Perceptions from a Pewboy

“The world ended. Didn’t you get the memo?”

With that seemingly simple string of words (spoken by a young survivor named Amy in the third episode), the eschatological tenor of AMC’s new weekly television series “The Walking Dead” finds its most succinct and trenchant expression.

Here are the basics: “The Walking Dead” is based upon an award-winning, monthly, black-and-white comic book written by Robert Kirkman and brought artistically to life by Tony Moore and Charlie Adlard. Published by Image Comics, “The Walking Dead” brings its readers into the lives of a group of diverse survivors who are desperately attempting to make sense of their pilgrimage in the aftermath of what can only be described as a zombie apocalypse. In short, for unknown reasons, the dead start coming back to life all over the world—not in a miraculous “Lazarus come forth” kind of way, but in a horrifying “let me eat your flesh” kind of way.

Far from a one-dimensional horror story, however, “The Walking Dead” has consistently accomplished something that no other current comic book can claim: It has created a sophisticated and multi-layered narrative that pits a host of compelling and well-crafted characters against unimaginable challenges and invites the reader to suspend disbelief long enough to visit the remarkable world that it creates. I have read the comic book since its creation in 2003 and have regularly found in its pages an unparalleled blend of pathos and hope. Furthermore, I have yet to encounter the comic book in which issues of theology and community are approached as seriously and creatively as they are in “The Walking Dead.”

It was no surprise to me that the people at AMC saw in the comic book the potential for a weekly television series. AMC wisely tapped director Frank Darabont, whose directorial work in “The Shawshank Redemption,” “The Green Mile,” and “The Majestic” bear witness to his deftness in dealing cinematically with complex redemption stories. Darabont signed on, and so did a cadre of fine actors, many of whom will be familiar to viewers. On October 31 of 2010, “The Walking Dead” debuted as a weekly series and has quickly become my favorite current television show.

Make no mistake about it, “The Walking Dead” is a zombie story. That detail alone will prevent many from taking the show seriously or giving it a chance, and I can certainly sympathize with anyone’s hesitation in this regard. The graphic depiction of flesh-consumption, after all—which is par for the course in “The Walking Dead”—has a way of demarcating sharply the boundary lines between viewers and non-viewers. It is not a show for the squeamish.

And yet, beyond the graphic nature of its spectacle (which only serves as a visual reinforcement of the life-and-death tension that permeates the show’s storyline), “The Walking Dead” is a quality television show because of its dialogue, its characters, its emotional intensity and depth, and its daring efforts to address themes that are as relational as they are theological. Some of those themes are these:

The Theme of Spiritual Awakening: The show’s main character, Rick Grimes (played with great subtlety by Andrew Lincoln) emerges from a coma only to discover an apocalyptic environment that, at first, he is left to interpret on his own. Rick’s awakening becomes a metaphor for the heightened spiritual and relational attentiveness by which all of the survivors must now approach the frightening new world in which they find themselves. Put simply, survival now depends upon the characters’ willingness to lay aside the comfortable numbness that their previous existence could accommodate in order to embrace a heightened level of awareness that will enable them to become pilgrims on a journey instead of cogs in a cultural machine.

The Theme of the Second Chance: “Maybe we got a second chance,” protagonist Rick Grimes says to his wife (from whom he had been somewhat estranged prior to the apocalypse), “Not many people get that.” Call it redemption. Call it conversion. Call it an ironic experience of a new lease on life amidst a mind-boggling scenario of relentless death. Rick’s words bear witness to the show’s undergirding theme of an unexpected—and perhaps unmerited—second chance. Like Moses, Noah, and the Apostle Paul relying upon biblical grace, the survivors in “The Walking Dead” are saved by a mystery that has afforded to them the opportunity to live anew amidst widespread death.

The Theme of the Urgency of Community: In a moment of discernment, Rick offers this salient observation: “There’s us and the dead. We survive this by pulling together, not apart.” In one sense, of course, Rick’s reference to “the dead” is an allusion to the zombies. But might his words also suggest that even the survivors become “dead” (spiritually speaking) when they harden themselves to the possibility of relationship and community? Survival in “The Walking Dead” is absolutely dependent upon one’s willingness to look beyond one’s individual needs and preferences in order to labor for the good of the community. Such a theme resonates with particular vibrancy in a culture (and, for that matter, a church) that often champions a cold self-sufficiency over relational intimacy.

The Theme of Living Versus Surviving: The character of Shane summarizes post-apocalyptic life in this fashion: “We are surviving here. It’s day by day.” Shane’s words serve as a poignant reminder of the vast difference between surviving and living. Those who survive do what is necessary to get by. Those who LIVE, however, are available to the surprising joy and vitality that often hide themselves in the nooks and crannies of a painful journey. “The Walking Dead” recognizes that a willingness to settle for mere physical survival will result in a spiritual somnambulism that is tantamount to death. In that case, the “walking dead” is as much a reference to the survivors as it is to the zombies.

I am uncertain of what it says about me that my favorite show on television revolves around desperate human souls attempting to live (and not simply survive) in a world of flesh-eating zombies. Perhaps I am drawn to the stark yet artistic juxtaposition of life and death that “The Walking Dead” consistently maintains. Or maybe I am simply a sucker for a television show that dares to make the zombie a metaphor for a world that is all too familiar to us—the kind of world that eats its inhabitants.

Whatever my motivation, I’ll be there on Sunday at 10:00, rooting for the community as it attempts to cultivate life in a world where a spirit of death is all too common.

Sounds a little bit like the church, doesn’t it?

November of 2010 marks the 37th anniversary of the release of “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.” I watched it every year during my childhood. These days (in my “adult childhood”) I still make it a point to watch it every November.

Last year, I offered a post that described my favorite details of this wonderfully entertaining and socially significant cartoon. What follows is a reprint of that post, with a few additions.

Here are some of my favorite components of “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving:”

-SNOOPY’S BATTLE WITH THE ORNERY LAWN CHAIR—Tapping into the frustration that most of us have experienced with uncooperative folding lawn furniture, Snoopy’s passionate fight with the anthropomorphic chair ranks as one of the great moments in the history of animation. I think about that scene whenever I have difficulty opening up the folding chairs at church—which is often.

-FRANKLIN’S UNIQUE GREETING WHEN ENTERING THE HOME OF CHARLIE BROWN—When Peppermint Patty and Marcie come through the door, they greet Charlie Brown with simple hellos. But when Franklin, the only African-American boy in the story, comes into the house, he and Charlie Brown exchange a pronounced and audible slap of hands. In light of the fact that this was 1973, such a greeting was a slap heard round the world—one that signaled the arrival of a new age of race relations, even in the world of animation.

-SNOOPY’S PANICKED EXPRESSION WHEN HEARING THE INVITATION TO PRAY OVER DINNER—Peppermint Patty calls for someone to pray over the Thanksgiving meal. Snoopy, in a split-second response, looks suddenly panicked, as though he’s afraid that someone will look to him for the prayerful words. That split-second makes me laugh every year, if for no other reason than its illumination of a spiritually reluctant family pet.

-SNOOPY’S TOASTED EAR—While preparing for Thanksgiving Dinner, Woodstock the bird accidentally puts Snoopy’s ear in the toaster, then butters it. Such bold and risky physical comedy can only be described as Chaplin-esque!

-WOODSTOCK’S FONDNESS FOR POULTRY—It hit me in late elementary school that, in the closing scene, when Snoopy and Woodstock sit down for a turkey dinner, Woodstock was actually committing a form of cannibalism before my very eyes! I wonder if the turkey was accompanied by some fava beans and a nice chianti.

-AN ECLECTIC THANKSGIVING MEAL—The actual meal that Charlie Brown serves to his friends includes jellybeans, pretzels, popcorn, and toast—just like the pilgrims ate.

-LINUS’ PRAYER—When Linus quotes the prayer that was prayed by Elder William Brewster at the first Thanksgiving meal, it is the only moment in the entire animation that his security blanket is not visible. What a winsomely subtle way of making the point that, when Linus experiences the security of prayer, he doesn’t need the blanket.

-THE SPONTANEOUS REJOICING—When the children receive word that they are all invited to Charlie Brown’s grandmother’s house for a real Thanksgiving dinner, they erupt with a joyful fervency normally reserved for Steeler games and Pentecostal worship services. Even Snoopy is jubilant, and he’s not even invited.

-THE COMPLICATED FLIRTATION—Peppermint Patty’s aggressive crush on Charlie Brown, counterbalanced by her dysfunctional tendency to rely on Marcy as a communicational go-between, puts Charlie Brown in mysterious and often confusing territory in the matter of romance. And yet, when Patty utilizes a simple handshake as an opportunity to point out that “you’re holding my hand, Chuck, you sly dog,” I am always inspired to smile at the labyrinthine politics of romantic flirtation.

-THE REALISTIC SINGING—In the car, when the children sing “Over the River and Through the Woods,” they are neither unified in their tempo nor disciplined about their tonality—meaning that they sounded exactly like every group of singing children that I have ever heard (except for the Jackson 5 and that time that the Brady Bunch kids became the Silver Platters).

-THE EMPHASIS ON REMEMBERING OUR HISTORY—When Snoopy and Woodstock don their pilgrim outfits, and when Linus recites the Brewster prayer, these peculiar little animated characters make a compelling case for the urgency of remembered history.

-GREAT SPECIAL EFFECTS—Snoopy’s impressive game of ping pong against himself makes Forrest Gump look like a bumbling novice!

-THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THE CULTURAL MOVEMENT TOWARD THE SUBUBRS—“There’s only one problem with that song,” Charlie Brown says about the bucolic “Over the River and Through the Woods.”

“What’s that, Charlie Brown?”

“My grandmother lives in a condominium!”

By uttering those six words, Charlie Brown concludes the production with a bold and prophetic acknowledgement of the frightening implications of suburban sprawl—implications that still carry substantive weight, even thirty-seven years later.