Lotto Ticket

Mr. Steiner always told us in high school art class, “Take risks!”  Art is a risky business; when you put it all out there (or down on a canvas), you risk rejection, judgment, and failure.  Maybe nobody has done it that way before; maybe they’ll laugh at your attempt to create something meaningful or beautiful; maybe you’ll “prove” that you really don’t have much to offer, once we see it in black-and-white.  Yes, art is risky, because being yourself is risky.

Will Hunting is a mathematical genius in the 1997 film Good Will Hunting.  Will is also a very troubled and “at-risk” young adult, who constantly gets in trouble with the law for violence.  A local math professor at one of Boston’s finest universities takes Will under his wing, providing him with both counseling and opportunities.  It isn’t long before Will is offered high profile math jobs with the US government.  Will, nonetheless, prefers to work with his buddies from Southie as a laborer on a demolition crew.

Upon hearing about his refusal to accept these better positions, Will’s best friend, Chuckie, sets him straight.  He basically acknowledges that for some people, working on the demolition crew is just fine, but for others, it’s a waste of time.  “You are sitting on a winning lottery ticket,” Chuckie says.  “But you’re too much of a [coward] to cash it in…I’d do anything to have what you got.”  Then he concludes by telling Will that staying with the old gang is a waste of time—it’s even insulting to the rest of the guys, who have no choice but to work for the crew. 

Though he was a genius, Will was afraid to take risks, settling for what was comfortable.  So he sat on his “winning lottery ticket,” refusing to be himself and do what he was made to do.

I am not saying at this point, “Follow your dream.”  That is not what this post is about.  It’s about taking the risk of being yourself.  Put yourself out there, even when it’s not comfortable.  We are all sitting on a winning lottery ticket.  God has made us each special, with unique abilities and passions.  The trouble is that we settle for what’s comfortable, under the disguise of “that’s what’s best.” 

You is what’s best.      

© 2010 by Samuel Kee

Invictus

Mandela (Morgan Freeman) shaking Pienaar's (Matt Damon) hand.

One of the most moving films that I have seen in the last few years is the Invictus (2009).  It is a story about the South African President, Nelson Mandela, his release from prison and his quest to unify his apartheid-split country as its leader.  Mandela’s genius is that he uses the sport of rugby as part of his strategy to bring whites and blacks together. 

There’s a scene toward the end where the captain of the South African rugby team, Francois Pienaar, is in his hotel room, the night before the biggest game of his life.  He had just led his team from “worst to first.”  They had battled on the international stage and earned a spot at the 1995 Rugby Worldcup championships.  The next day, the captain and his team were to play the greatly feared New Zealand team, captained by Jonah Lomu, a hugely intimidating player.

As Francois stares off over the balcony of his hotel room, his girlfriend, Nerine, steps up behind him, puts her gentle arms on him to ease his nervousness, and says, “Thinking about tomorrow?”  Unexpectedly and without hesitation, he replies, “No.  Tomorrow’s taken care of, one way or another.  I was thinking about how you spend 30 years in a tiny cell, and come out ready to forgive the people who put you there.”

To say the least, Pienaar was dramatically affected by the forgiveness that Mandela gave those whites who put him in prison for nearly three decades on Robben Island.  This same dramatic effect reverberates throughout the film as enemies are brought together and unity begins to wash over the country, cleansing it from bitterness and hatred. 

I’ll be honest with you, there are times for me when it is very hard to forgive.  I like to hang on to the wrongs done to me and find any opportunity for revenge.  I don’t think that I could walk out of a prison after 30 years and forgive the ones who put me there, tearing my life, family, and country apart.

This is the raw emotion and tension we often miss when reading the gospel accounts of Jesus.  We overlook how masterfully the gospel writers (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John) have recorded their stories.  All of the miracles, power, and authority displayed by Jesus have not been arbitrary; they were perfectly placed in order to build our anticipation.  Knowing where the story is going—to the resurrection and victory of Jesus—we fully expect the story to end in bloodshed. 

When Jesus walks out of that tomb, not only with hundreds of outrageous miracles under his belt, but also having just conquered death itself, demonstrating that he has complete power and authority, we fully expect heads to roll.  Just as when Mandela walks out of prison and becomes president, we fully expect him to enact vengeance on all his white enemies.

Then to read, that as soon as Jesus walks out, he offers forgiveness to the ones who put him there, we are stunned to silence.  Our mouths open wide at the prospect of being forgiven by the King we just tortured and tossed into the grave.

The only way we’ll miss seeing God’s extravagant, over-the-top forgiveness, is if we’re too wrapped up in playing a game the next day.

When Jesus walked out of the grave, after having spent three days sunk into the hell of death, he did not walk out looking for someone to kick.  He came out standing up for you, ready to forgive you and start all over again.  Jesus doesn’t want to fight against you, but to live in harmony with you, as your kind King and Loving Ruler.

He also wants to show you how to forgive, even when you have the power to do otherwise.

© 2010 by Samuel Kee