During quarantine, two of the best movies I’ve seen have been two documentaries: The Last Dance, featuring Michael Jordan and the 1998 Chicago Bulls, and Free Solo, featuring Alex Honnold and his free solo climb (i.e. without rope) of El Capitan. It’s fair to say that Jordan and Honnold are perhaps the two greatest athletes in their fields of all time.
Jordan and Honnold certainly have different personalities–Jordan is petty, ruthless, and unhealthily competitive; Honnold is intense and passionate too but seems to have a “whatever will be will be” attitude even during his riskiest climbs. Yet a common theme I noticed in both of these documentaries is the impact of the words their parents spoke to them as children.
In The Last Dance, we learn that when Jordan was younger, his father favored Jordan’s older brother (who at the time was the better basketball player), and how his dad once disappointedly told him to “get back in the house with the women.” Jordan’s sister writes, “It was my father’s early treatment of him and Daddy’s declaration of his worthlessness that became the driving force that motivated him.”
In Free Solo, Honnold talks about how “in his entire life, no one in his family had ever used the L-word (love).” Honnold’s dad frequently demeaned him when he was younger, and his mom’s favorite sayings were “Almost doesn’t count,” or “Good enough isn’t.” Honnold, probably one of the most accomplished climbers in the world, talks about how he feels that “No matter how well I ever do at anything, it’s not that good.”
In reflecting on these two I’ve thought about how profoundly the voices we hear shape and influence us, and of course on what voices I’ve allowed to shape me. I think about mixed messages I hear as a kid; on the one hand, my dad’s favorite refrain to me as a child–“As long as you try your best, you are the best”–often comes to me and brings comfort when my plans don’t go as I’d hoped or I encounter failure and disappointment. On the other hand, I can still remember my mom’s disappointment after I got a 44% on a math test in 4th grade; I can remember the silent and tense car ride home and the immediate enrolling in Saturday morning tutoring classes.
Whether through my parents, school, or media, somewhere along the line I learned that I’d be a failure if I wasn’t successful professionally; that what matters most are my accomplishments; that people only care about me because of what I do for them. I’ve spent years now trying to unlearn and unhear these voices, though frankly I’m not sure they’ll ever go away.
As Christians, at the end of all our theology, our musings and reflections, our prayers and worship, lies the simple but bottomless truth that we are God’s chosen and beloved children. God’s words to Jesus, “You are my Son, and with you I am well pleased,” are spoken not just to Christ but over all of us as well. The Christian life can be difficult and challenging, and ultimately I think cannot be sustained apart from the continual reminder of this truth.
I pray that even during this crazy, quarantined time, you all would hear the words of God spoken over you and try your best to allow them to speak more loudly than the others in your life. If we might let them, these words can serve as an antidote to all the voices around us that tell us we are not enough, and can move us to deeper relationship with our God and with each other.
I swore to myself 10 years ago I would never watch Korean dramas because I thought they were ridiculously melodramatic. But, given the current global pandemic, the presidency of a imbecile, social unrest and injustice, various natural disasters, wars, famines, corruption…and an unforeseeable end to “social distancing” in America…what we would have generally regarded as melodramatic in the past is now just our reality. Basically, I started watching Korean dramas during the quarantine and now that’s all I watch… quarantine changes people, okay? In all seriousness, I am excited to share with you what I’ve been learning about God having watched the new Korean drama called “It’s Okay Not to Be Okay”!
Short Synopsis: The story surrounds three main characters who have faced vastly different traumas and experiences in their childhoods. The protagonist Moon Gang Tae works as a mental health care worker in a psychiatric hospital. Gang Tae centers his life around his autistic older brother, Moon Sang Tae, whom he has been the only caretaker for more than half his life. The Moon brothers grow an unlikely relationship with the famous children’s author Ko Mun Yeong, who has often found that her antisocial personality traits isolate her from intimacy with others. In their growing friendships, the three of them inevitably push each other to accept the pain of their pasts, discover healing for their inner wounds, and seek connection and meaning in their lives.
The Zombie Kid: Without spoiling too much, I will share with you a snippet of what I believe to be one of the most powerful and pivotal moments of the whole show. Mun Yeong had just released a new children’s book, which was heavily criticized for its grotesque illustrations and cynical writing. Gang Tae still cannot understand why his innocent, child-like brother Sang Tae could love Mun Yeong’s every book, though everything she writes is dark and depressing. It is not until Episode 4 that Gang Tae finally reads her book, “The Zombie Kid” and realizes that her books tell her story, as if they were her secret attempt to find connection with others. The story goes something like this…
“Once upon a time, a baby boy was born in a small village. He had pale skin and large eyes. As the child grew, his mother eventually realized that the child had no emotions whatsoever. All he had was a desire to eat, like a zombie. So his mother locked the child in the basement so that the villagers would not see or pry about him. Every night, she stole livestock from her neighbors to feed him. That’s how she raised him in secret. One night, she would steal a chicken. The next day, she would steal a pig. After many years living like that, a plague broke out in the village. It left all remaining livestock dead, and many people in the village died. Those who managed to survive all left the village. But the mother could not leave her son all alone. And to appease her son crying of hunger, she cut off one of her legs and gave it to him. After that, she gave him her arm. In fact, she gave all her limbs. When she was left with nothing but her torso, she embraced her son for the last time to let him devour what was left of her. With both his arms, the boy tightly held his mother’s torso and spoke for the first time in his life. ‘Mom…you’re so warm.’ So what did the boy really want? To satiate his hunger? Or to feel his mother’s warmth?”
The Zombie Kid
This troubling ending ushers Gang Tae into a state of grief. As he cries, Gang Tae’s feelings of jealousy, rejection, and sadness resurface as he recalls memories of his mother’s affectionate embrace towards Sang Tae, a reality he never experienced. Gang Tae can only recall his mother’s harsh reprimands and reminders that he was born to take care of his brother. Gang Tae had no choice but to abandon all his dreams and desires at a young age for the sake of Sang Tae’s well-being after their mother’s passing. It is cathartic to watch Gang Tae express all these emotions because he has played the role of the zombie kid his whole life until this point. Though Gang Tae has uncovered years of repressed anger, resentment, and grief, it is the only way for him to slowly unlearn the habit of running away from vulnerability. Mun Yeong’s book ultimately catapults Gang Tae onto a journey of healing, where he discovers not only the joy of uninhibited living, but also his genuine desire to be loved as he is, not for his usefulness.
As the author, Mun Yeong too identifies as the zombie kid. Unlike Gang Tae, however, Mun Yeong is impulsive, demanding, and loud. She eats a copious amount of food and drink. She dresses extravagantly and drives recklessly. She appears cold and unbothered by pain. In reality, Mun Yeong uses an intimidating persona to hide her inner vulnerable child whom all her life had been regarded by others as “a monster.” In other words, her antisocial personality traits have hindered her from making any meaningful connections with other people due to her seemingly heartless and twisted nature. Hence, Mun Yeong’s external appearance is at first incongruent with the depth and weight of the hidden messages in her books. But it becomes quite obvious that her stories represent her search for nurturing love, a warm embrace, or any sign that might refutes her label of “monster.” Gang Tae’s appearance by her side at the end of this episode provides that first spark of hope that perhaps she is not so monstrous after all. If even Gang Tae, a seemingly quiet and people-pleasing person, can share a silent moment of solidarity and authenticity with her, then maybe she is capable of connection, and maybe even being loved.
It’s Okay Not to be Okay – Episode 4
Our Greatest Telos: I cried for over an hour after watching this episode because it felt like I was watching my inner world being played out by Gang Tae, Sang Tae, and Mun Yeong. I have always struggled to separate my worth from the fruits of my labor. For me, it is difficult to believe that I could be lovable even if I were useless; or in other words, no one would love me if I wasn’t useful. In this way, I relate to Gang Tae. Perhaps it was how I grew up that I learned I am not enough unless I do something that benefits others. My low self-esteem sometimes pushed me to sabotage good things in my life. Maybe it was my own anxiety that convinced me I ought to hide the monster in me with good deeds. That way people won’t see who I really am or how I really feel. In this way, I relate to Mun Yeong.
As I reflect on my insights about myself and the story of this show, I can’t help but think about the miserable, aimless lives we would live if not for our God-given telos. That is, humans were created to love and be loved. I am convicted that we have no greater purpose than this. Yes, callings, service, passions, family, community, happiness, etc are certainly wonderful purposes and probably necessary for a fulfilling life. However, when all is stripped away, before creation and after the new, what permeates past the dimensions of time and space and limitations of human understanding? The answer must be Love.
For love, we were created. Through love, we now breathe. In love, we now can be. In realizing that loving and being loved is our ultimate telos, we become more like God because we become more human. That is, we are human beings because God himself, who made humankind in his image, is the Greatest Being (…also the greatest at “being”). Even before time began, God was literally just being in love. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit danced in perfect harmony as they shared love among each other. God was never in want, so creation had no utilitarian purpose. We were not created for our usefulness, but for us to be invited to join in holy communion with the Triune God.
Gang Tae and Mun Yeong discover this ultimate telos in their journey together, holding space for each other’s baggage, messy pasts, and deep internal wounds. When they both accept the invitation to heal, they find freedom to be their authentic selves and all their broken parts because no one is running away out of fear that they are too broken to love. Like them, we as the Church have a unique gift of walking with one another in the Spirit of Christ! We can be broken, wounded, and just all around crappy, and still there is room at the Table for you, even when you’re useless.
![It's Okay to Not Be Okay | Episode 4 Epilogue | Netflix [ENG SUB] - YouTube](https://i0.wp.com/i.ytimg.com/vi/_aGYrEcl-Vw/maxresdefault.jpg?w=474&ssl=1)
