Joy, Scott Pilgrim and Understanding Your Own Narrative

Over the past several years I have written countless blurbs and essays on pop culture. Currently I am trying to stray away from that, as I am slowly realizing that obsessing over pop culture detracts from establishing Christian culture. If you are simply a vacuum sucking up the Cheerios on the floor, it will be very hard for you to turn that into a work of fine art.

However comma, I’ve decided that I want to revisit my dear friend Scott Pilgrim. The other night I was in one of my pensive moods and decided to cobble together a list of 10 books (not including the Bible) that I consider to be the most important to me; books that have shaped my worldview in some significant way or another, books that I believe to be the best things I have ever read. The list was going along very nicely at first, but then I suddenly realized that I had listed Bryan Lee O’Malley’s nerd comic with the likes of Shakespeare, C.S. Lewis and Plato. What on earth? But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

My inclusion of Scott Pilgrim among my 10 favorite works of literature goes far beyond my love of the visual nature of the comic book medium. Yes the art is lovely; yes it is charmingly funny in an annoying little brother sort of way. But none of those things make it quote, unquote “great literature.” An excellent story is the mark of great literature. Nothing more, and nothing less.
Earlier that evening, I had gone to my weekly Bible study and we were just starting a new study on James. I realize that when many people think about the book of James, they think about the whole justification by works controversy and all that comes with it. I don’t think that’s a fair assessment of James, but that is a conversation for another time. One of the OTHER main themes of James, however, is joy. Overwhelming, pervasive joy.

Our Bible study leader challenged us to come up with a working definition of joy, and we all proceeded to toss words and ideas around. One of the things we had to deal with of course was James 1:2-3: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.”

Suddenly, it dawned on me. One of the big problems we have in the church is that pastors, elders and fellow Christians will offer you platitudes and moralisms and tell you to “count it all joy, friend!” when you tell them about some tough situation you are going through. This is just wrong, and has never sat well with me.

While their exhortations to joy are all well and good… NEEDED even, they are going about it the wrong way. When I go up to someone and tell them I am having a rough time at work or school, or that I just got out of a really messy relationship, or that my best friend died, the WRONG response is for the person I am talking to give me a crap-eating grin and say: “Consider it joy, Josiah!” That will most likely result in a punch in the face.

What did they do wrong? It wasn’t them telling me to be joyful, it was them telling me to be joyful divorced from everything else. Them problem is that they said only “joy” and not “joy in context.” Because that is what I realized joy is: it is properly understanding the narrative and story that you are in. Of course, for an atheist, properly understanding the story you are in results in a rather different virtue… namely despair.

But if you understand that this moment, this pain that you are in now is part of the larger story that is meant to build you up into a well rounded and mature character, how can you not count it joy? Take Les Miserables for example: Jean Valjean goes through a lot of crap over the course of that narrative… and I mean a LOT. He’s thrown in prison, slogs through a sewer, falls off a ship, sins against others, is sinned against himself… but this is all for his glory. All of that pain and suffering becomes heroism and glory in the context of the story, which itself leads up to him showing the greatest mercy to his arch nemesis and then giving away his daughter to a deserving husband. The story is glorious, and would in NO way be the same if the pain and trials were not there as well. The story ITSELF becomes glorious and a joy.

So what on earth does all of this have to do with Scott Pilgrim? EVERYTHING. Throughout the story of Scott Pilgrim, Scott is going around beating up “bad guys” in vicious fights to the death, stars swirl, lights dance and stat points pop up in the air beside characters. It’s ridiculous and over the top in the way a mash up of Singing in the Rain and Street Fighter might me. But once you get to the sixth book, you realize that there was a method to O’Malley’s madness.

Halfway through book six, Scott goes up against his alterego: the “Nega Scott!” It’s ridiculous like most of the rest of the series, but half way through this physically personified fight between Scott and his evil nature, his old flame and pretty much only friend, Kim Pine yells at him:

“You can’t keep living like this, Scott! If you keep forgetting the mistakes you’ve made, you’re just going to keep making them!”

Suddenly, the two versions of Scott stop, melt into one… and then Scott collapses on the ground and sobs: “I remember everything.” From there the entire tone of the series changes. Scott realizes that he had become a sort of villain, using his delusions of grandeur and heroism to justify himself treating his friends like crap and jumping from one relationship to another. He realizes that he had painted himself as the protagonist of the story when he was in fact no such thing. Then, after that realization, he humbles himself, admits his failings… and then he really CAN be the protagonist.

There are many things that are trite and/or uncalled for in the Scott Pilgrim series… but the overarching narrative is not one of them. There is nothing trite about admitting you behaved like a imbecile, there is nothing trite about apologizing to your friends… there is nothing trite about giving up your eros and striving for agape.

Concerning Hobbits (Becoming an Adventurer Part III)

One of the problems with resolving to start a new adventure is of course that sudden realization that this is a pretty big deal and that it might involve blood and stuff. Blood can be fun occasionally… as long as it is not coming out of you. That is sort of the opposite of fun; although it makes for great stories afterwards.

But you can never see those stories before they happen, and your mind somehow finds the incredible ability to focus only on the negative aspects of going on an adventure. There is that temptation to just sit and plop down on your front step just after striding out the front door with so many good intentions.

Recently I read through the Hobbit to my little sister as a bedtime story over the course of three weeks or so. In addition to converting her into a Tolkien fan, I also found reading the story to be immensely convicting. Suddenly I found myself more closely related to Bilbo than ever before, his feelings on life the universe and everything. Often times during the day I find myself being sucking into the narcissistic hole of Facebook, watching my “friends” who seem to be living their lives while I... stagnate. And I'm jealous, but not nearly jealous enough to actually go and live my own life and have an adventure. "Horrible, nasty, uncomfortable things... make you late for supper!" the Baggins side of me screams.

I have grown so complacent and soft lately that the Took side of me is all but completely repressed. I no longer listen to it, and now the Baggins side is all depressed anyway, because staying in my Hobbit hole has gotten dreadfully dull. No one visits, no one really wants to since it's so gloomy in here. Every so often someone will come in from the town and make his way up my steps and knock on the door. I don't really want to answer it anymore though. For as soon as I do, they will simply let loose with a tirade of words and platitudes about what I am doing wrong. They will offer advice, books, words, pithy little sayings. None of it will help though. I know this.

The Baggins in me curls up, crosses his arms, sits on the floor and pouts. Not very polite or gracious, mind you, but he does it all the same. It's my father at the door. He wants me to go on an adventure. I continue to glower at him. He has all the audacity and spirit of a Took and all the practicality of a wizard. He is odd and I don't understand him, but all the same I cannot deny that he is a far greater hobbit than I am... sitting here moping and whining.

He's had many adventures, and I am quite sure that he has only told me a handful of all the tales he has been a part of. He's fought dragons and goblins aplenty, been in wars in far off lands, won a beautiful woman and then raised me... a little terror who now refuses to take his advice or even grace him with polite responses.

"Cheeky little sod."

I look around. That was most definitely not my father. He's off in the town planning his next adventure while I sit and sulk. It's coming.... from the Took. He had remained quite for so long that I had nearly forgotten he existed. He starts pushing me… he starts punching and kicking until I pick myself up from the front step and take another. It’s a small one, but it is a few feet further from my doorway.

As I continue to move away from my hole, the steps becoming easier… my stride becomes longer. I start to drop some of the bags I was carrying… I want to walk faster. I want to feel the grass fly between my toes like a smooth, shock-resistant carpet. I want to feel the wind howl by me like a freight train.

It has begun. This Took will have stories to tell when he returns home.