Face challenges with child-like optimism.
One of Clint Eastwood’s most popular films, “Gran Torino,” told the story of a hardened veteran named Walt Kowalski whose character was best summed up by the way he stood in front of his house and yelled at neighborhood children, “Get off my lawn.” His had been a difficult life, and he had lost the ability to see anything hopeful beyond the pain.
As Christmas dawns and we near the close of 2017, it seems that Kowalski’s character is appearing more and more in our world. The politics of our day, the constant pain of terrorist violence and the fear that accompanies it, sexual exploitation in the workplace, the deep polarization of our culture, the growing gap between rich and poor, the ongoing reality of racism, threats to our security both home and abroad, the creeping loneliness we feel born of enhanced technologies that claim to connect us — these and so many other realities have colored our view of the world. We are more cynical, more jaded, more negative than I can ever recall.
Lest we think such a season is unique to this culture, Matthew Arnold wrote of exactly such a time in his poem “Dover Beach,” a classic from 150 years ago: “The Sea of Faith was once, too, at the full … But now I only hear its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, retreating, to the breath of the night-wind...”
Faith and hope indeed seem to be beating a path toward the exit, but there is an antidote to the darkness that seems to pull at the edges of our lives and it is found in the faces of children. It’s called wonder. As adults, we seem to have lost what children so naturally and easily possess: hope and expectation that this life can be beautiful. Rob Renfroe defines wonder as “believing there is more to this world than the eye beholds; to look for the beauty in what God has done and allow yourself to be amazed by a story you’ve heard a hundred times.”
It is why we resonate with the essence of Christmas. Regardless of our faith or background, we delight in the wonder of children who thrill at the expectations of this season, of gifts being given and family drawing together and love being expressed. It’s why I think Jesus said we needed to be like children to truly know the things of God. We need those childlike qualities of unbridled joy, relentless faith and unflagging optimism such that we never cease to believe in ourselves or the wonder of what we can accomplish.
It is for that same reason that our family will read the “Polar Express” on Christmas Eve for the 25th consecutive year. Yes, it’s a children’s book, but we continue to read it because I never want to forget the wonder of those years when our children believed it, when their eyes were as big as saucers as they considered a world of limitless possibility, and I want them to remember that it’s still true. I don’t want to be the man who yells “get off my lawn,” but I want to be the one who knows the beauty and wonder that can exist in this world when we start seeing those around us instead of walking past them every day, head down staring at our screens.
Yes, the world is a place of evil and darkness. In my job, I see it every day, but that’s not all the world is. It’s still a world of remarkable beauty when we get outside of ourselves and give, when we risk loving and serving others, the very thing that makes our lives meaningful and other lives flourish. In my faith commitment, that model comes from the incarnation — God becoming human in Jesus.
What changed Walt Kowalski from a grumpy old man into a person of loving self-sacrifice was when he recaptured his own sense of wonder and possibility. He overcame the pain of his past to once again embrace the beauty of life when offered for others. Don’t ever stop believing that. No matter your pain or failures or the daunting challenges which face our world, go be the difference. Go give yourself away with the reckless abandon of a child and just see what might await you down that road.
Merry Christmas.