Audience of One

Musings on longing

Posted at 6:28 PM

What does it mean to be satisfied? If I’m hungry, then to be satisfied means to eat. If I’m thirsty, it means to drink. If I long for security… what’s it mean then? A safe home to go to? A parent or spouse to look after me? A job to provide me with the money I need?

What if I long for acceptance? If the group of people I want to be part of accepts me, am I truly satisfied, or am I fearful they might find out who I am and reject me? What if I long to be part of a loving community? I look everywhere for one, and when I find one, it quickly becomes essential. What if it’s taken from me? What if someone from it hurts me?

What does it mean to be satisfied? Is it even possible?

I’ve written before about similar themes, but the idea struck me again recently, as I was watching the Joss Whedon TV series Dollhouse. The final episode showed us characters we’d grown to know a few years on from the previous episode. A lot of it showed us relationships, community and camaraderie that hadn’t been possible before. The episode ended with bittersweet hope – an imperfection that seemed to press onwards to something better, an aspiration coming out of a horrific past. You were left wanting more.

More of what, though? More episodes? Well, yes – but the final episode was of such a different style that I don’t think that was all. There was more – there was a desire to see a conclusion. You were left on a cliffhanger in many ways, and it was unsatisfying – not just because we always want to know what happens next (or in this case, what happens before too), but because we instinctively think there’s something better to come. There’s got to be a conclusion.

Why? Practically speaking, there doesn’t necessarily have to be one. Fox could cancel the series before anything is resolved (hello, Firefly). Joss Whedon could decide to write a distinctly unsatisfying ending as an artistic statement (hello, Dr Horrible). We want a conclusion, yes, but don’t we also feel like we should get one?

If the metanarrative we live under is evolutionary, then this is the opposite of what we should expect: we should expect survival of the fittest, no order or reason to the world. But there’s a desire, somewhere, that we strive to satisfy, that makes no sense if we live in a world merely of chaos. Where does the human striving for eternity and infinity come from? Why do we have such desires unless there’s something that can satisfy them?

Sticking with Joss Whedon TV shows, let’s think briefly about Firefly. If you don’t know, Firefly was cancelled after thirteen episodes, yet spawned a vast fanbase who were successful enough in their campaigning that Whedon got to direct a sequel in the form of a major studio movie (Serenity). The focus of the show is the crew of a smuggling ship on a future Wild West type frontier (in space). The community created around Mal Reynolds, the captain, is central, and even the place they all live (the spaceship Serenity) is described by Whedon as the “tenth character”. What constitutes home is a recurring theme, particularly between the ship’s mechanic Kaylee and the ship’s doctor Simon (formerly very rich, but now roughing it while fleeing the police). For Kaylee, the ship is home; Simon can’t see it that way, but begins to change as the people begin to mean more and more to him.

The series ends with the sister-like banter between two of the female crew members: Kaylee and River playing a game together. The series ends, and Browncoats (the name taken by the fan community) the world over mourn and petition the network to order a second season. Why such a strong reaction? Yes, it’s excellent TV and the series ends with unanswered questions. But is there something more? Is the community portrayed throughout the series something we want to see more of; something we desire for ourselves? I’m beginning to think it is.

Where we are in Bible history is in the now and the not yet, the groaning before the recreation of all things. Christ has won the victory, and we’re waiting for the consummation. We mourn our messed-up world, and yet we have a certain hope in a glorious future through the resurrection of Christ. Life can be bittersweet. Isn’t this why these things resonate with us so much? I enjoy watching the film where everything isn’t perfect by the end, because it’s real, but it can’t satisfy in itself – surely it points, albeit unknowingly, to something else?

Zach Braff’s film Garden State is such a film. Andrew Largeman, Braff’s character, starts the film with medication suppressing his emotions, but gradually experiences more as the film progresses. About two-thirds of the way through, he has a discussion with Sam, played by Natalie Portman, about what home is:

You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? … It just sort of happens one day, one day and it’s just gone. And you can never get it back. It’s like you get homesick for a place that doesn’t exist. I don’t know maybe it’s like this rite of passage, you know. You won’t have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start. It’s like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.

The film ends with the line “I don’t know”. In some ways the film is completely unrealistic, but its conclusion seems more real than yet another perfect Hollywood romance. Real, but is it satisfying? Don’t we want the Disney ending?

The metanarrative of the Bible is a love story, whose hero dies and is raised from the dead in order to win for himself a spotless bride. The Bible story is real – it fits with our desires, how the world is – and it’s true. Ask questions, tear it apart, see how it works – it makes sense of how the world is. And its story is glorious.

There’s so much out there in the world that is raising a longing in people – a longing for community, for home, for security, for love, for acceptance, for peace, for beauty. It’s found in films, in TV, in the papers each day. If we keep looking, it’s found in the questions our friends are asking, the emotions they’re feeling, the people they spend time with, the films they enjoy. The gospel is what they need; the Bible story that tells us why things are bittersweet now, but also why we can be “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing” because of a future hope. As we tell people about Jesus, let’s not forget that he alone satisfies, as the water of life held out to the thirsty. Let’s not forget that he is beautiful if eyes are opened to see him; to follow him is good and right. Christianity is not just a belief system, but an incredible encounter with the God who made us, and provides a hope of one day, every tear being wiped away and every longing satisfied.

We’re quite good in dealing with the mind and reason in our apologetics; let’s endeavour to engage the heart too. I’ve met so many people this year for whom the intellectual arguments mean nothing; they just can’t see the attraction in coming to Christ. Let’s show them why it’s glorious.