Consider the miserable superhero

Humans seem to be fascinated with superheroes. 

Nowadays we have the Flash and Captain America, but it's bigger than America—think of Finn MacCool in Irish folklore or the Greek demigods delivering humanity from monsters. And it's not just comic books: consider Sherlock Holmes from detective fiction or the many “long-prophesied chosen one” characters in fantasy, like Harry Potter or Percy Jackson.

By superhero, I mean a character who is both human and gifted with superhuman ability to solve the problems regular humans can't solve. 

Sherlock Holmes is good at noticing stuff. Hercules is really strong. The Flash is the fastest man alive (except when his latest nemesis steals his speed).

Why so many superheroes?

I think it's because we recognize that humanity faces problems too big for us on our own. I think it's because we long for a Savior, someone like us but better than us, too.

But here's the weird thing: when we tell stories about superheroes, people equipped to do the stuff we can't, they're profoundly needy. 

Harry Potter can't make a decision to save his life—his entire plot is driven by his friends and mentors making decisions (in the books, at least—I haven't seen the movies). He just reacts to the consequences. And his life is terrible—he has fun when he's at school, but when he comes home for summer, he is no better equipped to deal with the real problems of his life.

Sherlock Holmes is inhumane. His gifts make him an asset to police and a curse to everyone around him.

The Flash, because he is more than human, is constantly on the edge of becoming less than human too. Over and over in the comics, he succumbs to the pull of the speed force, leaving the physical plane and losing touch with reality. His family's love is the only thing that anchors him and allows him to return to reality.

It's a dark story, isn't it? We need a superhero, someone who can do the things we can't, but also someone who can bear the inhumanity that comes from doing what's necessary. 

The first two minutes of this clip from 24 are a perfect summary: to counter great evil, someone must do great evil.

Consider the miserable superhero.

Consider the miserable state of humanity if that's the story we go back to again and again: the only solution to evil is more evil. Jack Bauer has to torture possible terrorists to keep America safe. Sherlock has to treat people badly to be smart enough to solve the mystery. Perseus has to behead the girl who did nothing wrong but was cursed by the gods to become Medusa.

This isn't just the story we tell, though. This is the story we live out. 

To combat evil, our side (political, religious, ethnic, gender, class—this story can work with every social boundary) must commit greater and greater acts of evil. If we're oppressed; we demand vengeance, not just freedom. Oppressors must be subjugated! And the cycle speeds up with every revolution.

Is there anything better for us than these cycles of evil?

That's the question at the heart of Raya and the Last Dragon (2021). 

If that seems like a really big question for a kids' movie, hey—check out the last ten years of kids' movies. Animated kids' movies are where theological discussion happens most openly in the public square.

Raya and the Last Dragon tells the story of a warrior princess who tries to use dragon-magic to banish the evil spirits that have ravaged her world and taken her father.

Raya gets the human condition exactly right: we are bound by self-centeredness and tribal hatred. The main antagonists in the story, the Druun, are the result of human discord.

Raya does the superhero thing, using her agility and martial arts to recover pieces of the dragon gem. 

Her journey takes her through a catalog of human fallenness and evil as she visits the divided tribes of Kumandra:

• In Tail, the chief barricaded herself behind elaborate traps to keep her gem fragment safe—and doomed herself to death by starvation. 
• In Talon, the chief betrayed Sisu and left her for dead.
• In Spine, the sole survivor of the tribe threatened to brutally kill Raya and Sisu, which we find out is inconsistent with who he is.
• In Fang, tribal hatred led Namaari to kill Sisu. Then while others tried to escape the monsters Sisu's death unleashed, Namaari and Raya battled to the death. In contrast, Raya's friends helped others escape.

What's the answer? How can anyone be delivered from the cycles of violence?

A sacrifice of trust

For the entire movie, Raya and Namaari have been trying to escape or ward off the Druun. They've inflicted evil on others, and they've suffered evil too. 

The Druun are themselves born from human discord, though. They're self-perpetuating; fear of the Druun causes discord, and discord produces more Druun. 

The answer is to offer trust to the Other, even with no guarantee that it will be reciprocated.

If you're a Christian, this makes sense, right? Jesus did this. He set an example for us by emptying Himself and taking on the form of a slave for our benefit (Phil. 2:5-8). Paul praises Timothy because he does this too: you can count on Timothy to genuinely care for others, not just his own interests (Phil. 2:20-21). 

There's a big piece missing in Raya, though. When Jesus offered Himself for us, He was placing His trust in the Father, not in us. When Timothy cared genuinely for others instead of just himself, his trust was in God to care for him, not necessarily in others.

The infinite resources of God's Kingdom provide everything we need. We can give self-sacrificial love, not because it will work out in this lifetime, necessarily, but because we're confident of life after death (Matt. 19:19).

This scene brings tears to my eyes every time I see it. 

The upturned hands of the stone statues—the husks of those the Druun have consumed—speak of the whole creation groaning together (Rom. 8:22-25) as they wait for new life to come and fill their emptiness. When that new life comes, it’s in the form of water. I don’t know if it’s intentional, but it’s hard for me not to see a reference to baptism there.

Union with Christ through baptism—becoming like Him in His death and resurrection—is one of the hardest things to really grasp about the Christian life. This scene provides a beautiful image of what it means to be dead to the old way of life and to be raised again to an entirely new quality of life by passing through water. 

And the music! James Newton Howard had a very good 2020, if the soundtracks for Raya and Jungle Cruise are any indication.

Better than a superhero

Jesus meets our need for someone better than a superhero. He meets it with profound—ridiculous, even!—simplicity. He didn't punch villains with superhuman strength or detect clues with superhuman attentiveness, and yet He has freed us from the spiral of violence that has defined human history.

He reversed the flesh's destruction by surrendering Himself to death and by being raised from the dead. 

He's the firstborn from the dead (Col. 1:18), and I can't wait to join Him and put on immortality (1 Cor. 15:53-55)!

But in the meantime, I can follow in His steps. I can repay no one evil for evil. As much as it depends on me, I can live peaceably with all.

My body may not be resurrected yet, but I already enjoy the resurrection life of Jesus that He shares with all His people.