Man of (Recycled) Steel

            Superman has been re-imagined one time too many.

            I grew up watching the black and white TV series and reading my brothers’ DC comic books, including Superman, Superboy, and Supergirl.

            In December of 1979, I took my one-month- old son Kyle to the Susquehanna Valley Mall, where we saw Superman starring Christopher Reeve. Well, Kyle mostly nursed and napped, but I enjoyed the movie. I eventually saw all the movies in that incarnation, some on the big screen and some at home.

            In 2006, when Superman returned in Superman Returns (duh), I made a date to see it with Kyle for old time’s sake, and we enjoyed it at the Campus Theater in Lewisburg. This time Kyle stayed awake and ate movie theater snacks.

            Last week my husband thought Man of Steel would be a perfect movie to celebrate our thirty-eighth wedding anniversary. I thought a romantic dinner for two would be more apropos, but my D. H. would have none of it.

            So we bought our senior discount tickets at the Lycoming Mall along with a small bag of overpriced, salty popcorn, and settled into our favorite spot in a sparsely filled theater—which is not a good sign for only the second night of what was supposed to be a blockbuster summer release.

            After watching ten minutes of previews and dozens of subliminal and non-subliminal messages reminding me to turn off my cell phone, the movie began.

            Man of Steel has a plethora of special effects and violence and a paucity of character development. (Look them up; they’re Sadlier-Oxford Vocabulary Workshop words.) However, Amy Adams turned in a respectable representation of Lois Lane.

            A few years ago when my high school girls and I were reading the Hunger Games trilogy, M. described the third book as “tediously violent.” Man of Steel is, also.

            I kept thinking of going to the restroom, wandering around the lobby, and taking out a small loan to buy Raisinets, but I thought I’d miss something good the minute I left.

            I needn’t have worried.

            The violent, tasteless, and boring destruction of Metropolis dragged on and on. Tasteless because it looked too much like Manhattan on September 11, 2001. Boring because how many buildings do you need to see crumble?

            The opening credits scene of Robin Hood Men in Tights came to mind. As the thatched roofs of the village huts are torched, the villagers shake their fists and yell, “Whenever they make a new Robin Hood movie, they burn down our village. Go away, Mel Brooks!” (or something like that)

            I would have like to have seen the people on the streets of Metropolis shake their fists. “Whenever they make a new Superman movie, they destroy Metropolis. Go away, Zack Snyder!”

            So I’m swearing off Superman movies for the foreseeable future. The next one I attend had better be written, directed, and produced by Mel Brooks.

The Amazing Apostle

Reading comic books as a child, I learned the source of Superman’s strength: He was born on the planet Krypton which orbited a red sun. When he came to Earth, our yellow sun gave him superpowers. I followed his adventures on our black and white television as George Reeves flew around in ill-fitting leotards, and years later in Technicolor on the big screen as Christopher Reeve sported a more expensive and better tailored costume.

As a teen, I discovered Spiderman comics. Though an ordinary human, Peter Parker gained amazing strength when a radioactive spider bit him. I watched his animated series with my younger brother—it might have been in color, but we still had a black and white TV—and the catchy theme song still bounces around in my brain:

Spiderman, Spiderman, friendly neighborhood Spiderman…

Is he strong? Listen, Bud. He’s got radioactive blood…

Good rhyming poetry sticks with a person.

Of course I saw the Tobey Maguire movies, and I plan to see the newest incarnation of the Amazing Spiderman, starring Andrew Garfield. (Who is he?)

I also admire heroes other than those in comic books. I enjoy reading the apostles’ adventures in Acts. I marvel at Paul, who seems to be a New Testament superhero.

What gave Paul the power to preach and plant churches, heal the sick and raise the dead, survive shipwrecks and beatings, and write for the bestselling book of all time?

More astounding than the sun’s color or a spider’s venom, Paul’s strength came from his weakness.

At first Paul struggled against a limitation, which he called “a thorn in the flesh,” until Jesus assured him, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9, NLT).” Paul described that power as the force that raised Christ from the grave—talk about superpowers!—and Paul declared it’s available to every believer (Ephesians 1:19 – 20).

With Christ’s muscle, instead of reading about superheroes, I can be one. And so can you. What heroic deeds are scheduled for today? Listen to a friend. Smile at a stranger. Meet a need. Love an enemy. Keep my mouth shut. The Bible is bursting with ideas for superheroes.

But let’s just wear our regular clothes, okay?

“Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,” says the LORD Almighty.  Zechariah 4:6, NIV