Hell or High Water is rarity, one of those low-budget films that’s a treasure. But I’m guessing few will see it because it’s not about spectacle at all, but about us.
The poet who gave us Psalm 140 is an orchestral conductor ringing out praise from the music set before him by bringing in, on cue, all the heavenly tenors, the sun, moon, and stars; those beastly basses too, sea creatures and mountain crags; and the regal sopranos, kings and queens over all the earth; even a gadzillion preschoolers.
The thirst here is for nothing in a jug, for something a whole lot more than lemonade. The thirst here is for living water in the parched soul of someone who’s wandering in a desert where there’s nothing more than hot sand.
Without aspiration, we’ll never get to the far end of the field. But breaking new ground on the sweltering days of our lives always requires more than what we are or can generate ourselves. Achievement requires something outside of who we are, something like grace.
What this aging, over-the-hill-er learned that morning was that I didn’t have to hunt beauty, that it wasn’t up to me to find it. I simply had to sit still and let it find me. I had to learn how to see.
How does your identity shape who you are and how you interact with others?