Sunday Meditation 16

Dr. Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock) hangs on in “Gravity.”

“The heavens declare the glory of God …” — Psalm 191

There’s a scene in the movie “Gravity” where rookie astronaut Dr. Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock) blasts around space using a fire extinguisher. Bullock’s push-n-pulse antics contrast sharply with an earlier scene where veteran spaceman Matt Kowalsky (George Clooney) deftly maneuvers about with ease and grace using an advanced multi-vented backpack.

Bullock/Stone’s erratic space-steering reminded me of myself when I first became a Christian — a time of awkwardly spontaneous proclamations when I shared the Gospel with genuine exuberance and effervescence but not much wisdom. I’m wiser than that now, though not necessarily better.

That hit home yesterday when I spent a little time with my 4-year-old granddaughter Gracie. She’s still at that wonderful season in life when things I take for granted are an adventurous discovery — for example, the backscratcher I keep on my desk. When I used the contraption (made in China out of what looks like bamboo) her eyes lit up.

“It’s a backscratcher,” I explained, demonstrating how it worked.

And so the adventure began …

“Scratch my back,” she said.

I did.

“Scratch your back,” she said.

I did.

“Scratch my head,” she said.

I did.

“Scratch your head,” she said.

I did.

Then she took the backscratcher from me, marched into the nearby living room and demonstrated it for her Mom, Nana, brother and sister. That’s how I used to share the Gospel as a Baby Christian — with naïve clarity.

“I found Jesus. You should find him, too.”

Or …

“Jesus saved me. He can save you as well.”

That approach would hardly win any theological agruments — though it did help win some souls.

My point?

Just this …

There’s a seriously sad scene in “Gravity” when Bullock/Stone is lost in space: Literally and figuratively. Here’s what she says:

“I know, we’re all gonna die. Everybody knows that. But I’m going to die today. Funny that… you know, to know. But the thing is, is that I’m still scared. Really scared. Nobody will mourn for me, no one will pray for my soul. Will you mourn for me? Will you say a prayer for me? Or is it too late… ah, I mean I’d say one for myself but I’ve never prayed in my life. Nobody ever taught me how… nobody ever taught me how…”

The lostness of that statement. The lostness of that moment. The aloneness and loneliness. Devastating. I flashed back to 1971 when I got a “Dear John” letter. Frozen in my memory banks like a psychic brain-freeze from an over-sized slushy. Me, Vietnam; Bullock/Stone, space. Lost. Terribly lost. And alone.

In the movie, Dr. Stone saves herself with a mix of hutzpah, good luck and outer-space acrobatics. Me? I couldn’t save myself. Hence, Jesus.

I could end this by saying: “I found Jesus. You should find him, too.” Or … “Jesus saved me. He can save you as well.” But we both know that’s too simplified for sophisticated people like us. Much too simple.

But what if it wasn’t …

Jim Lamb is a retired journalist and author of “Orange Socks & Other Colorful Tales,” the story of how he survived Vietnam and kept his sense of humor. You can read his testimony here. For more about Jim and his writing, visit www.jslstories.com.