Smeagol is Free!
A hermitudinal view of...stuff...


The Movie

What got to me wasn't the blood. It wasn't the mockery, either. Nor was it the anguish in Jim Caviezel's eyes (actually just his left eye, since the right one got hit pretty early on and was closed for most of the movie).

During the portrayal of Peter locking eyes with Christ after the third denial, I shed several tears, thinking upon the times I've read through that passage in Luke (the only one of the four gospels that says Jesus looked at Peter) and felt the taunting guilt of my own denials and broken promises along with the overwhelming peace of Christ's humble, merciful love. But that wasn't what got to me.

When they showed how the Roman soldiers would have mocked and spat upon Christ during his beatings, I wanted to get up and hit someone. But I didn't. And you know what? That wasn't what got to me.

I kept thinking about the various arguments and conversations this would spawn on campus. Is the second commandment being broken? Is the evangelism aspect legitimate if theirs no real Gospel presentation? Why did or why didn't people see it? I had to fight those thoughts from my head while watching it. But still, that wasn't what got to me.

The silence as we all filed out of the theater was deafening. No one said a word. All communication was limited to hand jestures and head nods. A few ladies across the aisle were wiping away tears, but all faces wore the same expression. What was that expression? Sadness...sobriety...pain...humility. In all seriousness, it was the silence that got to me. The silence spoke volumes.

I thought about it as I went home, wondering what that silence meant. I didn't really understand it then, nor have I found meaning in it in the hours since. The only thing I can conclude is that each person was, for two hours, put face to face with a very sobering reality, a very painful reality. What they thought I can only imagine.

I told Leeman today that after watching the movie, I had a distinct yearning for more, but not from the movie. The pain they portrayed Christ as having gone through was tremendous; the mental anguish, the physical suffering, all of it was enough to shut an entire theater up in utter silence. But what they did not and could not possibly have portrayed was the spiritual suffering. The holiness of God is an undefinable thing, and his wrath is terrible beyond comprehension. I told Jonathan that I was reminded of how the Old Testament tabernacle is portrayed in the New Testament as but a copy, a representation of the spiritual tabernacle. In a sense, perhaps Christ's physical suffering was but a copy, a representation of His spiritaul suffering. So in a sense, I felt frustrated by not being able to even begin to see and appreciate the spiritual suffering of Christ, yet comforted in knowing that God is being gracious in not showing me how horrible that suffering was. Should I see it all, I think I would go mad.

Do you know why I would go mad? Because that's how horrible my sin is. The suffering and death of Christ was the only thing that could atone for the horrors of my sin. When we see Jim Caviezel on screen, we should be reminded of our sins, we should be reminded that it was our sins that nailed Him there, that caused Him spiritual suffering beyond our comprehension. Yet we shouldn't need Jim Caviezel or Mel Gibson to remind us; it's there in God's word. We're horrible. Our sins our horrible. The suffering of Christ? It had to be that horrible.

posted by Bolo | 9:46 AM
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