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.

Thor

I have this friend. I’mma call him Thor. Why, you ask? Because I could swear that his great-great-great-great-great-great-grandpappy was a Viking. While my friend’s beard and hair are always well kept and trimmed short, do not be fooled. He is a mass of furry Viking fury waiting to be unleashed, and is completely capable of growing a full, thick strawberry tinged facemask. His beard is not the only thing that is thick and tough however.

But Thor’s Viking ways are not limited to appearances. Let me expound with the example of drinking a smoothie. Actually, what I saw him drinking the other day would be more accurately described as a cross between a pina-colata and a frapacchino. He was drinking it out of one of those cups you usually put the Icees in at the 7-11. You know, the ones with the tops that look like shrunken versions of the roof of Wembly Stadium? Also, the cup was not made out of the hard processed and pressed cardboard/plastic alloy that is near indestructible; it was the same flimsy, clear plastic as the top that topped it.

Now, on to the preferred method of drinkablility: a straw is used in this mode of drinking, no surprise. But each sip is more of a slurp and is loud and long. After each straw-full of liquid goodness taken into the mouth, there follows three satisfied smacks. Not two, not five… three.

Finally he finished with a loud: “THHHHHHHHHHHLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPP!!!!!!!! NTAP! NTAP! NTAP!”

Just like that. Now, onto the ice. First, off comes the plastic top with a loud: “THOP!” He tilts the cup back, and let’s the rabid ice cubes attack his face in mass. Thor, however, is not a greedy man, and only takes about three or so. Crunching them happily, he replaces the top with an even louder: “POP!”

Sadly, he realizes that three ice cubes was simply not enough. He must have more. He must have more now. He goes through the exact same routine about 15 more times, each time only taking about three to four cubes into his mouth. Finally, the cubes are gone. Finally the others at the table may continue their conversation.

No… I lied. Onwards to “Drinking a Drink Out of a Disposable Cup, Part 3: THE DESTRUCTON OF THE CUP!!!!!”

This is a thought out and meticulous process, exacting as much pain and suffering on the piece of plastic hardware as possible. The top is the first to go. Digging his fingers in through the open roof of the cover, Thor slowly tears away strips of the screaming translucent shelter that had once held drink safe and protected. No more! The cup shall be conquered!

Eventually the plastic top is nothing but shreds of useless nothingness. The cup is crushed like an abused top hat, and Thor is grinning from ear to ear. He is victorious!

If it had been a Styrofoam cup, he would have eaten it.

The Kids

Sometimes I wonder: why am I here?

"To glorify God and enjoy Him forever. Duh!"

But... but that answer is so enigmatic, so opaque.

"That's a horrible thing to say... you realize that, right?"

Well, yes... but no. I mean, how does that play itself out? How can I grab hold of that purpose and run with it? How can I make it my own?

*other voice is silent*

This is a conversation that I often have with myself. Life gets long, and it is incredibly short at the same time. It seems to drag on and on and on, and then the good bits just fly by like a Chinese rockets, bursting into a glorious spectacle of flame and then gone.

It took me a while, but I remembered something: the kids. Those little mites that are between 2 and 4 feet tall. The ones that feel more deeply than I can at this point in my life. The ones that laugh louder, cry harder, and set their eyes on goals with a fury that I can scarcely even imagine attaining myself.

I was that young once. I am not anymore. I have tried pretending to be that young again, but it rarely (if ever) works. More often than not I simply end up shirking duties that I DO have, and the short bout of childishness ends up not fulfilling after all. I need to stop kidding myself (pun not intended, honest), I am now an adult. We ALL need to stop kidding ourselves. Our attempts at innocence and childishness often fall so short of the real thing. Why is this? Because we spend too much time with other adults and far too little time with real children. We should just watch them. Watch. Listen. Learn.

Not only that... but we ought to invest. We ought to be investing in those that will come after us. Take their fire and use it to stoke yours. Share the spark that they have not yet lost. Chase down your life with as much passion as they do. This is not easy. In fact, it may be one of the most difficult things in the world. Jesus commanded we become like little children. I know you've probably heard that a million times... but think about it: Jesus commanded it. Since when did Jesus command us to do anything that was easy?

In summary: Being a kid is tough. Don't kid yourself. But don't stop trying, because, in a word, it's why we're here.

Nothing Quite Like It

The strangest things can take you out of yourself. As humans, fallible and fallen, we often focus inward, looking for something to cling to. That thing may be good or bad (at least our perception of it seems so), but in reality it is usually bad. Introspection has a brother, his name is Selfishness.

Grocery shopping in a haze of numb stupidity, I notice a boy, small even from a 8 year-old's point of view, running around the snack section screaming. Following close behind is a man with the happiest and good natured of faces. He is yelling almost as loud as the boy.

I stop what I'm doing and just watch, a smile spreading across my face as I do so. A father and son, playing, rejoicing, completely oblivious to the shoppers surrounding them. If an attendant of the store had tried to interrupt them, I doubt that either of the two would have paid any attention what-so-ever.

Stop looking inside. Look out. Pay attention.