Humility and pretension

Every so often we see a film that just clicks with us. We may not know why, but it may be worth exploring. Let me explore.
Last week I saw Ruby Sparks, which is a good (not great) film and has received good reviews. But I came away thinking, I loved that film. Why?

First, let me tell you a bit about it. The story is about a young writer, Calvin Weir-Fields (Paul Dano), an introvert whose first novel was a huge success but who now, 10 years later, suffers writer's block. He lives alone with his dog and sees a therapist, Dr. Rosenthal (Elliot Gould). Meanwhile, his brother Harry (Chris Messina) tells him he just needs to get laid. Calvin dreams about a girl. When he tells Dr. Rosenthal about it, he tells Calvin to write about that. "Write something bad," he says, addressing Calvin's perfectionism.
Calvin begins writing on his manual typewriter, which sits next to his iPod (go figure). He names the woman from his dreams Ruby Sparks (Zoe Kazan), and the words come with a new freedom. A day later, a young woman shows up in his apartment who fits his description of Ruby. It takes him some time to realize that she is real. He tells his brother but makes him swear to secrecy.
A succession of events follow, including a visit with Calvin's whacky mother (Annette Bening) and whackier stepfather (Antonio Banderas). The young couple experience differences, which Harry had warned Calvin about. Calvin can change Ruby by simply writing something about her on his typewriter, but unforeseen consequences follow.
The tone of this postmodern fable is funny but touching. It's directed by Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris, who directed Little Miss Sunshine, and written by Kazan.
As in Little Miss Sunshine, the characters here are often over the top, which adds to the humor but strains the credulity. But by the end, as in the earlier film, I was won over. I predicted the ending, but I didn't care. I wanted it. And besides, it provided a good lesson that I enjoyed learning along the way. 
What's the lesson? In a nutshell, that love cannot be controlled but must be given and received freely. That may seem obvious or trite, but it's still a good lesson, and Ruby Sparks provides a fun way to have it presented.
Why did it connect with me? I tend to like movies that explore the inner lives of writers and other artists (I loved Capote), and this one captures the mixture of humility and pretension that infects many writers. Writing is a vulnerable, humbling activity that's usually marked much more by failure than success. But it can also be pretentious. For example, who am I to think other people might be interested in the thoughts I'm writing here. I could identify with that mixture of humility and pretension, and perhaps it has a broader relevance. Maybe those two adjectives describe much of human activity.
Another reason I liked the movie is that it's shamelessly romantic, and I have a strong romantic side. And Dano and Kazan (who are a couple in real life) are a charming duo who show us that life is messier than we'd like it to be. But out of that messiness, a beautiful connection can come.
 

Forgiveness in strange places

Good fiction often takes us into worlds completely foreign to us and makes them familiar. It even creates characters we may on first sight think we have nothing in common with and makes them feel human, sympathetic.

 

Hanna Pylväinen’s debut novel is one such work. The subject of We Sinners is a family, two parents and nine children. The Rovaniemis belong to a conservative church—a Lutheran revival movement called Laestadianism—in modern-day Michigan. The church forbids dancing, drinking, TV and other common practices in our culture. But its central belief, repeated several times in the novel, is that believers are forgiven in Jesus’ blood when they repent.

Pylväinen tells the story from the point of view of the various members of the family. We witness the struggle of each person with other family members and with their faith. Some hold onto the faith; others reject it; some fall somewhere in between.

Pylväinen uses telling details to show these struggles. For example, Warren, the father, reflects on the family’s constant struggle with poverty: “It was daily things, it was money, it was when he stopped at a gas station and the kids all chanted, ‘Get a treat, get a treat,’ and when he came out with chips they grabbed for them like starving people.”

Tiina, the second oldest child, is the first in the family to leave the faith, yet “she felt no thrills of liberation.” Her becoming an unbeliever is like a conversion, yet she can’t quite fill the emptiness. After she cheats on her boyfriend, she feels “she was no good in both the church’s world and in the world she had chosen.” For her, “it wasn’t about the sinning at all, it was what you did about the sinning, and she had no means of forgiveness about her.”

In spite of how oppressive the church feels to many of the children, it’s difficult to leave it behind. When Julia, the fourth youngest, who has left, returns for a visit, she sleeps in a bed with her younger sister and experiences “the old childhood security of many people asleep in one place, the uncomplicated comfort of someone in her bed who was not her lover.”

Not everyone leaves. Brita, the oldest, marries a man in the church and has numerous children (four and counting). Nels, the oldest boy, goes to college and takes up drinking and going to parties in pursuit of Bernie, a girl outside the faith. But no matter how often he breaks the rules, forgiveness is available at church, and eventually he marries a girl in the church and settles down.

Pylväinen uses irony in this interplay of belief and unbelief. Nels’ roommate, Clayton, is his conscience as Nels breaks the rules. But later, Clayton takes up drinking and ends up with Bernie.

Uppu, the youngest, befriends a new student, Jonas Chan, a shy Asian-American, at her high school. Jonas goes to her church out of courtesy and discovers a faith different from the one his parents had left. “Unlike his family’s old church, no one said they loved Jesus, no one was overemotional, and God was less a personal friend than someone spoken of quietly, as if in fear of disturbing Him.” As Jonas becomes more and more interested in the church and then becomes a believer, Uppu can’t stand it and leaves.

The final chapter goes back to 1847, to Finland, where we encounter Laestadius, the founder of the church. What became in many ways a group that imprisons people in its conservative, sometimes harsh ways began as a revival that liberated people from some harsh cultural practices that were particularly oppressive to women.

In We Sinners, Pylväinen deftly explores this dance between between oppression and liberation, between belief and unbelief, and shows the gray areas. These are not polarities but gradations of human experience. We all move in and out of various communities and belief systems, searching for love and acceptance. Often we search for forgiveness. This novel shows that sometimes it’s found in strange places.

The power of yes

I've always leaned toward routine, finding comfort in the rhythm of operating each day much like the previous one. Change is OK, as long as I have some control over it.
Unfortunately, life doesn't usually cooperate with my plans, and change happens.
But when an opportunity comes along that may take me out of my comfort zone and ask me to do something unfamiliar, I usually hesitate, and my first inclination is to say no. Turns out, saying no consistently actually shuts down part of my brain.
Recently I read an article that gave me pause. It's called "Just Say Yes" by Jamie Stringfellow in the July/August issue of Spirituality & Health, a magazine I receive at work that often reports on scientific research about the benefits of spiritual practices.

Stringfellow writes: "When you say no a lot, your brain gets in the habit, literally paving more neural pathways and raising the speed limit on your knee-jerk 'No!' response. Luckily, as brain scientists have realized, we can rewire our brains." 

The brain likes efficiency, so if you say no a lot, it starts assuming you're going to say no and starts responding that way automatically. It reminds me of typing something on Google that I've searched before, and it remembers and goes there right away.

So how do we rewire our brains, and why should we? The no response often comes out of fear--fear of failing, fear of falling, fear of rejection. However, Stringfellow writes, "neuroscientists know that when you expose yourself to new experiences … your brain releases noradrenaline and dopamine, and the exertion brings on endorphins. This makes you feel alert and better able to enjoy that moment and the ones that follow."

I should know better. The times I've said yes have usually turned out well, and I've been glad I did so. In 2009, I traveled to Paraguay in July and to Jordan in September, and both experiences were rewarding, despite some difficulties, such as being stuck in Argentina (during its winter) in an unheated house for two days waiting for a flight. In late June I attended a conference and led a workshop on spiritual practices (based on my book Present Tense). It went better than I'd hoped, largely because of people's wonderful participation. I was glad I said yes to doing that. And recently I've faced another decision that required me to take a risk. And after reading this article and talking with my spiritual director, I decided to say yes and see where it led. I still don't know where it will lead.

Saying yes is also important for building relationships. Stringfellow writes that Dr. John Gottman, a leading marriage researcher, says that the simplest way to make relationships work is "to say yes as often as you can without sacrificing an important part of yourself in the process." He even suggests saying something positive five times for every negative thing you say.

Does this mean you say yes to everything? No, you don't simply comply with someone who intends you harm. And we all need to set limits for our own health. But, says Dawna Markova, "what's important is not so much the yes as the willingness to say it. It's the pause."

Stringfellow writes: "Just being willing to say yes means you've removed the barriers to new people, experiences and feelings." And it gets you out of that knee-jerk no response so that new possibilities arise. 

This may be easy for you, but I've been a pessimist all my life, and saying yes, or even pausing to consider saying yes, means I believe something positive may happen. So this really is a spiritual practice.

Saying yes takes courage. It is also an act of love when you say yes to another. Maybe it's something worth practicing. Yes, it is.