HEELCATCHER

Stuck on a airplane for nine hours gives you a chance to watch some of the current movies out there….assuming you can find something halfway decent. I watched Skyfall and wasn't impressed. Was there actually a plot in that movie? It had no suspense, no surprises, no real story. But I guess if you shoot at things, get shot, blow things up, get the girl (and then another one), and look manly through it all then you have enough for another James Bond movie. It wasn't for me.

The only other movie that looked interesting was the Life of Pi. I had heard about it but I wasn't too tempted to go to the movies and watch it for $10…or even go to a Redbox and rent it for $1.29. It seemed a little weird from what I saw. But hey, it was free on the plane and I had time. So I hit "play."

I was pleasantly surprised.

It was a great story with a mix of humor, suspense, and vivid visual effects. The plot was so unique–a boy stuck on a lifeboat with a hyena, zebra, orangutan, and Bengal tiger–that it was hard not to be drawn in. And as an added bonus, it was clean and avoided needless vulgarity.

But after watching the movie…and thoroughly enjoying it…I had to stop and think about its message. The Life of Pi preaches a message that resonates with much of our culture today. But is it true?

The movie begins with a young writer visiting Pi because he hears that Pi has a story that "will make him believe in God." The young man is eager to hear the story. So a middle-aged Pi begins to tell it. (And if you haven't seen the movie, then you may want to stop here and go watch it first.)

Pi grows up in India with a sharp, curious mind and a receptive, spiritual heart. His dad owns a zoo which adds to Pi's young adventures and the beauty of his childhood. There is an innocence to Pi that is refreshing. For instance, deep down, Pi feels he can befriend the zoo's Bengal tiger. His father has to show him the the ferociousness of the tiger…and the harsh reality of life…in order to preserve his son from his own naivete. 

But Pi is undeterred in his innocent optimism…especially in the spiritual realm. He embraces Hinduism and its cultural story. Then he embraces Christianity and its story of God's love. Then he embraces Islam and its discipline and devotion. His father jokes that if Pi can embrace a few more religions then he can live his whole life on holiday. 

Instead of religion, Pi's dad pushes him toward reason and a rationalistic view of the universe. Only science gives practical answers to life's problems. Science operates in reality; religion in fantasy. And you have to choose in which realm you will live. 

The background is set. And now the real story begins.

Due to circumstances and failing finances, Pi's family sets sail on a boat toward Canada. His dad brings the animals of the zoo to sell for income. Along the way, the boat sinks in the midst of a violent storm. Through the course of events that are too hard to explain, Pi ends up as the only survivor in a lifeboat with a wounded zebra, a tired baboon, a hungry hyena, and the aforementioned Bengal tiger. And before long, all that are left are Pi and the tiger.

The next 227 days on the lifeboat are an adventure to say the least. Deeply inspiring, wildly compelling, and rationally unbelievable.

In the end, Pi ends up half-dead on a beach in Mexico. The tiger, gaunt, bedraggled, and now befriended to Pi, disappears into the Mexican jungle before help arrives.

Pi is rescued alone.

In the hospital recovering, Pi is visited by representatives of the boat company looking to write a report on the vessel's sinking. Pi tells the story of the animals on the lifeboat but the representatives seem unable to accept it. It is simply beyond belief. So, to satisfy them, Pi tells another story, replacing the animals with human characters, and changing the wildness of the story into something easier to explain…and to believe. The representatives seem satisfied and leave.

The scene pans back to Pi talking with the young writer. "I have told you two different stories. Same basic facts. Same ending. Which do you believe?"

The writer replies, "The story with the tiger because it is the better story." 

Pi says. "And so it is with God." 

The writer wryly smiles. Now he understands. There are two ways of looking at the universe. Both must deal with the reality of what we see. We can either believe the rationality of science or accept the unbelievable wonder of spirituality. Pi, and now the writer, take the route of spirituality because it makes the "better story."

While the credits were rolling, I paused to think about the message of the movie.

On the surface, it seems pretty good. Through Pi's story, the young writer moved from doubtful atheism to hopeful theism. That sounds like movement in the right direction, doesn't it? There is much to like about the Life of Pi.

But then I thought a little more. Is faith merely picking the "better story"? 

If so, then it really doesn't matter what you believe. Simply look for what interests you, what makes you feel inspired, what "works" for you. This is the route that Pi has taken. He embraces all religions because they simply enhance the "story." Reality is mystery. Unknowable. Unfathomable. Unattainable. So look at the facts of reality and choose to see a better story. Whatever that might be. Take your choice among the world religions. Or take them all. Or invent your own for that matter. 

It's the ultimate postmodern dream. Construct your own reality. Choose your own belief. Write your own story. 

But in the end, the fact remains. Either Pi was on the boat with a bunch of animals or he wasn't. Reality is reality. Anything else is delusion. Even if it is the "better story." 

Either we live in a random universe with no meaning or there is a God who has created. Either the Bible tells the historical story of redemption or it is a fanciful myth. Either Christ lived, died, and rose from the dead or He didn't.

Christianity doesn't allow itself to be one of many perspectives. It claims to be reality. And its Savior claims to be the creator God…in human flesh…the only Conqueror of sin and death…in real space-time history.

Yes, faith enters the equation. We can't know all things. We have to trust some authority. We have to be willing to believe. But ultimately true faith must be tied to evidence, to truth, to reality. Otherwise, it is not faith but fantasy.

Even if it is the "better story."

Driving down the dirt road, I knew that I had entered a different world. Not that I haven’t been on a dirt road before. I grew up in a small town with plenty of them. But I had never been on one that was the main thoroughfare through town. And never on one that was in such poor shape, surrounded by small, simple houses that were equally in poor shape.

I was about to meet a pastor that our church has supported for 20 years. It would be a meeting that I would never forget.

When I became the pastor of Community Bible Church in 2010, I quickly learned about the missionaries the church supported. One of them was Valentin Sandu, a national pastor in Moldova. To be honest, I didn’t even know where Moldova was at the time. And I definitely couldn’t have imagined being in Moldova just a few years later. But here I was…

Walking toward the house, I had flashbacks to my grandmother’s house in Illinois. She lived in a different era with a small house, a little garden, and farm animals all around. I remember pumping water up from her well, looking at her outhouse as an odd relic, smelling the odors of her chicken coop, and sleeping on the pillow she made me out of 100% goose down. (A pillow I still sleep on today by the way.)

But this was not a memory of a previous generation…this was a present reality. And I was walking into it.

The house was simple but the welcome was warm. I took off my shoes and stepped over the threshold into a home of simplicity and activity. In the kitchen, Valentin’s wife and his daughter were busy preparing food. I ducked into a smaller room off the kitchen where two sons, one of their wives, and a small daughter greeted me. Soon Valentin and two more sons also joined us.

We ate in another small room with a makeshift table surrounded by chairs and couches. The room was probably big enough for a couch and a few chairs. But today it would serve as a dining room for nine people (our group of four, Valentin, and four of his sons).

The men would eat in one room. The ladies in another.

I was nervous about lunch. I am a picky eater. Picky to a fault. And I knew that this meal would probably be a “feast” and a sacrifice for them to prepare. To not eat it would be an offense to their generosity. To eat it, I feared, might be an offense to my finicky taste buds.

But to my delight…and in answer to my very real prayers…the meal was chicken broth soup, lamb, mashed potatoes, and a vegetable salad. I politely skipped the vegetable salad and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the meal. It was 100% “organic.” The chicken and the lamb slaughtered that week, the potatoes and vegetables freshly picked. Even the grape juice we drank was from local grapes. I was glad that my picky palate allowed me to partake of their sacrificial provision.

The sharing of a meal was the heart of fellowship in biblical times. And I experienced that on this day.

Before the meal I knew Valentin, his family, and his ministry in my head, now they were in my heart.

Valentin is a relatively short man. Distinct facial features. Gap between his front teeth. Rough, strong hands. He bears the marks of a hard life. Recently he had back surgery from which he is still recovering. Meanwhile his family has faced one trial after another. The wife of one of his sons was in a serious car accident and is still unable to speak and walk. Valentin and his wife emotionally care for their son, and physically care for their son’s one year old daughter, as he cares for his stricken young bride. On top of that, one of his daughters was recently diagnosed with a serious vascular disease. The only “good news” from the diagnosis was that it was not the cancer which they had originally feared. And if that wasn’t enough, recently their cow had died, the cow that provided milk for their family. It was no small loss but rather a heavy blow to their daily livelihood.

Hearing his trials humbled me. Looking around at his meager belongings and the harsh realities of his life, I realized how small my own problems were.

Then tears welled up in his eyes as he explained how our church’s faithful support has enabled him to stay in ministry and often enabled his family to survive. A small amount of money in America is producing a mountain of blessings in Moldova.

After lunch, I needed to use the bathroom. I was escorted outside of the house and directed down the walkway to a small, wooden hut. Inside was a makeshift toilet seat (actually an advance from the holes in the floor that most places have) over an open latrine. The warped wooden door would not close all the way. Perhaps a blessing in disguise as the smell hit me in the face. No lights. No water. No heat. I wondered what that trip to the outhouse was like in the middle of winter when Moldova (at the same latitude as Boston) is under a blanket of snow.

I won’t complain about a cold toilet seat again.

Leaving the outhouse, I took a look around at the sheep, chicken, and goats gathered in their own individual pens. I started to reflect on the difficulty of such a rustic life when a dog took a charge at me out of nowhere. Thankfully the chain kept him from chewing my leg off. I quickly went back inside.

After singing some hymns together with his family, talking together about God’s faithfulness, and enjoying more fellowship, we headed off to church for the evening service.

We parked outside the gate and entered into the nicest building in the village. We were the only car there. Every one else walked. A trough outside the church doors was used for people to wash the mud off their shoes. The story of Jesus washing His disciples’ feet suddenly became relevant again.

It was during the worship service that I started to feel less sorry for Moldova and more sorry for the U.S.

We have lost something.

In our prosperity, we have taken the simple blessings of life for granted. In our independence, we have lost community. In our pride, we have forgotten God.

I preached on thankfulness that night. And I was the foremost one who needed to hear it.

Yet when I was done, the people responded with prayer after prayer of thankfulness. In the midst of their adversity, their hearts rejoiced in the abundant provision of God. Their songs filled with passion and joy.

After the service, Valentin and I hugged each other, wept together, and prayed together for each other’s congregations.

A bond was created. Between two churches. Between two pastors. 5000 miles away yet joined in ministry. Joined in Christ. One poor. One rich.

But thankfully, on this day, he shared some of his spiritual prosperity with me.