You know What’s Crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
The church of the Lone Survivor.
It’s Sunday morning and the collection plate is being passed down the couch.
I look out the stained glass window of my mind and I see a cloudy day and I am ambivalent.
I am hungry, but feel lazy and don’t want to get up off the couch.
I am a slug of indecision and weak cranial activity.
I am barely a blip on the heart monitor of Sunday morning existence.
“What’s the meaning of it all?” I muse to myself.
I flip on the TV.
Suddenly the rat a tat tat of M-16 gunfire fills my screen.
I recognize the movie as Lone Survivor.
Like a stealthy assassin, the story jumps from my flat screen inundating me with surround sound violence and intensity.
Within 30 seconds I remember why this film was so powerful in the theater.
The raw brutality is vivid, like steak, uncooked, sitting on a plate thawing in room temperature. It is pulsing, a hunk of meat, oozing juices, an anticipation of what might be.
The film is rapid fire, sequences exploding on my pupils like shrapnel from a hand grenade.
I immediately recognize the soldier’s dedication to duty, to sacrifice to one another.
Rat a tat tat, the church of the lone survivor has a fiery messages that resonate within me.
Instead of fire and brimstone from the pulpit, I am on my couch, engaged with thought.
Instead of sacramental wine and a crucifix I am surrounded by blood and slow motion intensity.
This movie is visceral, intense. There is so much energy, that is so close up, it’s like juggling fire crackers inside a phone booth.
The church of the Lone Survivor reminds me that life is a struggle, killing a constant, hate historically pervasive.
My flat screen preacher screams at me.
“Can I get an Amen.”
The message; human life is fragile and war atrocious.
I question whether I could climb a hill in Afghanistan. I wonder whether I could pop the melon of my enemy. I ponder whether I could fall down a mountain and persevere?
The church of the Lone Survivor is a Hollywood spectacle that elicits emotions that are real.
I care about the men, about their safety. I am vested in their stories and connected to their collective life force.
It’s as if I am hiding behind trees with them. It’s as if the bullets ricochething off the rocks and splattering past my ears are real.
They are shot and I feel profound sadness.
I gasp when the men gasp.
I die a little in my heart as each of the men dies a brutal and personal death on the mountain.
After an hour there is but one soldier, the lone survivor.
3 seals are down. A Blackhawk chopper full of men has been hit by an RPG.
It explodes on the rocks.
And we follow the lone survivor as he tumbles down a cliff.
Like the messiah figure in the Church of the Lone survivor, this soldier is bloody and broken. He is blowing snot and blood and dirt out of his nose.
He is out manned, out gunned, persecuted. But the survivor’s heart is bigger than the entire mountain he is falling down. He is inspirational, a man to be emulated.
Day turns to-night. The sky is a bloody red.
The Lone Survivor is cold and alone. He uses his training, draws upon his dedication to duty. He silently hopes that if he keeps moving, he can survive.
He sleeps with his rifle like it’s a blanket. He lays his bloody tattered head on a pillow of shale. Grass is stuck to his cheek that has been ripped open like a slaughter-house.
The survivor’s bones are broken. I wince, grabbing the couch cushion as he pushes his own bone back into his own leg. To stop the bleeding he stuffs the wound with dirt.
This movie is atrocious and amazing. How far can a man go and still live, still walk, still clutch his rifle and limp down a mountain that is trying to kill him.
The Church of the Lone Survivor on a Sunday morning is a heart-felt gut check. It is isn’t church. But in a way it is. It reminds me why I care about my country. It reminds about the people who die so I can wake up in my patchwork quilt of freedom and my version of my American dream. It reminds me about who I am and why I soldier on through my own personal adversity.
The movie is egregiously horrible, demonstrably poignant, vividly personal.
In the bleakest, darkest hour, the film pulls back the curtains in the cinematic church. I see the sun filter through the stained glass in an aura of hope.
This is when the Lone Survivor is rescued by a villager who is the enemy of his enemy.
He is attended to by a wide-eyed child who reminds me that humanity is rooted in hope and belief.
The message I get from my living room pew is life comes with sacrifice. It reminds me why when I want to cry I must stay strong. I don’t have a bone sticking through my thigh. My problems are inconveniences compared to this.
The church of the lone survivor reminds me to care about those I love. To cherish the moment, the day. I remember I have much and should be more thankful for it.
If there is a sermon to remember on this Lone Survivor Sunday it is this.
At the end of the film, The Lone Survivor is resurrected. He rises with the help of his fellow soldiers and is walked to a waiting chopper. I write this with a tear in my eye as the lone survivor stops, then kisses the hope filled little boy.
It is endearing and reassuring that amidst the evil, in every horrible fire storm, there is a glimmer of light.
Early in the film there is a scene where a Navy Seal must recite this credo to join his brothers in arms.
“I’ve been around the world twice, talked to everyone once. I’ve been to three world fairs. I am a hard bodied, hairy-chested, rootin, tootin, shootin, parachutin, demolition double cap crimping Frogman.
There ain’t nothing I can’t do.
No sky too high, no sea too rough, no Muff to tough. I’ve learned a lot of lessons in my life. Never shoot a large caliber man with a small caliber bullet. I drive all kinds of trucks. 2x’s, 4x’s, 6x’s even those big trucks that bend and go TSSHHTT TSSHHTT when you step on the brakes.
Anything in life worth doing is worth overdoing. Moderation is for cowards.
I’m a lover, I’m a fighter, I’m a UDT/SEAL Diver. If your feeling froggy than you better jump because this Frogman has been there, done that and is going back for more.”
The Church of the Lone Survivor is a Sunday Brunch of thoughts. It is a cathedral of emotions, a sermon of life lessons forged.
Life’s Crazy™