Disney, God, and little lies.

The most dangerous kinds of lies are those that are the closest to the truth.

Satan, for example, did not egineer the fall of humanity with outrageous fabrications.  He manipulated them by putting this little spin on the way of the things.  He began in the truth, and he just took this little hop over into the land of untruth.

I suppose the danger of little lies is that they sometimes fly under our radar.  We are wired to sense when things are terribly wrong.  But we are not always wise enough to notice when things are only a little bit wrong.

Permit me a somewhat trivial example:

A number of Disney movies.

If these movies were outrageously off the mark, they would not speak to us.  If they operated in a world that was thoroughly alien to our deepest selves, we wouldn’t even be interested in them.

They are, in some sense, dangerous, because they get the nature of things almost right… Almost, but not exactly.

Consider both Toy Story movies.  When viewed through a certain lens, the whole thing can be boiled down to: Buzz and Woody are the rightful “chief toys” of Andy.  Across the first two movies, these two come to realize that they belong at the center of the story, together.

Or The Lion King: Simba was born to be King.  When somebody else tries to be King, even nature rebels and there are years of famine.  When he resumes his rightful place– in the center of the story– not only does his kingdom rejoice, but the clouds themselves recognize that things are the way they are meant to be, and the famine ends.

Or Cinderella.  Cinderella perhaps was meant for greatness, but her father died.  And it seemed like her fate was changed.  But the Fairy God Mother steps in, to put things right.  And she is the only person who is meant to be at the center of the kingdom’s story.  The glass slipper is a sort-of metaphor.  Only she will do.

It’s often been remarked that virtually every Disney main character for the last decade has only one parent in the picture.  I’d go so far as to suggest that the subtext of this is that the lost parent is what steers the character away from their rightful destiny.   Over and over again, the Disney movies, are about the characters discovering that they are inherently of value, that they are worthy just because they were born, and that they belong in the very center of the story.

I believe that so much of this is just dead-on correct.  The subtext gets so close to speaking a Truth.  And perhaps that is why it is dangerous.

When we see that Woody is valuable to Andy not for anything he did, but just because, it speaks to something inside of us.

When we find that Simba is worth more than the number of grubs he can dig up on the backside of a rock, something soars inside of us.

When we find out that Cinderella was more than just the servant girl that life turned her into, we want to cheer with her.

Because this is all true: we are worth more than the roles we fill.  We are worth more than the things we do, the money we earn, or the tasks we complete.

We sense that we were– individually and collectively– meant for greatness.  But something went astray.  Like Adam ate the apple.  Like Cinderella’s dad died.  And now?  Now we are just spinning our wheels, serving the evil step mother, hanging out with the meerkat, arguing with Buzz Lightyear.

But the terrible truth?

We won’t live happily ever after as long as we cling to the delusions that we are meant to be the center of the story.  If we were perfect and self-sufficient, it would be fine for God to allow us to be the king or the queen.

But we’re not perfect.  And so it would be an act of unspeakable cruelty, if God left us to our own devices.  It would be the height of sadism for Jesus to say “Sure, just go ahead and rule however you want.  It will all work out fine.”

We are not the center of the story.  The suggestion that we are is the place where the little lie becomes destructive.   There is such truth in the idea that we have this immense value and importance merely by being who we are.  But it is because of the person who rightfully occupies the center of the story that we have this value.

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jeffsdeepthoughts

The stories that speak to our soul begin at a home where things are good. Cinderella is happy with her father. The three little pigs have grown up and are ready to move on. Bilbo Baggins knows his shire. Adam and Eve walk with God in the garden. My story isn’t much different. There was a time and a place where it was so good. There was a community for me. And there was joy. We were filled with a sincere desire to do what God wanted us to do. We possessed explanations and understandings that went a certain distance. We offered security and tradition and laughter. For a lot of years, that was enough. I have this sense that it was also necessary. I have this surety, now, that it certainly wasn’t everything. There were some things that became increasingly problematic as time went by. There was a desire to package things up so very neatly. Sunday morning services were efficient and strategic. Responses to differences of opinion were premeditated. Formula began to feel more important than being real. A real desire for everybody to be one of us, but also a real sense that there is an us, and there is a them. They carried a regret that it has to be this way, but deeper than this regret was a surety that this is how it is. I began to recognize that there was a cost of admission to that group. There were people who sat at the door, collecting it. Those people wished they didn’t have to. But I guess they felt like they did have to. They let some people in, and they left others out. There was a provisional membership. My friends did possess a desire to accommodate people that are different… But it would be best for everyone concerned if they were only a little bit different. I did make many steps forward in this place. Before I went there, there were lies that I believed. Some of the things that I learned there, I still hold on to. But that place is not my home anymore. Those people are not my community anymore. There were times it was hard. I am engaged in a different community now. And I am working hard at finding a place in many different places now, embracing many different kind of families. I don’t always get it right. I am trying and I am learning and I am moving foreward. I have this sense that I am not alone in these experiences. I believe that we are tribe and we are growing. We are pilgrims, looking for a new holy land. Perhaps we won’t settle on the same spot of land. But if you’ve read this far, I am thinking that we are probably headed in the same general direction. I have begun this blog to talk about where my journey is taking me. In every space, we find people who help us along. And maybe we can get to know each other, here. We embrace ideas that provide a structure for the things we believe, and perhaps we can share these too. Maybe we can form a group, a tribe, a community, if we can figure out a way to work through the shadow of these kinds of groups, if we can bigger than the us-and-them ideas that have caused so much trouble in the past. As important as they are, I think the very nature of online interactions will lend itself to something equally powerful. I am stumbling onto these practices that my grandfathers and great grandfathers in the faith engaged in. I am learning about these attitudes and intuitions are so different than the kinds of things we call doctrine today. I don’t know about you, but I am running out of patience, and even interest, in conversations about doctrine. I hope that maybe you’ll share a little something about where your journey is taking you, and maybe our common joys and challenges might help each other along, and we might lift each other up. Thanks for doing this journey with me.

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