The 1960s television series The Twilight Zone had a fairly strong — if somewhat inconsistent — morality at its center. Bad people were generally punished for their misdeeds in a suitably ironic fashion. However, there was also an undercurrent of truly moral questions that I found very interesting as a Catholic. The episode “The Howling Man” deals with a man who disbelieves that the devil is real, and through his skepticism allows Satan to coerce and trick the person into being set free upon the world. “A Nice Place to Visit” details a small-minded criminal who dies and believes he’s gone to Heaven, since his every whim and urge is instantly satisfied; he discovers at the end of the episode that he is, in fact, in Hell, and an existence without goals, challenges, or a higher purpose is his eternal torment.
One episode in particular came to mind as I reflected on today’s readings. That episode is “The Obsolete Man“. The setting is a dystopian totalitarian state, where books are forbidden as is belief in God (both of which are viewed as “obsolete”). It stars Burgess Meredith as Romney Wordsworth — the titular “obsolete man” — who is a librarian and a man of faith. He is sentenced to death by the state, a sentence to be determined by the Chancellor. Wordsworth is allowed to select the manner of his death; he accepts his fate peacefully, but chooses a secret method of death (to be carried out by a state executioner) and wants his execution to be televised (which the Chancellor agrees to).
In Wordsworth’s home, an hour before his death, the Chancellor visits Wordsworth. The doomed librarian reveals that the method of death he has chosen is death by a bomb . . . and the room they’re in is now locked, so he and the Chancellor will get to die together. Surely, Wordsworth explains, this will be a great opportunity to show the power of the state, and the foolishness of belief?
And so, the bulk of the episode is the two of them locked in a room together, their dooms eminent. Wordsworth — content with a Bible (which had been previously hidden) – is taking peace with his final moments, while the Chancellor grows increasingly enraged and panicked as his time draws near. I won’t spoil the moment if you haven’t seen the episode, but I don’t think I reveal too much by saying Wordsworth does not, in fact, kill the Chancellor . . . and even unto his final moments, Wordsworth has the peace and contentment that only God can provide.
All of this came to mind as I reflected on the first reading, from the Letter of James. I couldn’t help but notice one line – “You are a puff of smoke that appears briefly and then disappears.” – through the eyes of both Wordsworth and the Chancellor.
The Chancellor sees that line and feels fear, the gnawing at the pit of his stomach. By tying himself fully to the secular world, the wisp of our material existence is revealed to be insubstantial and ultimately meaningless.
But Wordsworth, I imagine, would read that line differently. Our lives are brief, but that’s what makes the appeal of peace, the promise of eternal life, so precious.
As the Letter of James says, “You have no idea what your life will be like tomorrow.” For some, that’s a terrifying prospect. But for me, I take comfort in it. If I can’t say for certainty what tomorrow will be like for me, then I might as well live in this moment as genuinely and earnestly in my love for God and humanity as I can.
The rude person at the store? That moment doesn’t exist minutes later; why should I let it ruin my day?
The ill-chosen words I said to a loved one? I should apologize and do what I can to make that right, right now, because I may not have a chance tomorrow.
That skill I’ve been meaning to learn? That volunteer position at Church I’ve been called to but haven’t answered? Again, there may not be an opportunity a year from now, so if I should seriously consider just doing it.
I think back on that Twilight Zone episode, with Burgess Meredith calmly reading aloud from the Bible, the serenity of a life with God making his final moments crystal clear. Even if we don’t know the hour of our death – and most of us don’t – we can still have that peace all the time. Or we can claw at the doors of our own limitations, flailing with fear at the unknown, at a future we can’t prepare for . . . and then panic, doing everything we can to deny our own mortality while the shadow of death looms ever closer.
The greatest gift that God has ever offered is a life with Him, in both the puff of smoke of our lives now, and the unending life of the world to come. It seems like an amazing offer, one that’s even more black and white than an old episode of The Twilight Zone.
Today’s readings: Jas 4:13-17; Ps 49:2-3,6-7,8-10,11; Mk 9:38-40
