The eCrozier

In the film, The Bridge on the River Kwai, British POWs during WWII are being held in a Japanese prison camp in Burma. They’re forced to construct a bridge over the River Kwai; a bridge that’ll allow the Japanese to move weapons and troops to fight the British. At first, they refuse to do so. But later, in an effort to prove themselves superior builders to the Japanese, the Brits throw themselves into the job. They construct a superior bridge in less time than expected; a bridge that their commander says will “last long after the war is over.” Then comes the climax of the film. In the early hours on the day the bridge opens, the British commander who supervised the bridge’s construction does a final inspection. He notices wiring along the base of the bridge running into the river below. He goes down to the riverbank to follow the wiring. There he comes face to face with a commando who has been sent there to blow the bridge up. He’s faced with a dilemma. Does he stop his countryman from blowing up the bridge or does he allow his pride to be blown up? At first, he tries to stop the commando. His actions draw the attention of the Japanese and they shoot the commando. As he’s dying, he pleads with the commander to blow up the bridge he built. The commander then hears the whistle of the Japanese train coming over the bridge. To him, it’s like the ringing of Church bells. A remarkable look comes over his face and he instantly realizes all he’s done. He comes to himself and moves toward the detonator. The Japanese soldiers shoot him from the bridge. And, as he falls dead, he falls on top of the detonator and bridge is blown up just as the train is crossing it. The train whistle called him back to his true vocation.

That’s exactly what the Church’s saints do for us. They help us, like the Prodigal Son lying in pig slop, to come to ourselves, to face the pride and hypocrisy of our lives, and call us back to our true vocation as God’s children. They serve as fools in our Shakespearean lives. They’re like the commando in the film hunkered down in the shallows of the river, catching our eyes, and reminding us of our true calling. That’s why the saints are both dangerous and necessary. They’re dangerous in that they can upset the best-laid plans for our lives. And they’re necessary because, without them, we wouldn’t know of the hope we have in Jesus. We should have seat belts and harnesses in our church pews, because if we listen to and look at the saints long enough, there’s a good chance our comfortably routine lives may come crashing down.

In my office, saints surround me. An icon of the Apostles hangs on the wall above my head. Every time I go out the door, Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Blessed Virgin Mary stare me down reminding me of the cost of discipleship. Francis of Assisi gazes out at me from my office corner with his stigmata showing, asking me: “Just how bloody have you been recently, Scott?” It’s dangerous to surround ourselves with the Church’s saints. They keep coming at us and calling us to saintly lives ourselves. In every age, they’ve insisted that the poor be treated with compassion; that kings and rulers be held to account for their injustices; and, that all God’s children, regardless of their perceived earthly utility, be treated with dignity. Like I said: Dangerous and Necessary. So, be careful when you come forward and receive the sacrament this Sunday. God may be calling you to be much more than you are right now.

+Scott