Angels and Demons

Have you ever noticed how our culture has a fascination with angels and demons?

It seems that people are okay with having a benevolent individual to look out for them, kind of like a geni who can rub a bottle and make all dreams and wishes come true. Or a demon with the capabilities of  causing an individual to act out irrationally, perhaps the catalyst behind all wrong human actions.

You see, both angels and demons remove personal responsibility from actions and outcomes, and thus are much easier to square with modern depictions of reality than an all knowing Creator. There isn't any accountability. Only a benefactor or a force, either for good or evil, completely removed from the individual.

My grandmother's favorite Christmas symbol is an angel, its enveloping wings welcoming one with open arms. It is as if an angel has the ability to erase sin and undo wrong. In most Hollywood films, the angel  grants a second chance. A chance for renewal. A do-over.

In a recent movie I watched, A Little Bit of Heaven, Whoopi Goldberg is Marley's (Kate Hudson's) angel. Marley is recently diagnosed with terminal cancer and the Whoopi character gives her three wishes.


Immediately, Marley tells the angel her first two wishes: She wants to fly, and she wants a million dollars. But her third wish she puts on hold. Like a fairy godmother in Cinderella, Marley's wishes are granted. But they prove to be largely unsatisfying. Until her third wish: to fall in love.

Eventually, Marley meets a sweet young man, her doctor, named Julian. As they take an evening stroll, Marley asks Julian if he believes in God. He says no. Her reply, "You know what, I'm really jealous of people who believe in God, of people who are so sure where they are going after they die."

The conversation ends there, and you get an inkling that she might have wasted her third wish. Of course, the theme of love is something that almost every human being can grasp or at least have a cursory understanding of. The love of a Savior, they long for, but prefer to stick with the wish-granting angel instead.

As the story takes it's predictable course of action, Marley dies right after she professes her love for Julian and Julian finally says that he does, in fact, love her, too! Her eyes close. The music becomes somber and she passes away.

Despite the fact that I knew she would ultimately die in the end, I found myself crying over her passing. She was godless... but at least she had an angel, right? That's the message the movie sent. And as all the people were standing around mourning her death, I couldn't help but cry for their emptiness.

Before her death, Marley sweetly remarks, "I want to put the F-U-N back in funeral." And rejoice in her memory they did. But the ending was so empty.

You see, things are different when a Christian passes on. Rather than worshipping the legacy of the past person, we worship the saving grace and mercy of our Savior. A person's passing is a time of rejoicing in Christ's sacrifice, not in human achievement. There is an acknowledgement and a surety that God, not just angels and heaven, do exist!

The renewal, the do-over, if you will, comes through Christ's death on the cross, long before you or I were ever born. In choosing Christ, there is renewal, there is sanctification. There is assurance and finality in our fate.

Culture's recognition of the ethereal points to the understanding that Christ has written eternity on the hearts of all men. But it's complete denial of any deity speaks to it's confusion. Perhaps we aren't making the message clear enough.

A recognition of the ethereal yet a denial of a deity. That is one of the many cultural twists on Biblical principles that manipulates truth into a cultural lie.

Marley had good reason to be jealous of people of faith. "Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine..." is something all Christians openly acknowledge. I wish that Marley had found that, that the Hollywood producers would have recognized her true desires. But I guess that wish will have to wait for another day.

Lessons from "My Lazarus"

As I had so many times before, I walked past the homeless man, a pang in my heart as I saw his blue gray eyes gaze in want at those who simply passed him by.

I was one of those people. And like the many times before, I did not stop to help. The typical concerns plagued my mind. Wasn't it unsafe for me as a woman to help a homeless man. All I had right now was money, and even that was in the form of a debit card. Even if I did have cash, wouldn't he just use it to buy alcohol or drugs? And I comforted myself with the thought that I was not fueling some neurotic addiction. Perhaps my passive brush off was better for him after all...

But the image of him kept coming back to me. And the same thoughts that usually plagued me after I have come to the conclusion that what I did was right, began to haunt me. How had he gotten to this point? His misshapen appearance, and eyes ever wanting, with nothing to fill his mind, his heart, or his stomach. Was he, like so many Americans, out of work because of the economic downturn? Did his parents kick him out? Did he have a wife or kids?

To this day, I don't know his story, and likely never will. I was disappointed in myself.

As I ventured into the local Starbucks for my lunch break, I sat down and opened up my Bible. I have been reading through Luke. And that day, it just so happened that the passage I was reading was the story of Lazarus, sitting at the gates of the rich man, his sores so bad that even the dogs licked them. All that Lazarus wanted was to eat of the scraps of the rich mans table, the leftovers. But even that he was denied.

Most of us are familiar with the story of Lazarus, the rich man ends up in hell and Lazarus in heaven. As he rots in hell, the rich man begs Lazarus to "dip his finger in water and let it touch the tip of his tongue". In short, the rich man is miserable and he begs that Abraham and Lazarus tell his ancestors that God does exist and that heaven and hell are very, very real.

Abraham's reply: They have the prophets, but not even if a man was raised from the dead would their hearts believe.

How striking! The poor man seated at the hand of one of one of the greatest men of the Bible, and the rich man burning in hell. The prediction of Christ's resurrection laid out before both of them.

The story was convicting enough. And I soon began to tear down the street searching for the closest ATM I could find. I took out some money for the homeless man I had seen. My Lazarus. I would not neglect him.

For the first time in my life, those thoughts that had plagued me became a non-issue. This was not about me, or about the homeless man, this was about whether or not I had enough faith in God that He would use the funds as a blessing.

But that's still not entirely what the story of Lazarus is about. Sure, it's about doing unto the least of these. And of course, it has to do with loving and caring for the poor, and speaking up for the oppressed. But more than anything, it was about recognizing that Christ is so much bigger than my finite mind and actions.

As I rounded the street corner, and looked at the spot where "My Lazarus" was seated, I saw that it was empty. I had missed my chance. He was gone. I have not seen that homeless man again. I ended up giving the money I had extracted from the ATM to another homeless man, but it still struck me that I had literally missed my chance.

And I was distraught. Again.

But I had learned my lesson: Whether I gave money, or food, or something to drink, or a blanket, I have the proof of Christ right in front of me and it's just got to be shared. Even if a man is raised from the dead, and He was, many will not believe. But the next time the Holy Spirit brings an individual, homeless or not, to your attention, perhaps it's because that homeless person is one of the few, like Lazarus, that will see the light of heaven. If only you will share...