A Regrettable Scoff

(A minor religious reflection arising from an odd holiday movie)

Last night, I watched The Green Knight for the first time; it’s a surreal misty and magical nightmare of a medieval Christmas movie that you might have seen in theaters a couple years ago. I went to school with the soundtrack composer, so on the many occasions I hear his work in indie films, or a Disney film, or a popular podcast, I recall that time we prayed together and I heard him express his prayer concern before we bowed our heads, while all the other small group bible studyers said the expected, “I’m worried about an exam/paper,” “my parents are sick,” “I don’t know how to tell this boy I am not predestined to be his wife,” or, and this was perhaps mine, “I don’t know what to major in or what to do when I graduate.” My friend, who led the worship band, who had written original songs that moved me, who even had a song that for a time was one of my favorites; this campus ministry role model of sorts, who played violin in rock bands, who joined my buddy David’s band for a time; this talented man whose opinion I respected enough that when he wore FREE TIBET shirts or protested the lack of “sexual orientation” in our school’s nondiscrimination policy - his outfits and actions added to the currents leading me to question my own prejudices; this charming, talented, attractive man who was supportive of my writing and my own amateur attempts at song craft; in that Bible study, his expressed prayer concern was, “I think God wants me to be famous. I don’t know how exactly. I’d like some guidance on that, I guess.”

And I scoffed in my heart.

We knew each other before Facebook; we knew each other when cell phones were rare. So, I don’t know where he lives now or if he is happy or if he still prays.

But! Here’s the foreshadowing I would have casually included if this were a novel. My freshman year, in this same campus ministry, a different bible study, the student leader expressed amusement at the New Testament text of Luke 1:8-13, where the priest Zechariah was chosen to enter the so-holy-only-one-at-a-time part of the temple and pray for the people and an angel greeted him and said, “Your prayer has been heard. God will give you a son.” And in that bible study I attended as a freshman, the student leader laughed and said,

“This high priest Zechariah was supposed to be praying for the forgiveness of the community. Probably that’s the words he said. But his heart was all about wanting a son. This means at least two things:

One, authority figures rarely do what they’re supposed to.

Two, God answers your heart, not your performance.

I love that.”

And I heard this exegesis and I loved it, too.

From a young age up to now and almost all my life, I’ve wanted to be famous. Who hasn’t? When I sung songs as a camp counselor around a campfire, I imagined myself on a stage in front of millions. When I doomscroll the news, I fantasize how I could craft policy and gather votes and pass out election buttons with my face on them. When I read a passage in a short story or novel that moves me, I think “I could have written this;” and if I’m being particularly uncharitable, I think, “I could have written this better.”

But, of course, I’m no rockstar. I’m not POTUS, not even an PTA officer. My publication history is so meager it’s better to leave off of my bio.

So, when I watch a movie my college friend has soundtracked, I’m reminded of that group prayer and how God heard what was in my heart, and after all these years and all the different soundtracks, when I hear my college friend’s music, beneath the swelling strings and atmospheric percussion, I also hear God and He’s scoffing at me.