Jamuary 5, 2010

Secret-Driven LifeLike Robert De Niro, "Everybody's Fine." Well, not quite.Gordon MacDonald Sunday, December 20, 2009 When you find yourself in a reflective mood, go see Robert De Niro'smovie, Everybody's Fine. Perhaps you'll come out of the theater 90minutes later (120 minutes if you include previews) as I did: feelingsome deep distress and a desire to put into words some issues longstored in the archives of the soul. De Niro is Frank, an aging, lonely and unwell recent widower. In theopening scene, you meet him at the supermarket where, sparing noexpense, he is loading up on groceries, wines, a new barbeque and otheressentials as he anticipates a weekend visit by his four adult childrenwho live in various parts of the country. When people ask how Frank'ssoon-to-visit family is doing, he always answers, "Oh, everybody'sfine." A day or two before this "fine" family is to arrive, the phone bringssome disappointing messages: each of the sons and daughters cannot come.The reasons seem plausible. But if you're really listening, you smell a rat. You've heard these excuses before, and you begin to sense that the"truth" is that no one in this family really wants to come home. foreach, home just may be a toxic experience. Frank, who'd lived in la-la-land concerning the kind of father andhusband he had been in the past, doesn't quite get the message embeddedin the phone calls. Thus a brainstorm: if no one can visit him, he willmake surprise visits to them. What Frank learns during each of thosevisits about himself and his family becomes the tenderloin of the movie,which I will not spoil for you. I can say this much, however, and you've already guessed it: everybodyin Frank's family isn't fine. There are lots and lots of family secrets,and until they are surfaced and owned, this is a family in serioustrouble. I left the theater wishing for a place to cry because the movie remindedme that I grew up in a world similar to Frank's: both in my family andin my church. In my childhood. appearances were everything (rightdoctrine, right answers, right behavior), and what was underneath theappearance was to be kept there: unexposed and unexplained. I lived at least three parallel lives in my early childhood, andadjusting to them was a daily challenge requiring cleverness andduplicity. My first was a church life where my father was the pastor: a life whereI was popular and envied by people. In church I was known and acceptedby everyone because I was the son of an excellent preacher and abeautiful, effervescent, musical mother. How lucky I was to have suchamazing parents, everyone said. "Perhaps you'll grow up to be just likethem," My second was a public school life where my grades were poor (reallypoor) and where teachers consistently expressed consternation over myday-dreaming and failure to "apply" myself. "Gordon is smart butscattered," they said. Children in my class scorned me as the kid whowas not permitted to do movies, parties, and dances "because of hisreligion." The Monday morning transition from church where I was acelebrity to school where I was a nerd was difficult to negotiate. My third life was at "home," where my parents who, although they desireddifferently, often quarreled bitterly and systematically destroyed eachother's aspiration to be healthy human beings. They never understoodeach other or knew how to treat the other with dignity and affection. Many times when the family had passed through one of its periodicrelational tsunamis and my father had stomped out the door forwho-knows-where, my mother would say-I can hear it now-"you must nevertell anyone. This is our family secret." She would continue, "If peopleknew about this, it would destroy your father's ministry." Feelingsomewhat responsible for my father's ministry, therefore, I became quiteproficient at keeping secrets. Our family survived for a long time managing to communicate whenever itwas necessary that everybody was fine. Only a relative few got closeenough to us to see the truth: that none of us was fine. In our ownways, each of us was growing sadder a little bit each year. Many years later, just before my mother died, she spoke of thoselong-ago times and said, "There was simply no way to find help, tofigure out why each of us was making so many mistakes and hurting oneanother. Who could you go to? What would happen to our ministry if theword got out?" My mother died, heart-broken, asking anyone who wouldlisten for forgiveness, convinced that she had been a failure as amother and wife ... and probably as a Christian. My own redemption from a secret-driven life began when I went away toboarding school and came under the influence of worthy men and women whomodeled healthy relationships and great faith. The redemption continuedin my marriage to a remarkable woman, Gail, with whom I have now sharedalmost 49 years of life. From her I learned that no amount ofappearance-management would ever establish me as truly "fine." The factis that I am "unfine" by nature. True "fineness" comes slowly andreaches its crescendo at a time known only to God. When I saw Robert De Niro's movie, I wanted to cry for a second reason.I had the feeling that the movie was not only a reminder of the familyexperiences of my childhood, but it also spoke to some (not all) churchexperiences I have known. As I watched Frank's fragmented family operate, I was reminded ofchurches where people are nice, reasonably polite, and cooperative. Butwith some regularity, one learns that underneath this appearance ofreligious composure, this person or that one is hurting terribly:firings, divorces, personal failures, doubt, addictions, sexual identityissues ... the list is long. But no one speaks: neither the person introuble nor the ones who know of the trouble. Why? Because that wouldthreaten the fantasy that everyone's fine. This kind of church culturestarts with the idea that everyone is presumed fine until they provedifferently. Not so in Alcoholic Anonymous meetings, my friend who does meetingsevery day reminds me. Where he goes the message is clear from theget-go: nobody in this room is fine. In fact, my friend is quite bluntwhen I ask him if he ever minds sitting among prostitutes and homelesspeople. "You don't understand. There are no prostitutes, no homelesspeople, no business people; we're all just drunks helping each othersurvive for another day." Put that line into Christian terms. My friend's insight, had it been absorbed in the family of my childhood, would have changed lots of things. A thousand regrets would not havebeen necessary. And, I suspect, that insight could change a lot ofchurches. All it would take is for a few people to say "we're not ...I'm not ... fine" and the simple but dazzling grace of our Lord Jesuswould start to take over. Oh, in case anyone wants to know where I am today: "I'm fine" (he saidwith a grin). Gordon MacDonald is editor at large of Leadership and lives in NewHampshire. Copyright (c) 2009 by the author or Christianity TodayInternational/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.