Waymaker - Avenger Style
The messages made clear throughout the movie are centric to Roberts unresolved trauma and turmoil within, his inability to forgive himself for things beyond his control.There is a darkness calling him
(Image used from IMBd Movie Promo Linked Here)
This May, I went to see the latest Avengers movie, Thunderbolts, which I believe they have now rebranded as, The New Avengers.
I was so proud of and responsive to the overarching message in the movie of the darkness that threatens to deceive us, claim our vision and distort it, drag us into its abyss and hold us there. As the team confronts their past, their memories, traumas, and begin a retrospective look at themselves and how to move forward, a character, Robert, arrives.
His character at first is a calm, mild-mannered, gentle soul, seeming very out of place in this room of superheroes and Avengers. He is anxious and hesitant when the team finds him, filled with fears. The messages made clear throughout the movie are centric to Roberts unresolved trauma and turmoil within, his inability to forgive himself for things beyond his control. There is a darkness calling him from within. The Void calls to him continually, attempting to hold him in darkness and centered in the past traumas, unable to see forward.
Mental health as a theme is underlying, and a PTSD reaction to much trauma, which is later revealed. He is seemingly unable to fight the Void within, this darkness that keeps him in inner turmoil. There are scenes that left me breathless, in recognition and a thankfulness that it was being acknowledged. The vivid imagery, the burden, the battle from within, the sense of loss and him attempting to fight back and eventually seeming to think he will not be free, a giving in. Psychologically it is a rich and jarring imagery and glimpse into trauma and its effects, in a way rarely seen and acknowledged properly.
For me, a pivotal scene is when the Avengers, at this moment this scene is led by Yolena, they all join in, to fight against the Void for him, on behalf of him, to beat back the darkness threatening to consume him and claim him. They fight for him in more than one scene. But this one struck me and held on. It is a scene that for me personally as I watched, represented being seen and heard, in all of the facets of what trauma does, and being shown, in words, dedication, steadfastness, saying “we believe you, hear you, see you, and you are worth fighting for”. It was such a strong, vulnerable, connected moment.
As The Sentry, a battle begins, internally and externally, you’ll have to watch the film to know the rest, so that I do not spoil anything. I hope I haven’t already. Sorry.
I was struck deeply by the understanding that, in different ways and with different spectrums of understanding or relating, this film will reach many people in these moments. A connection of understanding and maybe validation. Maybe, for some even words for the first time that give meaning to emotions. I look forward to seeing how The Sentry, and Robert, will figure out his duality and who wins out, in true Marvel fashion in the next film.
The theme of the effects of trauma in childhood and how it holds on throughout our lives, calling to us and attempting to hold us to its dark hold of oppression. The void calls through labeling, flashbacks, triggers, name calling, anxieties, fears, real emotional battles, duality, imposter syndrome, unrest and just how exhausting it becomes. I deeply appreciate this cinematic view and burden expressed so vividly throughout the film. It explores all the ways that it robs and destroys, blotting out even the good.
We are not defenseless against it. We are not confined to its messages, though at times it feels very defeating and may become a never-ending battle. For some of us, the dynamics in our lives, especially in dysfunctional families, may be a constant trigger and reality. I know, I hear you and see you, my heart grieves, and I truly understand.
Yet, there is rescue, there are lights along the way, there are dawns and beauty, there are now many resources that can help on the journey. For many, I know of some, due to the weight, DNA, mental and emotional factors, some like Robert in the film just barely get by and feel consumed. For you, I say, I am so sorry, please know you are worth fighting for and when it is darkest, envision a team of avengers surrounding you in their arms, defeating the darkness on your behalf. An army of angels, using themselves as shields, picture it, hold it, feel it. It is what an army of angels will do the moment you call out one precious name, Jesus, it is your weapon and a shield against the darkness, just say it again and again while you envision the army holding you.
“Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” (NLT Romans 8:26)
When circumstances seem and feel overwhelming, impossible, dark, heavy, defeating, hopeless, it becomes difficult to see a positive or transformative outcome. It simply feels far too impossible. This can leave us in a very dark, lonely place, feeling desperate and panicked or just completely depleted to the point of surrender.
Taking the next steps forward may feel impossible. Breathing takes effort, especially slow and controlled breathing, walking, motivation for even things we love can feel impossible. Eating properly or eating at all in the dark moments can be futile. It takes all we have in order to function and to even roll out of bed and face whatever is before us.
I am not speaking of clinical depression per say, but of moments of personal gravity so forceful that it thrusts us into a state of helplessness and hopelessness.
I have been here many times, by forces out of my control, an effect of a decision made, even by others harmful choices, by my own inner sense of lack and a voice that speaks failure over me. In these moments, left adrift, I spiral and spin out, I am free falling and it isn’t a high. I am brought low.
I have also been on the outer banks of some of these moments, after the tide has carried me out and pushed me back up. I was able to look back and see where it was necessary, in order to birth something new. I have seen where it was a purifier. Washing away stuck beliefs, poor relationships I needed to let go of, untethering from systems or religious ideology that was going to drown my faith, from being saved from an incoming storm just in the nick of time.
Things I could never see or identify in the place where it felt the stormiest, where the tempest fell and the air became heavy, charged with electricity and grief, as if the sky itself mourned. When it felt that I was adrift and untethered, believing there was no anchor to steady and hold me. When I felt the howling wind and the many voices of the accuser, swift strikes coming like lightning and thunder, and called me into its depths. There have been moments like this in my life that seemed to swallow me whole, threatened to drown me and break me. The echoes of thunder, holding me in fear, tense, awaiting the next strike, seeming to confirm my deepest fears, illuminating the chaos and wreckage. Solidifying the writing on my heart that led me to feel and fear that I would surely crack and break this time, not salvageable, just wreckage and loss.
There have been seasons in which I could not even cry, even when my heart felt moved, because internally I had shut down to the tempest, I was afraid that if I did not hold myself together that I would surely break (this time). It became a motto – “just don’t break here, not now, not right now, hold it together.” It worked, but it is deceptive, and disconnecting is a survival skill, not a life giving skill.
And the enemy, the accuser, the liar, wanted me there. He wanted me to stay there and to believe the tempest was all there is, that dawn won’t break and that there isn’t a more powerful source that can with a breath, a whisper, a touch, a thought, calm the sea.
It only takes my participation in believing, calling out, turning towards His voice. Jesus.
In the night it seems impossible, even this small task, our mind scrambled. To lift my eyes above the storm and to the One who can set me back on shore, held, seen, tethered.
No, the enemy wants me trembling, weak, in despair. Unable to even murmur Jesus, unable to believe it will matter, unable to have even the strength to hope. He wants to drown the voice that calls me Beloved, to not recognize or see the hand that reaches out, through the chaos and pain and fear. A voice that doesn’t scold me for being in the storm, for my part, my fear, my pain, but pulls me up and out, reminding me that the dawn has already come, before I was even created. It is written on my heart, my sins, my darkness, my fears, my struggles, things done against me, brokenness, depletion of self, the well of pain within. I am scared, vulnerable, barely moving, in moments of doubt and a fresh pain or circumstance piled onto the many, I want a rescue and a life raft, sometimes it only comes through a different type of surrender than what one envisions, not a surrender to the dark but to the light. I know you love me. I cannot see past that. It is the only truth I can stand on.
At times, many times if I am reflective, I can see exactly what the enemy was afraid of, goodness was on the horizon. I was about to have a breakthrough, clarity, a purpose was just beyond, and he wanted to battle it coming forth. He was hoping I wouldn’t make it to shore, that I wouldn’t trust or call for help. The name of Jesus makes him flee, the moment I called His name, it was over, victory on its way. Like a lifeline, a piece of driftwood floats along, I can grab hold, with all strength spent. Though I may not feel or see victory for a while, it may take a while to dry out and solidify the ending and settling, only to come in the future.
Upon arrival to shore, I may not see clearly, but I have learned to trust. Spent. Washed up and exhausted. Not every circumstance has the pretty bow, the wrapped-up packaging of a treasure, sometimes I look back and it simply looks painful and hard, a lesson of resilience and trust. Others, I can see the gift that it was, even if it was to get my clenched fist to let go of something I was not meant to hold onto but was going to bring a demise and pain much greater than the storm I was facing. Sometimes it is for our good and for growth, a need to reframe and redirect our energies, the only way to wake us up is to allow us to tread water for a bit and admit our need. A different surrender. Not a giving into darkness, just acknowledging that I’m not capable, always, to stand against it.
I can look back on moments of my life where things felt uncertain, finances, jobs, relationships, my faith challenged, health scares, losses, division that felt permanent, and I see where I came through to the other side where the sun is shining and on a deep breath I exhale and say “thank you” as my faith is now expanded. I can also look back and see some of these and others that utterly crushed my soul and spirit, had me believing there was never going to be light again, so dark and painful that I could not see a way through.
Yet others, I may still wonder why? Maybe things that didn’t feel resolved or seemed pointless, I can trust that I may never understand, and yet I am still here, survived it, grew from it, feel stronger, braver, more capable. The outcome now is greater than the fear. Like a young child learning to walk, the wobbles and falls come first, growing bravery and determination, until I am not as dependent on others. As a toddler, I look up to grownups, (now to my Abba Father) and smile or giggle with glee at the accomplishment. On the outside of the fearful moments and wobbles, tempest past, the dark wells of grief abated for a bit. And they, our parents and Abba, clap and smile with glee and wonder right back at us. You did it!
Until then, I will wobble, sidestep, fall, cry, hold my breath, stumble, and occasionally reach out a hand for rest and redirection. Hopefully I learn, over time, lesson by lesson, to not let go of the only one who can quiet the waters.
The “waymaker” whom I can trust.
I hope this will help someone feel seen, heard, held, believed. You’re not alone.