‘Walk the Line’ doesn’t

Last night Lisa and I watched Walk the Line, the movie based on Johnny Cash’s autobiography. The movie’s received rave reviews from our friends and acquaintances. I have to admit, I was really looking forward to it. I’ve been curious about Cash’s life, even though I haven’t heard most of his music.

The movie is dark and sad. Drug addiction cast a pall over the story. Joaquin Phoenix, who is no stranger to tortured characters or dark plots, carried the role of Johnny Cash believably. Reese Witherspoon, whose previous credits include such deep work as Legally Blonde and Legally Blonde 2: Red, White, and Blonde, played June Carter, Cash’s main love interest. She was also very convincing.

Our friends Jeff and Kelly have gotten us in the habit of evaluating a movie by asking, “Was there redemtion?” It’s been an incredibly useful exercise. Poignant redemtion was what made me want to cry after reading A Tale of Two Cities. I went to bed last night depressed after watching Walk the Line. There was a feeble effort at redemtion, but it wasn’t convincing.

After June Carter pulled Johnny Cash from the depths of drug-induced darkness, she told him that God had given him a second chance to make a difference in the world. He realized as he read through letters from fans in prison that he had influence he needed to use for good, for God. There was a brief scene where the two lovers held hands as they walked nervously toward a church. Convincing, no? No. All those scenes weren’t enough to convincingly demonstrate redemtion.

Why do I say that? Because as a Christian, I have some tools useful for evaluating the changes inside a person. Of course, man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart. But Matthew recorded Jesus as saying, “By your fruits you shall know them.” He was saying that a person’s intentions and inner substance eventually work their way to the outside of that person.

Application: Johnny Cash’s continued denial of his wife and children evidence a continued denial of both God’s commands and his manly responsibility. Secondly, Cash’s portrayed use of his newfound mission doesn’t square with a desire to serve God (and good). His performance at Folsom Prison, intended to show his commitment to identification with the prisoners, saw a lack of any meaningful message toward good. As portrayed in Walk the Line, Johnny Cash appropriated God’s grace for his own inner transformation but stopped short of proclamation.

I know that the real Johnny Cash sang lots of great gospel music. I love his deep voice, driving chords, and the emotion that dripped from his silvered throat. So the disconnect between the portrayal of Cash’s faith and his proclamations must be one of several places: either

  1. the disconnect was very real,
  2. Cash failed to communicate the substance of his faith in his autobiography,
  3. those who created the movie didn’t understand the substance of Cash’s faith,
  4. or their portrayal was genuinely intended but badly executed.

Even for great actors, it’s hard to portray a life-change as a result of the grace of God without having experienced it. And as one who knows that grace firsthand, I can see the difference.

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Apology

Dear Readers,

I realize that I’ve now posted two images of my dog in a row. I know this blog is supposed to be about meaningful issues, and I intend to get back to the regular stuff shortly. Apologies for all the non-brainy personal stuff of late.

But what kind of meaningful stuff do you want to see? I’ve been thinking about blogging about some of my favorite internet writings out there. I’ve also been thinking about publishing an extensive survey of cool internet services that I’ve been experimenting with. Playing with cool “web 2.0”-type services has been a hobby of mine of late. Are you interested in reading about that? Or should I stick to more philosophical stuff ‘n’ junk? You let me know, and I’ll work on writing about it.

Looking forward to hearing your response,
Andrew

A Call for the Return of the Status Symbol

Reading the title of this post, you may be tempted to wonder, “Has Andrew had a status symbol stolen from him, and is he asking for it back?” Well, fair reader, resist that temptation! Such a blog post would be entitled, ‘Help, someone’s stolen my [status symbol here] and I want it back!’ Rather, the purpose of this post is to bemoan the death of the status symbol in American society.

I was thinking about this the other day in the gym. I thought, “I wonder…..27….. which of the people around me…..28…….belongs to each of the…….29…..cars in the……..30……parking lot………whew!” As I caught my breath, I realized that there’s no way of telling. Realization further told me that it doesn’t matter much, that any of these people could have any of the cars I was surveying without much regard for their true financial position. That really blew my mind. Hypothetical person X has gone to the effort of putting herself deeply in debt to try to appear as if she has lots of money, when in fact the symbol she’s buying for that express purpose doesn’t say “ostentatious” to anyone. It just says, “eh…. my owner could be rich, or she could be poor. Sure, I’m an Escalade with spinners, but don’t let that fool you.”

What a sad state of affairs. When status drains from a status symbol, it’s not much of a symbol, either. And it’s not as if this has been taken from us: we sold it to the hucksters and the money-changers who said, “Nice things are your birthright in this society,” and, “It’s not fair that the Joneses can have it and you can’t.”

While I abhor the thought that society would become stratified into ‘have’ and ‘have not’ categories, the greater danger is that the loss of those categories leaves no room for aspiration, much less perspiration. When all good material things come to you by dint of your (supposed) deservedness, the concept of seeking in any dimension of life is lost.

What, then, shall we do? First, we must realize that the ability to have something doesn’t imply the obligation to acquire it. True power is ability with restraint. Next, we must be less impressed with posessions, both our own and those of other people. Being less impressed means that people from all strata between ‘have’ and ‘have not’ can sit equally at the table. Compassionate eyes see the man, no matter how the clothes may distract.

These concepts challenge me. I hope you allow them to challenge you, as well.

– Andrew