll never know and those I know too well.

While teaching about the people of the Kingdom in Matthew 5:4, Jesus said "Blessed are those that mourn, for they shall be comforted." Jesus Himself was a "man of sorrows and familiar with suffering," (Isaiah 53:3, NIV). He wept for Lazarus, and He wept for Jerusalem. Those that follow Him should weep too. We should mourn over the things that make for His sorrow; namely our sin and other's suffering. Such tears should flow regularly and we should embrace the pain until it changes us.

There are many sorrows in this world, not all of them useful. Godly sorrow is productive; it leads to repentance. Godly sorrow draws us closer to the heart of the Father, shapes us into the Image of the Son as the Spirit guides us into identifying with Holy grief. These are the things I want to reserve my tears for. This is the mourning that is blessed, for it will be comforted.

As I contemplate the pain that has filled this earth days on end, my deepest sympathies are for God. It is He who has suffered the most. I find it difficult to sit through two hours, but He's had to watch this drama play out for millenia. No doubt He's drawn comfort in knowing how it ends. Still, there came a day so sad that even He had to turn His face away. That day of God's grief that bought humanity our eternal comfort is the one most worth crying over. He is real the triumph of the human spirit! And His triumph far outlasts the sorrow.