"Say to those whose hearts are frightened, 'Be strong, fear not.'" --The Prophet Isaiah, Chapter 35, verse 3 This is one of my favorite verses in all of Scripture. Today it was a reading at Mass, and the timing, as sometimes happens for me, was uncanny. I have been in pretty heavy discernment mode for a while--granted, in a manner altogether different than when I was in seminary. I've been asking myself what I should do about certain situations in my life, and wondering what principles should guide me. Simply put, I've been discouraged. But lately I've been asking myself this question: If my life were a story that I was writing, and the main character was me, what actions would I write myself taking? If I'm the hero of my story, and the hero is confronted with the exact situations of my actual life, what does the hero, i.e. myself, do? In stories, what kind of decision does the hero often make? It's usually not the safe thing. Sometimes it's the crazy thing. Sometimes he tells his friends what he plans to do and they respond by saying something like, "Are you insane?" or "But that's suicide!" And we as readers might even agree with them. But the story is always more interesting and more fulfilling for the readers when the hero does what he knows in his heart he must do, anyway. Jesus is the clearest and best example of this, especially since he is a historical figure and not just a fictional one. But there are examples throughout history and fiction. They are dauntless. Focused. Undeterred. Heroes in stories often face steep hardships and formidable foes. But the underlying enemy they always have to face is the hopelessness of their situation, and the hopelessness inside themselves. In the face of the most desparate circumstances, though the hero may struggle with fear and doubt, ultimately, nothing can deter him. Often when the hero is confronted with something that ought to shatter his spirits, confirm to him that he is on a suicide mission, convince him that he must turn back or die, he is reminded of something--something that gives him hope. Like Frodo standing on the riverbank at the end of Fellowship of the Ring. He remembers Gandalf's words. "All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you." The words of Isaiah were that for me this morning. "Be strong, fear not." That's the way of a hero. Fearless. I hope someday I can make it mine.

If you like to feel upbeat and happy when you walk out of a movie theater, trust me--do not go see No Country for Old Men. Or even if you like to leave feeling generally satisfied, like you may not have liked the ending so much but are content that a complete story was told with an acceptable ending, No Country is not your kind of movie. If you like to walk out of a movie theater inspired by the noble actions of its characters, even if the end result was a sad one, do not go see this movie. If on the other hand you like to leave a movie theater feeling dejected, as if you've been infected with an irredeemable melancholy that will probably stick with you for at least the next couple of days, like a bad cold, by all means throw down your money. But there are some folks out there, many of them professional film critics, who base their like or dislike of films not on the specific type of feeling it gives them, but on the intensity of whatever feeling it is. That is to say, they are concerned with the craft of it. How well is the movie made? How effective is it at arousing in its audience the response at which the filmmakers are aiming? In this case, very. In fact, if these are the only criteria for judging the quality of a film, then No Country is one of the very best, if only because it succeeds so incredibly at darkening the collective outlook of people who see it. That, I suspect, is why those who look only for skill craft in a film will like it so much. I am--unapologetically--not one of those people. No Country is the best reviewed movie in the United States right now. It will probably win Best Picture. And after having seen the film, I understand why. I agree that it is undeniably well-made, and the first 90-or-so minutes of it are chilling and suspenseful and just a great ride. The last 30-or-so minutes, while also chilling and suspenseful in their own right, were so unnerving and disturbing that I feel compelled to warn my friends, many of whom are happy people like me, about the bad taste that it has left in my mouth. Are the last 30 minutes credible? Does it make sense that what happens in the last 30 minutes of the film could actually happen in real life? Yes. And yet the only word I can think of to describe the last 30 minutes is "absurd." What I mean is, I get the sense that the philosophy of life the makers of the film are trying to convey is that human life is absurd. Especially life in America. Especially life in West Texas. Along those lines, I suspect the adulation over the film is probably as much to do with its message as with the skill its makers demonstrated in conveying it. All the elements of the film--the high-octane and graphic violence, the deflated hopelessness of its heroes, and the absolute remorselessness of its antagonist--add to this message of irredeemable absurdity. No Country for Old Men was directed by the Coen Brothers, Ethan and Joel. I've seen pictures of them on the Internet Movie Database, and I have to say, they look pretty down in the dumps a lot of the time--and I don't blame them. If I had made a movie like this, no matter how well-crafted my final product, no matter how much praise it got from no matter how many critics, it'd be hard for me to sit through the whole thing and not be like, "Wow, how depressing is this!" You've been warned.