This post contains Rogue One spoilers.
People ask me how I got hooked on improv. Sometimes they mistakenly assume that as a pastor, my interest has something to do bringing more creativity to worship, or perhaps wanting to introduce more humor and lightness into a denomination that is often too somber and reserved.
Those things are important–they don’t call Presbyterians the frozen chosen for nothing–but that’s not what drives me. Nothing could be further from the truth, in fact.
My passion for improv actually stems from walking with individuals and families as they endured profound crises and heartbreaks. Navigating tumultuous waters requires us to hold our own plans lightly, to see life realistically as it unfolds, and to bring our best response to each moment, even if we can’t see several steps down the road. In other words, improv.
Health crises in particular are full of improvised moments. As I see it, and saw it, medical personnel are guided by a few simple questions:
What is the present reality we’re dealing with?
How do we respond to what this disease is handing us TODAY?
What is the best YES possible for our patient?
Even when the prognosis is poor, those questions don’t really change. What would “healing” look like in this situation? Healing doesn’t always mean a successful cure, sadly. Sometimes it means managing someone’s pain, or allowing them to die with dignity at home.
If you’ve seen the movie Rogue One, you’ve seen improv in action. Jyn Erso makes a resounding speech to the rebel council in trying to convince them to go after the plans for the Death Star. She’s ultimately unsuccessful at convincing them to take the risk. But I was more struck by her speech to the ragtag group of rebels who do take on the job. She says:
“We’ll take the next chance, and the next, until we win… or the chances are spent.”
It’s a brilliant summary of an improvised life. If we go into the unknown banking on success, we’ll either get too scared to start, or we’ll be so focused on the future that we’ll lose our eye for the present moment, which is essential to moving us forward. We must keep our vision trained on what’s in front of us–the next chance, the next conversation, the next move. Improvisers talk a lot about Yes-And as the foundation for good improv, but having a sharpened vision for what’s happening around you is at least as important.
And the ending! I asked in my post on Tuesday, how can a movie in which everyone dies be so uplifting? Well, part of that is seeing what they died for: Hope, in Leia’s words. And hope is so much more enduring than a little band of rebels. It’s also inspiring to see everyone do their part in making this stunning data-heist possible.
When we last see Jyn and Cassian, they know they are about to be consumed by the destructive incinerating power of the Death Star. Cassian says to Jyn, “Your father would have been proud of you,” and they embrace.
They know they are doomed. They know there’s no escape. Cassian didn’t need to say that to Jyn. But even in his last moment, there is still an opportunity to find a Yes. It’s a smaller Yes than we might have wanted for these heroic, fascinating characters. But it’s the best Yes possible in that moment.
Have you seen Rogue One? (I hope you have if you’re reading this!) What did you think?
Reminder: I’m doing another workbook/playbook for 2016/2017. Subscribe to my email newsletter to get this year’s copy, which should arrive next week.