Reflections on the hunger games...

Two weeks ago I asked the 7 young "tweens" in my confirmation group, "Where do you learn the difference between right and wrong?"  At first, they just sat there wondering if I was serious; and when it became clear this was not just a rhetorical question, they wrestled with various answers.  One said "from the law..." as if that was an abundantly clear and satisfying response.  "So, you learn about right and wrong through TV cops shows, the police and... what else?" After an awkward silence, I continued, "Have the police and the courts every been wrong? Do they made mistakes?  And how do you know?"

That took us deeper.  "I learn from my friends" said another assuming that peer pressure was sufficiently deep for a religious confirmation discussion.  "Are all your friends kind?  How do you know the difference between what in nice and what is right?" I continued.  "And have your friends ever been mean to you - or another - unfairly?"  "You just know," asserted one more, "you can feel it."  The conversation kept spinning around various answers that affirmed the importance of popular culture, media and feelings - sometimes even highlighting some young reader literature, too - but never once did it arrive at either religion or family as the font of our knowledge concerning good and evil.

To say that I was surprised would be an understatement:  all of these young people come from traditionally "good" families in every sense of the word.  Some have been connected to this or another faith community all of their lives.  But none of the 7 tweens even once suggested that Church might be a place to learn something about good and evil.  Not once in 60+ minutes.  I was stunned...

... and have been thinking about this ever since.  A few ideas have come to me about why this is so and I would be curious to know what you think?

+ First, I suspect that all of the families involved have not consciously nourished a tradition of talking together about what happens in Sunday School.  Sure, only minimal conversation happens between parents and tweens at this age, but not so at an earlier age:  so how come nobody thought of the church in this quest for values?  The church clearly hasn't helped or encouraged parents in this realm and almost nothing in popular culture does so either. Many families are so stressed out that they think that if they can just MAKE it to worship and Sunday School in the midst of all the pressures, that ought to be enough.  But clearly it isn't:  40 minutes of quasi-religious education a few times each month is NOT a foundation for ethical living.  We haven't taught our parents to pray - or know the scriptural foundations of our worldview - so they can only pass on their emptiness to their children.  I am not blaming nor faulting the parents of these young people. Rather, I am saying that In my analysis, the mainstream church has failed both our families and children when it comes to nourishing morality.

+ Second, popular culture and our addiction to media games/movies/entertainment have played a role.  Not only do our children know more about Katniss Everdeen than Jesus, but they spend more time with their game boys, IPADS, smart phones and MP3 players than they do in conversation.  Don't get me wrong:  I love technology and have benefited greatly from using it (like here, right?)  But there is no question in my mind that it is way easier for our young families to let their children slip off into electronic entertainment than sustain serious conversations.  Parents are busy, the electronic boxes are addictive and available and nobody has the time to sit down to talk about Trayvon Martin at the dinner table.  What's more, when adults don't have time to digest thoughtful commentary and analysis about the major events of our day - and clearly they don't - why should we expect their children to be any better informed?  Like Neil Postman wrote in 1985, we are entertaining ourselves to death: Americans have not created the dystopian world of 1984, rather we have embraced the seductive destruction of Aldous Huxley's Brave New World (Amusing Ourselves to Death,  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amusing_Ourselves_to_Death).  More than ever, it is a matter of justice and spiritual health to nourish an unplugging and slowing down for the sake of our very souls.

+ And third, in an era of increased awareness of lurking pedophiles and sex offenders in the church and school, parents have tried to fill their children's day with safe and structured time - and to a large degree they have been successful.  My young people in confirmation have their days so booked that they sometimes don't have a free minute until bed time.  There is soccer and lacrosse, swimming and dance, music lessons and youth clubs.  Moms and dads are equally challenged for free time:  a quick dinner on the run, a brief check in at the end of the day (all my youth say that the only conversations that take place at home go as follows:  Mom/Dad - how was your day?  Child - ok.  Parent - how are you doing? Child - Bored... can I go now?) and that's the end of the story.  Much as I disdain the vision and practice of Dobson et al, their family ministries noticed back in the 80s that most teens has less than 90 seconds of conversation with their parents in each week - and it hasn't improved 30 years later. 

Cut to the movie, The Hunger Games, and the recent commentary by Diana Butler Bass.  She writes:  "Why is there no religion in "The Hunger Games"?” asks a reader in an online forum about the young adult bestseller that has just been made into a film. The much-anticipated teen movie has been garnering rave reviews, despite criticism regarding the level of violence it depicts."

Her article notices three things:  1) This is a morality play grounded in ancient archetypes.  2) It also critiques popular culture's addiction to entertainment and violence.  3) The deepest truths are born of Renee Girrard's "scape goat" insights.  Specifically, his realization that the Cross of Jesus Christ shows us what a society organized around violence looks from the perspective of the victim scapegoat.

For the uninitiated, "The Hunger Games" is an American equivalent of Harry Potter, a story of a teen searching for meaning in a chaotic and threatening society. It takes place in the post-apocalyptic nation of Panem comprising a capital city and 12 districts. The capital is a city of wealth and pleasure supported by resources, food, and material goods from the districts. The district people are essentially slaves, oppressed by hunger, poverty, and military control. Each year, to demonstrate their superiority, the capital demands each district send two tributes-one girl and one boy chosen by lottery-to participate in "The Hunger Games," a high-tech reality show-meets-gladiator contest. The teens must kill each other until only one survives. The victor earns wealth and fame, and food for his or her home district. But he or she must bear the memory of having murdered to win. The final tribute becomes a scapegoat for the sins of the entire society, bearing the shame of oppression for the survival of the whole nation.

The hero of this grim tale is a teenage girl, Katniss Everdeen, who volunteers to be the District 12 tribute when her younger sister’s name is picked in the lottery. She is agile and tough-and she wants to win. "The Hunger Games" draws upon two sources: one, ancient Roman history and mythology; and two, contemporary American economics and culture. On the surface, Panem appears void of religion. There are no prayers, no churches, no temples, no priests, no shamans, no God or gods, no sense of hope. In this future world, all vestiges of institutional religion are gone. As one person in the online forum wondered of this absence, “Perhaps they’ve outgrown religion.”

Despite the lack of conventional religious trappings, however, the major theme of the novel is a deeply theological question, one that has haunted the religious imagination for millennia: Can violence--even sacrificial violence--save?

When Katniss volunteers for the games, she saves her sister’s life by offering to die in place of another. This echoes the Christian teaching of Jesus’s death as a sacrificial substitution for another. But Katniss’ actions undermine the traditional understanding of self-sacrifice. Katniss is not Jesus. To save herself, she must kill others. In "The Hunger Games," salvation cannot be accomplished only by death but by murder. The game arena is a profane altar-where the teens slaughter each other to placate the emotional and political “gods” of the capital and reinforce belief in the system that binds the society.

Peeta, the other District 12 tribute, understands that violence never saves. Even seemingly noble or sacrificial death breeds more violence. Violence always serves oppressors, never the oppressed. “I don’t want them to change me in there,” he tells Katniss of the arena, “Turn me into some kind of monster that I’m not.”

To survive means to be twisted into one who murders other for food and entertainment. These games are not about fame and victory. They are about one’s fundamental sense of identity, about the impossibility of human dignity under the Capitol’s rule. “I keep wishing I could think of a way to show the Capitol they don’t own me,” Peeta says, “That I’m more than just a piece in their Games.” Peeta wants to subvert this ritual violence for the sake of his humanity.

Nourishing a moral vision in young people is always a challenge - and today we need all the resources and allies we can find.  There is a LOT of work to be done in our churches - but parents might find a wise resource in the Hunger Games.