Star Wars Jesus

It's been two months since Shelley and I packed up a Uhaul and drove down the 5 to Chino. So far, it has been a fantastic experience that I wouldn't have traded for anything. You might take that to mean that life has been worry-free for the past two months, but that hasn't been the case - there has been pain mingled with the good things, but the reason I share this is because the pain has served the purpose of bringing greater joy.

This morning, I had some time to talk to God about my time here in SoCal, and as I tried to explain what it's been like - as if He doesn't already know - a vision popped into my head:

Growing up, my favorite Star Wars movie was Return of the Jedi. This was long before I knew of the critics' and die-hard fans' disdain for the Ewoks and the rehashed Death Star and Egghead Vader. What I loved most about it was the 3-part battle at the end - the dogfight in space around the Death Star, the battle with the Ewoks on Endor, and Luke vs. Vader.

At the end, there's one amazing moment where the Millennium Falcon is escaping from inside an exploding Death Star. As it races toward the exit, and safety, the exploding tunnel is engulfed in flames that are racing faster than the Falcon, licking the sides of the tunnel around the ship. From the cockpit of the Falcon, you see the flames overtake the ship, even as the tunnel exit nears. All the speed of the ship isn't enough to outrace the destruction, and yet with escape within reach, the outcome is in doubt, even if only for a moment.

There's an explosion of flames at the tunnel, just before the Falcon blasts outward, moments before the Death Star shatters and detonates. It's the emotional payoff of the trilogy that touches off the celebration of the end of an empire, and for many is the high point of the entire Star Wars saga.

So why did this scene come to mind while praying? Well, God is a practical God who works in the interests of the people He made and named Himself...it that sounds weird, it's because I like Star Wars...but really, who doesn't, besides hardcore Trekkies?

The point is this: the pain I've experienced since moving here has been from living life as if I were flying the Falcon out of the Death Star, even as flames reach past me and survival starts to seem doubtful. I still see the exit, and the stars beyond that mean the safe and happy end of a struggle, but I still feel the heat of destruction closing in, and I can't move fast enough to outrun it.

God never intended me to live that way. He never meant for any of us to live that way.

Somewhere along the road, though, that's exactly what I've done. My nature is to put my head down in the wind and press on, trying to fix everything myself. I haven't wanted to inconvenience other people with my struggles. I feel pressure to do everything right all the time to avoid the disappointment or anger of others around me. In recent years, a truth has grown in my mind regarding living this way: your world gets smaller. If we only trust ourselves to help ourselves, we are a little like a lint brush that gets crud stuck to it...until so much junk is attached that we lose the "stickiness" that makes a lint brush useful in the first place.

Whether it's a lint brush or Star Wars or any number of metaphors, I neglected the gift of community that God has given to me, and to all of us. The pain I've felt recently is the fallout of living the way I've wanted, while still calling myself a Christian in the process. Those two things won't jive together, and the resulting strain has hurt more than I can explain. It very much feels like trying to outrace flames.

Several weeks ago, I finally had to admit that my problems were not only too big for me, but were also meant to be shared with others. As much as we want to avoid pain, sometimes our most profound connections with others are borne out of shared grief - not so much liking the same band or movies or restaurants. I've been seized by the wonderful idea that true joy isn't the absence of pain, but rather is compatible with pain. True joy isn't a fairy tale that we cling to while ignoring all the ills and evils of the world; it looks all that sorrow full in the face and sees God at work in it, shaping us, redeeming us.

When I was younger, watching the Star Wars films ad nauseum, I would never have guessed that God would work in such things to communicate something profound in me. Part of me feels embarrassed that God would use science fiction to teach me something. But then again, I believe He has led me to write fiction - starting with the Forever Saga, which contains quite a bit of sci-fi. If I feel ashamed of who God shaped me to be, how am I different than an overused lint brush?

Or, closer to the sci-fi theme, I know that I can't fly fast enough to outrun the flames and avoid all the pain of this life, but instead, I have to look ahead to the exit, the path to safety, and fix my eyes on that goal. It won't do to get engulfed and overwhelmed. Multiple viewings of Return of the Jedi tell me that the Falcon will make it, and a happy ending ensues; the story of God and His creation ends the same way, and I'm learning to be confident that the ending to my story will end even better.

How much more loving and effective can I - and we - be if we lived with the full knowledge that we win despite the pain? That instead of ignoring it, we seek what God intends for that pain and trust Him to bring about lasting and positive change in a life filled with crud? If we are honest enough, we can search our lives and find enough joy worthy of a Chewbacca victory howl.

It's exactly what God does: using all things to work together for our good. He is how painful things can have a good outcome. It takes courage to trust God enough to walk through the valleys - an experience that critics of Christianity may never understand. The secret to experiencing joy is not to avoid pain, but rather confront it. I'd like to think we'd all want to know that we overcame obstacles in our life, because it meant we had victories...that our lives counted for something because of our triumphs.

Perhaps the biggest test is to let go of our need to go it alone...to share our pain with God and with others so that, in the end, when we win, the victory is so much sweeter because it is a victory shared.


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