When I was younger, this wasn't the song I cried to. Then the movie came out, and I still didn't cry. Then suddenly it hit me, when I saw Fantine appear before Jean Valjean at his deathbed.
Fantine was Jesus.
The Bishop was, too, actually. A far more likely candidate. I always honestly thought Colm Wilkinson looked like a silver-haired Jesus. And since Colm Wilkinson played the original Jean Valjean, and since Jean Valjean was described upon his death as being a saint, that means that Jean Valjean, too, is Jesus.
But the point remains that the most unlikely candidate for God to reach down and say "You are the body of my only begotten Son" is Fantine.
A few months ago, something struck me pretty hard that brought me crawling to this song. There was a dream I had, a hope that was wholesome and good, and I lost it. It's gone. It's over. It's a done deal that it's never going to happen, that thing that I was really hoping for. I'm going to die without that thing. So I listened to this song, and it spoke to me.
And if Fantine is Jesus, how does that change my perspective on things?
The other song that I listened to during my depression was the first half of the Godspell finale. The part where He says "Oh God, I'm bleeding, I'm dying, I'm dead." Go ahead and find the song for yourselves. I'm even providing a link for your. It's that easy. Just do it.
Do you hear that? He's torn apart. We make His death all PG-13. We show it to our children. We hang it up in public. And because of that, maybe it's lost some of the impact. What should be a tragedy is the subject of inspirational paintings, portraits of joy, and most grievously is flown around with all the same fanfare as the American flag. Does that really make any sense?
If we were to actually put ourselves into Jesus' skin, what would it actually feel like? Think about it. This is a man dying. It's not just physically painful, but it has all the dignity of a prostitute losing her life to her profession. I would compare this to rape. Who's going to glorify the rape of someone? Who's going to make that the symbol of their religion and, God forbid, American pride?
Jesus is Fantine. He's a woman who gave up all of her dignity to save a child. He's a woman who could have lived a beautiful life, but had that stripped from her.
Does it not occur to us that Jesus might have had dreams? He was human. He had to have dreamed. What must it have been like when He slowly had His life suffocated from Him? Can't we hear it? Can't we hear the shock when He cries out that He's bleeding? He's in the process of losing everything, of vanishing from existence, of no longer being there for His mother, no longer having His friends. And His friends have abandoned Him, His closest disciple outright denying Him. Only two of the disciples bothered witnessing His death. Out of all of the fullness and richness of life that could have been afforded to Him, He died very alone.
And then it hits Him. He's dying. He's actually dying. This is it. This is the moment. Everything that He had ever been and done was just about to become someone else's memory. He could feel it coming upon Him, not as some distant future, but right around the corner. How do you possibly make peace with that?
He's dead.
And there's silence.
The world closes in around Him, the blackness overtakes Him. The entire curse of creation clamps down like the lid of a coffin. He dies a man without anything. He dies a victim. He dies without fulfillment. And all that He did, did any of it ever matter?
Fantine is Jesus, and by God she saved us all.
I listened to these songs because I felt that. In my bones. I was trying to find closure, but every time I did it was an act of denial. The fact is, I might move on, but parts of me are now dead. I will never have my life as it should have been. And it really should have been. It's just that the world is broken, and it's not fair.
We raise our children to believe that everything is going to be all fine, but how we have blinded them to reality. In the real world, people die unhappy all the time. On a planet with seven billion people, do we honestly believe that everyone goes to their graves fulfilled? Can I convince myself to be happy for someone when an entire world full of hopes and dreams died with them when they stopped breathing? And to think, those dreams might have come true. When we lower them to the ground and gather around in black suits, does the eulogist talk about those dreams? No, they talk about how great the person was, how they smiled all the time, how they were fulfilled, and so forth, and it's not true. The majority of all people live out unfair lives, and they die unfair deaths.
I have one last dream left in me, and I'm crying because I don't know if it will ever come true. Just a few days ago, someone told me "we would explode the world with creativity!" That's what I want. I really have a vision for this, changing the world and history itself using my God-given gifts. I want to be like Walt Disney. That's my dream. That's the kind of difference that I want to make. But so far I'm still an obscurity, and I've been afraid for so long of how unlikely this dream is that I've suppressed it. But now I've just been reminded of how badly I want this.
I live for two reasons. To talk as much about Jesus and Grace as I can, and on account of these things overflow with abundant creativity.
When I die...
I don't want to think about it.
In any case, I've pondered the mystery that I will join the many, many other people who died unfair deaths after living unfair lives. And before any of you try to tell me to think positive, let me remind you: Anne Frank. There's no way in Heaven that you're going to tell me that her life was a celebration. She wanted to be a Hollywood actress, and what she got was the last portion of her short life oppressed and directionless. When she died, what did her life amount to? Yes, her journal made a difference for us, but it didn't make a difference for her. She died a meaningless death.
And I don't want to live and die without meaning. I actually want to live out the identity that I have for myself. I want to explode the world with creativity. I have an imagination, people inside of my head that I want the whole rest of the world to see, and I owe it to them that they shouldn't die with me, that they should never be alone.
And if I find myself dying...I feel as if the entire world is dying with me.
The entire world died with Jesus.
And, of course, all who believe in Him will share in His resurrection. For that reason, I know, many of us can be happy and hopeful when a loved one dies. But it doesn't completely wipe away the emptiness I feel inside.
When Dillon died, I hated death. I still do. There's nothing that I hate more. I hate it. It's my worst enemy, my most personal nemesis. It's unfair. It's terrible. It's unspeakable, and beyond my ability to describe. I'm still angry with Death, and I want to expose him for who he truly is, for the entire world to see.
I want to see more people realize their most secret of dreams. I want more people to rob Death of his sting. He will still take them physically, but maybe fewer people will have to die as Jesus did.
But in the meantime? Those people who die unfair deaths at the end of unfair lives? They're Jesus. Their dreams are like Christ. Maybe we should give them a little respect.
Sincerely,
John Hooyer
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