When I was 13 I looked at pornography for the very first time. And thus began my journey through the honor/shame society that is the midwestern evangelical church. For much of my life, I have struggled with this issue, and while I don’t love having relatively indicting conversations, the church I was raised in did not exactly advertise itself as a place that wouldn’t judge me. My peers had a Christian sense of superiority (which only worked on me in my youth), and my leaders in the church were not aggressive in crushing shame where it stood. Quite possibly the biggest casualty of my journey through that was my desire and drive for romance. This is something that I only think about occasionally, but whenever I do, I always wonder what is at the root of that lack of desire, and most often I arrive at the answer, “Shame.”
There are many examples of this in movies and TV. A show that gets it great is Barry, but the one I want to focus on is the film Baby Driver. The protagonist, a young man named Baby, is a getaway driver, and he is very good at it. Throughout the movie we learn that he is deeply ashamed of his occupation. He thinks it is what defines him and without it there might not be much of a person left. However, when he meets Debora and begins to fall in love with her, he sees her as an escape. But there’s a catch: what about his past. In the first half of the movie he goes to great lengths to shield it from her, and her from it. As the story unfolds, and she is eventually exposed to his truth, Baby falls hardest into love with her when she tells him, “Let’s get in a car we can’t afford, and drive down 20 with a plan we don’t drive.” When Debora explains to Baby that his failings are not what she cares about, his shame melts away, and his determination skyrockets. How their story ends no longer matters to him because in his heart, even if he has to account for his sins, it will be worth it for Debora because she loves him.
The ending of the story of the Prodigal comes to mind. The son is not planning on being loved ever again in his life. All he is searching for is a lack of absolute misery. I often wonder if he was ever rationalizing what level of misery he would be okay dealing with. But when his is reunited with his Father, he is forced to not think about misery. Rather his father showers him in grace. It is moments like this where the distinction between mercy and grace is key. If mercy is, “not being punished for wrongdoing” then grace is, “being rewarded as a victor in spite of your nature as a failure.” Jesus seeks to change our nature. Both the Prodigal Son and Baby desire for who they are to change. At the end of the story, it is revealed to us that Baby is a name he was given by his boss as a moniker. His given name is Miles. Throughout the entirety of the Bible, the idea of God giving you a new name is constant. He first does it when he wrestles with Jacob, and decides to call him Israel. Peter was not his original name. When Jesus met him, his name was Simon, but Jesus decided that Peter would be his new name. We live in a world that says, “Who you are is does not matter. You are great no matter what!” That is wrong. In our natural state, we are at our root, broken. The most powerful part of being a friend of Jesus, is that in our brokenness, he takes us, and instead of just fixing us up and sending us back, he changes what we are entirely. I think Paul explains it well when he said, “But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that having been justified y his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life.” The role that Jesus can play in our lives is that of a transitional nature – transition from shame, to honor.
Sawyer Huelat 