By Father Casey
Thirty-five years ago this summer, one of my favorite movies of all time was released: Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. I was eleven at the time, so it had a huge influence on my religious imagination – too much, perhaps. Occasionally I share beloved movies from my childhood with my girls, and more often than not they are unimpressed (who doesn’t love Goonies!?), but thankfully Last Crusade has become a family-favorite.
If you haven’t seen it, consider this a spoiler alert (and also, what have you been waiting for?). The plot centers around a desperate hunt for the “Holy Grail,” the legendary cup used by Christ at the Last Supper. Indy is in a race against the Nazis (“I hate these guys”) to prevent it from falling into their dastardly hands. The climax comes when they all arrive in a remote temple in the middle of the desert, where the grail had been hidden by a mysterious knight 1,000 years before. There Jones is forced to complete three tests of body and mind to reach the chamber containing the grail.
Only it is not one cup that awaits him in the chamber, but hundreds. They fill the room, their precious metals and jewels glinting in the firelight. This is the final test of worthiness: to find the grail among all these glittering choices. But the ancient knight who stands guard warns them, “You must choose wisely, for as the real grail brings eternal life, the false grail brings death.”
Hollywood typically glosses over religious matters and turns them into pablum, but every now and then, Hollywood preaches the gospel.
Indy’s enemies scan the room for the grail, and choose the most beautiful cup in the room. It looks like the grail should look. “Truly the cup of a king,” Indy’s nemesis says before drinking from it. There is a pause, long enough to think he has gotten it right, but then his entire body begins to wither and decay, until he is transformed into dust. The knight looks at those remaining in the room and deadpans, “He chose poorly.”
Indy then surveys all the options and reaches behind all the gold to grab a small, dusty, wooden cup. It is so innocuous as to be nearly invisible. “This is the cup of a carpenter,” he says doubtfully. He nervously fills it with water and takes a drink. “You have chosen…wisely,” the knight says.
I will definitely have this scene in mind this weekend, as we hear again from our crochety mentor in the ways of being salt and light, James. The passage this weekend features James’ reflections on wisdom. “Who is wise among you,” he asks, and then contrasts the behaviors of the unwise with the wise. Wisdom is rarely the gleaming option that entices us, but more often the humble option that isn’t even trying to get our attention. Wisdom, James says, is “peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy.” Wisdom is like an unassuming cup on the back of the shelf, which actually holds the power you seek.
This weekend we’ll also hear a story about the day Jesus learns of an argument among the disciples; they are jockeying for the status of “greatest.” Pay attention to how he responds: he doesn’t tell them that obviously none of them are great because they’re all just a bunch of nobodies; he doesn’t tell them that the greatest will be whoever performs the most miracles, or works the hardest, or saves the most. He says that the first among them is actually the servant of all. That is God’s wisdom. You want to be first? Move to the back of the line. You want to be great? Put others above yourself.
Just like Indiana Jones, we are faced day after day with difficult choices, moments when we need wisdom to know what to do. The glittering option is not always wise, because wisdom requires us to peer behind the beautiful choices on the front of the shelf to find the dusty cup behind them.