There’s something about seeing a favorite character wrestle with the same sin as I do, or a villain who is redeemed in the end—it reminds me that authors can still use broken things.
Take Loki, the Norse god of mischief, in the first Avengers movie. He appears seemingly out of nowhere with a weird, horned headdress, an impish grin, and an ominous proclamation: that he has come to fulfill his Glorious Purpose by enslaving the entire population of planet Earth. This belief—that he is better than everyone else—leads to a whole lot of misery and destruction. But it also leads Nick Fury to assemble the eclectic collective of superheroes known as the Avengers, for he recognizes: this villain is too strong for one to defeat alone.
When the team first comes together, any hope we had for Loki’s swift defeat quickly crumbles as we watch our heroes fight amongst themselves instead of fighting Loki, refusing to unite for an initiative stronger than its component parts. And why should they? Tony Stark was a born genius, which he proved by building his first Iron Man suit, “In a cave! With a box of scraps!” (his nemesis Obadiah famously laments).
On the other hand, Steve Rogers was scrawny and weak before he was injected with a super serum that would turn him into Captain America; practically a nobody until he was given a one-of-a-kind, indestructible shield. The two men couldn’t be more different. Surely that much power, ego, and brilliance wasn’t expected to humble itself to another. To submit to a bigger plan.
A painful moment: when Steve questions how special Tony really is without his Iron Man suit, and Tony quips, “You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle.”
And that’s when we realize, the true villain of the Avengers is not Loki. It’s something much more difficult to eradicate.
Pride doesn’t wait for an invitation; it seeps through the cracks, ruining everything it touches like poison. Pride doesn’t want to be merely a part of an initiative bigger than itself; it wants to be the initiative, all by itself. Pride wants everyone to know its name, an eternal legacy that lives beyond the endgame. Pride knows everything already, so it has nothing new to learn. Pride thinks itself worthy of a one-of-a-kind, indestructible shield when really, it’s been given super serum from a bottle, wholly by the grace of the Author. And pride wants to believe it has, not just mere Purpose, but a Glorious one.
Although I don’t go around trying to subjugate entire planets, I can relate to Loki’s heart, his pride, and his desire to be more. To be written for a Glorious Purpose. And I am so wracked with sin that I often wonder, can the Author use this broken thing that is me?
In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis wrote:
…fallen man is not simply an imperfect creature who needs improvement: he is a rebel who must lay down his arms. Laying down your arms, surrendering, saying you are sorry, realising that you have been on the wrong track and getting ready to start life over again from the ground floor—that is the only way out of our ‘hole’. This process of surrender—this movement full speed astern—is what Christians call repentance.”
Loki was eventually given a Glorious Purpose, rechristened and enthroned as the god of stories, wielding great power through personal sacrifice. But I doubt very much whether Loki would have considered this purpose ‘glorious’ in the beginning. Back then, ‘glorious’ to him had meant power, prestige, domination. Not sacrifice, love, and friendship. Loki had to lose parts of himself to find those things. Over ten long years, his authors never gave up on him but worked to shape and transform his heart so that when the time came, he could step into his Glorious Purpose with meekness, compassion, and humility.
As surely as I know that the sun will rise in the eastern sky, I know that you were written for a Glorious Purpose. Though, it may not look like what you thought in the beginning, and you may need to lose quite a bit of yourself to find it. But I also know that through it all, the Author never gives up on us. Not ever, not once. No matter how much sin entangles us, when we come to him in repentance, he rips it out by the roots again and again. He is faithful when we are weak.
More and more, I see God asking those who love him to do difficult things. I see him asking us to be brave. To forgive, to love, to repent of our sin. To step out in faith when we can’t see where our feet will land next. These things are too difficult for one to accomplish alone; they require a fellowship of accountability, a humility, a laying down of our pride, our wants, and the pen to our own story. But when we do, we find that we can become part of an initiative bigger than ourselves, stronger than its component parts. Each of us contributing something unique and placing it in the Author’s hands. For His Glorious Purpose, and not our own, one that will remain even beyond the endgame.
Something else I’m quite sure of: the Author’s story is one of redemption, grace, and second chances. As such, it’s a story of broken things made new.
- Written for a Glorious Purpose - August 12, 2024
- A Ballad of Prequels and Stakes - January 29, 2024
Thank you for the beautiful reminder that God is not done with me yet and that although he tears down he will build up again to make beauty out of ashes. Your story blessed me and challenged me and encouraged me all at the same time!