'The Village'

'The Village' - Seesaw

I went and saw The Village a few nights ago with a mate.

Set in 1897, it’s about a group of people living a self-sustained communal way of life away from the rest of the world, much akin to the Amish. But besetting this seemingly close-knit and peaceful community are the ones they do not speak of – creatures that lurk in the woods surrounding the village. An uneasy truce has existed for many years between the villagers and the creatures – they do not go into the woods and in turn, the creatures do not enter the village. But a great dilemma arises when one of the main characters is injured and is in dire need of medication from the towns, for which without it, that person would surely die. Do the villagers watch the person die or do they break their oaths of never stepping foot into town again to get the medicine? Compounding the dilemma is that whoever leaves the village would also need to go through the woods to get to the town and then return via the same way.


'The Village' - Marked Door

At the same time, the uneasy truce between the villagers and those they do not speak of also appears to be ending as red marks begin to appear on the front doors of the villagers' houses. "It is a warning," said one village elder. When Tabitha Walker, one of the village elders' wife, senses her husband Edward entertaining thoughts of going into the town to get the medicine, she reminds him of the oath he’d once made. “You made an oath!” she exclaims. “You made an oath never to go back (to the towns) again!”

As I sat there watching the intensity of her plea for him to keep his oath, I could not but feel confronted by the weight of the choices I have made in my own life. As Tabitha pled with Edward not to break his oath, I was reminded of a song sung within some Christian circles. It goes like this. “I have decided to follow Jesus. No turning back, no turning back. The world behind me, the cross before me. No turning back, no turning back.” It’s very cheesy especially if you hear me sing it, which is not such a good thing, but I used to sing it when I was a new Christian.

One of the paradoxes of Christian faith, I think, is that it is easy and difficult at the same time. It is one of the easiest faiths to believe, yet also one of the most difficult to embrace at the same time. People have asked me if I ever have doubts about my Christian faith, about my beliefs, about God, about the things that I believe in. I think it would be fair to say that yes, I do. There have been days when I’ve woken up with doubts that ran so deep down into the abyss of my soul that cut my heart and made my blood run cold. One constant question has remained the same throughout the years. “What if…? What if I am wrong about everything, about God, about all that I’ve believed?”

I live with that tension alongside the many other tensions of my life. But in a way, it’s a good tension. Because it makes everything that I believe in, precisely what it is and what it should be – faith. And faith is usually strengthened each time it faces and survives an onslaught of 'doubt attack'. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating blind faith in anything and everything, but rather in rational faith – albeit, one that still requires us to make a leap of faith eventually in order to make ‘faith’ exactly what it is – faith.

After all, the Almighty wouldn’t be quite who it/he/she claims to be if I could come to a point where I could say I totally understood everything about God and the universe in its entirety. If that were the case, I would have great suspicions about the originality and cleverness of that god, to have been so easily outwitted and outsmarted by its very own creation – us mere mortals. I would be highly suspicious of such a god and would more than likely conclude that it was a man-made imagination in the first place and not at all that very divine. I mean, would God still be that Almighty if mere mortals could totally understand and know everything about it/him/her/whatever? For me, my belief in God began years ago as a kid when I simply accepted the notion and existence of a higher power without question. My little mind could not comprehend the lack of one – not because I could prove it either (no-one can) but for selfish, parasitic reasons which I will explain further later on.

C.S. Lewis once wrote, “The humblest of us, in the state of Grace, can have some ‘knowledge-by-acquaintance’, some ‘tasting’ of Love Himself; but man even at his highest sanctity and intelligence has no direct ‘knowledge about’ the ultimate Being – only analogies. We cannot see light, though by light we can see things. Statements about God are extrapolations from the knowledge of other things which divine illumination enables us to know.” The Four Loves p152.

When I was at university doing my undergrad, a friend of mine who is now chasing twisters in Oklahoma (last I heard anyway), had become a Christian only a year or two prior to us meeting. When he confessed to me one time that he’d sometimes imagine God as a father figure tucking him into bed on some nights, I smiled because I thought that was a very cute image – for a 19- or 20-year-old guy – of being tucked into bed like a little boy. But I too understood where he was coming from. There is something very innately powerful and soothing I find for me about the concept of God as a Father, even if perplexing at times (especially concerning the notion of the 'Trinity' in Christian spirituality).

For me, my belief in God or in some higher being out there helped ease much of the loneliness I’d felt and provided a much-desired father figure role, albeit one I still couldn’t see and touch, but one whom at least I thought wasn’t emotionally distant. At least with this substitute father figure role, I got constantly told that he loved me and I could access him everywhere anytime. God was like a genie in the lamp for me. When I needed company or comforting, I would rub the lamp, and out he would come, to meet me. I told him elaborate stories and listened and watched for signs of his movement around me. And the best thing was he would never ignore my calls or reject me – “nothing could stop him from loving me”, was what they told me. And I eagerly clutched onto this too-good-to-be true benign being, God on tap, so to speak. Such was the understanding of a little boy’s mind.

Now, let me take you back to The Village again. Love eventually compels the lover of the dying person to brave the woods and seek medicine outside the village, inviting her own death by tempting the creatures they do not speak of. This act of courage was borne out of her sacrificial love (perhaps what CS Lewis would term as ‘Gift-Love’) and ‘Need-Love’ for the dying person. For she was certain that any hope in herself for living thereafter should her beloved die, would surely also be snuffed out. Love was the driving force behind her action.

As I sat there engrossed and caught up in the drama of watching the person fumbling fearfully through the woods (and yes, there is a twist to the story in the end but you can read the critics' reviews on that yourself), I realised how much love – to love and be loved – is a central part of human existence and how much of a compelling driving force it can be when harnessed or directed towards a cause or a goal. Hmm. No big revelation here, I guess.

But it did remind me why I haven’t yet thrown in the towel in regards to my commitment to Christian spirituality. That a god is powerful, sovereign, almighty, benevolent or angry is common enough a theme and notion. But to say God is Love and that God is and was the original source of Love itself, and that the whole story of creation and subsequent redemption of it (according to Christian spirituality) was done so out of Love and not out of necessity on God’s part (as CS Lewis suggests) is a wacky enough notion, one that I cannot to this day, brush aside without thinking there’s more to it than meets the eye.

CS Lewis writes, “We begin at the real beginning, with love as the Divine energy. This primal love is Gift-love. In God, there is no hunger that needs to be filled, only plenteousness that desires to give. The doctrine that God was under no necessity to create – the universe, the world, and mankind (italics mine) – is not a piece of dry scholastic speculation. It is essential. If I may dare the biological image, God is a ‘host’ who deliberately creates His own parasites; causes us to be that we may exploit and ‘take advantage’ of Him. Herein is love. This is the diagram of Love Himself, the inventor of all loves.” p154.

And for me, I cannot think of a better love story in history than that of the one who had willingly gone through the woods in order to bring back the medicine for a dying me. It is a story that has time and time again quelled the doubts that tell me it’s not worth giving my life back to Love in return. Anyhow, I hope it's not too confusing for y'all.

Click here for The Village on IMDB.


'The Village' - Rocking Chair