I once had the particular misfortune of seeing the movie Seven. It was perhaps the worst, most disgusting film I’ve ever seen in my life. Unfortunately, to explain why—and to explain why anyone should care—I will have to tell you a little about the movie itself.
The hero of the story, a police detective named David Mills, is trying to keep one step ahead of a serial killer who has set out to “make a statement” by committing a murder representing each of the Seven Deadly Sins. (Because, of course, religious wackos are like that, right?) For example, he forces a morbidly obese man to eat himself to death for the sin of gluttony. I will not go into detail, as to do so would be to promulgate further the absolute evil of this film.
The ending has a twist that unbelievably manages to make this terrible movie even worse. The serial killer turns himself in, with the condition that he will confess if he can show Mills the location of the last two victims. He then reveals his sixth victim: Mills’ own pregnant wife. He knows that Mills will then be unable to resist the temptation to murder him, completing his perfect crime for him with the seventh sin of Wrath.
Mills knows he is being manipulated—he knows that the power rests in his own hands to prevent this final murder. Granted, the provocation was extreme, understandable even. The temptation to give in and extract a life for a life (two, in fact…) is nearly irresistible.
Nearly.
Trouble is, he’s not just Joe Shmoe, he’s a policeman, and as such, he is necessarily held to a higher moral standard. If I have to explain why that is the case, you’re reading the wrong blog.
Of course, it wouldn’t have won MTV’s Best Movie award if the ending were not a pathetic display of defeatism and apathy. Naturally, Mills gives in to his baser instincts, allows his wrath to rule him and executes the killer in cold blood.
So now, the question in all of your minds is: Why did you just subject us to this disgusting story? Well you may ask, but I have several very good reasons.
First, this story is a perfect example of the stark contrast between the culture that produced movies like It’s a Wonderful Life and the culture that produced this heap of excrement.
A culture that promotes high moral values—even in the midst of the direst circumstances (like The Depression, or either World War)—tends to be looked upon today as being hopelessly quaint. Quaint it may be, but when push comes to shove, the human values of the quaint and backward ensure a much better outcome than the animal instincts of the herd would.
Second, this movie portrays very well the epidemic of apathy that has allowed our culture to so rapidly disintegrate. Since the early sixties (and even before), popular culture has been an exercise in shocking the basic human dignity out of the populace one humiliation at a time. Profane language. Nudity. Sexual behaviour. Homosexual behaviour. We protest, we complain, we write letters to the editor, we unsuccessfully boycott, then eventually we have no choice but to give up as the tidal wave rushes over our heads.
(Lest anyone should think all of this is coincidental, it has its basis in Critical Theory, the linchpin of Cultural Marxism. This radical shift in thinking was the brainchild of a group called the
However, both of these issues, important as they are, merely reinforce what we have already acknowledged: that Humanity is Weakness. All of this is mere window dressing compared to the deeper issue at hand.
What are the Seven Deadly Sins?
Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Lust. Pride. Envy. Wrath.
And what is it that makes them so “deadly”? What do they all have in common?
They are the enemies of self control and of love. All of them can be eschewed by liberal use of the Golden Rule. Of course, the pitfalls of our imperfect nature make this simple rule so hard to follow (see: If you’re not with Him, you’re against Him.) Our bodies cannot help but focus continually on the self, on comfort and pleasure, and on looking out for “number one”. It is counterintuitive in every way for us to step outside this nature. Thank God that, in his infinite wisdom, He placed in our hearts the capacity for love. For the sake of love, we are able to periodically sacrifice our own desires for those whom we hold dear. (And then civil society helps sandbag whatever holes are left by glorifying moral rectitude through culture.)
Yet we tend to hamper our own ability to find happiness in love when we fail to practice forgiveness. Our human nature naturally rejects forgiveness, because forgiveness implies trust.
You’ve heard the old saying, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Being gullible is a major liability, not merely for the sake of one’s reputation, but also for the sake of financial solvency, and sometimes even survival. Trust is like money—it must be earned. Because of this, we are weighed down by a perceived need to limit our forgiveness toward others. When we confuse forgiveness with trust, we miss the true significance and unexpected power it carries.
And we all have, at some point, been bludgeoned with that seventy times seven thing, and “forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors”. We know we are supposed to forgive others, but when the word forgiveness is mentioned, it tends to conjure up images of those awkward moments when someone says “I’m sorry,” and we are expected to say, “I forgive you,” whether we feel like it or not.
It is true that this could loosely be considered forgiveness, in the same way that nervously swaying back and forth could be considered dancing, though it bears precious little resemblance to the real thing.
What we desperately need to understand is that refusal to forgive means refusal to allow God’s love to flow through us. Blocking the natural flow of His love is no different from blocking the food we eat, or the blood in our veins, from flowing through our bodies. Who in their right mind would willingly cause themselves such anguish? Only suffering, disease and death come from both types of blockages. When we refuse to forgive, we cut off other members of Christ’s Body from the love that He intended for their nourishment and healing. “And if one member suffer any thing, all the members suffer with it…” (1 Cor
So, going to go back to my distasteful example, the movie Seven, if David Mills’ character, despite being “justified” in killing this despicable murderer, had understood that his greatest weapon in that moment was not his gun, but FORGIVENESS, he could have wielded a power that moves mountains.
Yes, that’s right. FORGIVENESS IS A WEAPON.
A very potent one, in fact, because forgiveness unleashes love—and not just any love, but the same love that Christ shared by dying for us. When we practice forgiveness, the subsequent flood of love brings us immeasurable peace, and, put together, these ingredients form a recipe that thwarts most beautifully the craftiest of Satan’s snares.
Had you forgotten that Satan is at war with us?
Unhappiness is Satan’s favorite way of tormenting us: How effortlessly our gluttony, greed, sloth, lust, pride, envy and wrath lead us to bind ourselves willingly in fetters! Incomprehensibly, we cling to the cold comfort of these chains of our own making--for it is not Satan himself, but our own free will that holds us bound. By employing self control, we can avoid adding to the weight of these chains. But only true forgiveness has the power to “break their bonds asunder, and cast away their yokes from us.” (Psalm 2:3).
Does it now become clear that the momentousness of Mills’ decision reaches far beyond merely the trite plot of a pop culture movie? He has been handed, on a golden platter, a power he can scarcely even comprehend: a power to fight evil and win. But his ignorance, pride, apathy, and of course, wrath, bind him to that evil. He makes the common but fatal mistake in thinking that evil is too great to be overcome by the decision of a single person. Sadly, his error only deepens his own debt to that evil.
A choice to forgive does not mean condoning or accepting that act which has wounded us. Rather, it means that we accept that God’s will for the one who has wounded us is infinitely better than our own. We need no longer hold them bound; we place them in God’s hands. This simple act of humility and obedience in turn releases us from our self-made prison by allowing God’s love to flow freely through us as it was intended, bringing peace and healing. This is Forgiveness.
One of the world’s greatest experts on this subject was Corrie Ten Boom, whose book The Hiding Place is inspirational beyond all imagining, and is the ultimate antidote to the story of Seven. Here is a woman who managed to survive the unrelenting horror of a Nazi concentration camp without losing heart, then learned to forgive her tormentors and embrace them with God’s love. Then she traveled the world for the rest of her life telling her story to everyone who would listen. She transcends human nature on a level that the rest of us can only aspire to, and as a result, her words vibrate with the sheer power of the Holy Spirit. The power of her example shows us that we too can learn to forgive.
We must ask forgiveness. We must forgive others—whether we think they deserve forgiveness or not. And we must also forgive ourselves. Doing so will likely take a lifetime of
practice—no—strength training!—through humility, self-denial and love. Yet the alternative is to continue carrying chains that bind not our bodies, but our souls, choking off God’s healing love. So start your heavy lifting now. Read The Hiding Place for inspiration. (The movie is less than a shadow of the book!) And wield your new weapon well and often.
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