already & not yet

When Steven Speilberg’s Saving Private Ryan was released in 1998, I thought it was an immediate classic. It was hailed for its gritty, realistic depiction of the D-Day invasion at Omaha Beach in WWII and went on to win several Academy Awards.

The film follows the journey of Captain John H. Miller, played by Tom Hanks, who leads a small squadron of soldiers to locate Private First Class James Francis Ryan (Matt Damon) of the 101st Airborne Division. Three of Ryan’s brothers have been killed in combat and Miller is ordered to retrieve “Private Ryan,” who is missing behind enemy lines. After locating the titular private, Miller and his team help them hold a key bridge in the town of Ramelle.

In the film’s climactic final moments, Miller lies dying from a gunshot wound. As the music swells, Miller imparts his final words to Ryan: “Earn this.” Miller implores Ryan to “earn” this gift of life — implying that he must live a life worthy of the sacrifice made on his behalf.

Following this scene, the perspective shifts back to modern times where an elderly Ryan is visiting Miller’s grave. Speaking to the headstone (in the shape of a white cross), Ryan says, “Every day I think about what you said to me that day on the bridge. I tried to live my life the best that I could. I hope that was enough. I hope that, at least in your eyes, I’ve earned what all of you have done for me.” When Ryan’s wife draws near, he says to her, “Tell me I have led a good life. Tell me I’m a good man.” Even his very best efforts cannot assuage the unanswered questions in his soul.

I haven’t seen this film in years but for some unknown reason, I recently found myself reflecting on this final scene. I pulled up a couple of YouTube clips to watch it again and I must say: this ending is stirring on an emotional level. It engages in me both a deep sense of patriotism and a profound appreciation for the real life men and women upon whom Miller’s character is based. To critique at a philosophical and theological level is not akin to disrespecting those individuals who have served in our nation’s armed forces nor does it in any way impugn the tremendous sacrifices of such individuals. I hope that much is clear.

And yet, there is a critique here, at least a theological one.

The transformative moment in Saving Private Ryan hinges upon merit, upon the notion that one can somehow “earn” such a sacrifice. In the Spielberg worldview, this is explained in the exchange between the elderly Ryan and his wife. He needs to know that he’s lived “a good life” and that he’s been “a good man.” This, apparently, is what it means to earn the sacrifice and Ryan needs assurance that his debt has been paid. The subsequent moral value of such a life is to be assumed. As viewers, we don’t need Mrs. Ryan to tell us what we already know to be true. Nevermind the subjectivity of the word “good.” Just go with it. Captain Miller died so you would be good, Private Ryan.

This strikes me as such a stark contrast to the gospel of Jesus Christ that I can’t believe I haven’t seen it before. Rather than demanding that we “earn” His sacrifice, Jesus says things like, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” His dying words have nothing to do with earning and everything to do with forgiving. There is a weight to His dying words to parallel Miller’s but it is a weight that leads to freedom. The picture of the elderly Ryan is hardly one of liberation. He is a man enslaved by the false pretense of trying to achieve that which could never be earned. Such notions of merit are quite foreign to the biblical story precisely because they’re not good news. The transformative moment in the Jesus story hinges on mercy rather than earning.

As I watched the final scenes of Saving Private Ryan for the first time in years, I was struck with an overwhelming sadness for the elderly Ryan. “Every day I think about what you said to me that day on the bridge.” Can you imagine what a heavy burden that would be? Can you imagine living every moment of every day with the haunting awareness that you had to “earn” back the life you were living? The thought alone exhausts me! How could there ever be any laughter, any frivolity, any spontaneous eruptions of unbridled joy? No wonder Ryan needed to ask his wife if he was good. He’s spent the greater balance of his life with a profound sense of un-worthiness. Miller’s dying words prove to be more of a curse than a blessing, in my opinion.

It’s just a fictitious story, you might be saying. That’s true enough. But I’ve known plenty of “real life” Private Ryans, men and women who live with a profound sense that they do not measure up — and that they never will. In the calculus of meritocracy, such persons are profoundly aware of the ways in which they are NOT earning their blessings. They are not “good” men (or women) and they are not living “good” lives. They don’t even need to ask.

The Speilberg worldview espoused by Saving Private Ryan is thoroughly anti-Gospel in its merit-based notions of earning. The biblical story, on the other hand, underscores the gift of grace available to you even though you can not and will not EVER earn it. Trying to be a “good” person and trying to live a “good” life isn’t good news at all. Thankfully, there’s a better story available to us.

Unlike Captain Miller, Jesus didn’t die so we would be good.
He died because we aren’t good.
He died because He is good.

And that’s why we call it Good News.