Finding Neverland
A week ago Saturday, Moriah, her mom, and I watched Finding Neverland, a fictionalized version of the story of J. M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan. It was quite moving.
J. Robert Parks said, “As I came out of Finding Neverland, I wanted to write my own play or take a walk by the lake or have a long conversation with a friend.” I’d add that it made me want to love my wife better, have children (I can hardly wait for our first baby to be born), play with them, and encourage and enrich their imaginations.
At one point in the movie, I was struck (again) by how much better the Christian comfort is than the comfort held out by the world in films like this. The best unbelievers can offer, it seems, is to say that those who have died live on in their works or in the children they’ve raised or in our hearts or (as in Finding Neverland) in our imaginations, where we can always visit them.
They rein in their imaginations (“Don’t dream too big!”) and they hand out paltry, watered-down comfort (“You can visit her in Neverland”). But stones are no substitute for bread and loved ones remembered and imagined, if they are not presented as a foretaste, are a poor substitute for loved ones living with Christ right now, one day to be raised from the dead and gloriously embodied.