I only saw two episodes of the TV series. But I had read the book: Stephen King’s Under the Dome.
It’s a crazy story about an impenetrable and transparent semi-sphere that appears in the sky and surrounds a New England town–the bubble (funny typing moment: spell check turned my initial attempt at “bubble” to “Buble” as in singer of songs–my spell check is likely on some controlled substance) is quickly labeled, “The Dome.”
As the Dome materializes, it carves cattle in half (giving new meaning to the phrase, “thinly sliced roast beef”); planes abruptly disintegrate in the sky and the air is filled with a blood-and-body-parts kind of rain. Birds splat and slide to the ground. Trucks experience full-powered disintegration as they encounter the Dome at highway speed.
Then, as the Dome is completely formed, the people inside realize they are trapped. They hammer and they pound and they scream and they pound some more, but they cannot get out.
Outside the Dome, emergency crews bring explosive and military might to bear as they attempt to bust in. They can’t and they don’t–not for lack of trying, but for lack of ability to break into this completely closed system.
Interested in the story’s end? Read the book…binge watch the series…ask someone…Google away…I am not a spoiler…you have no need of an alert about me (at least not for this)…
I was at someone else’s family celebration in the not-too-distant past. The celebration was both well-deserved and well-attended. And…most of the people attending were Christians (in the they’ve-told-me-so-and-I’m-taking-their-word-for-it kind of way). I attended for two reasons: (1) I genuinely appreciated those being celebrated (they are loveable and huggable and kind and laden with been-around-a-long-time wisdom) and (2) their life achievement was a rarity in our day. I also sort of “had to” attend by virtue of my connection with those being celebrated.
In the military we used to call that kind of attendance requirement, “mandatory fun.” In this case, the sweet nature of those being celebrated genuinely made seeing them fun–even if it was semi-mandatory.
But, since I wasn’t part of the main family group that comprised this celebration, I was able to (read, again: had to) stand to the side. From my vantage point, I got to see an extended family system at work. It was the sort of observational opportunity that makes family systems theorists salivate.
Now, these family members seemed to enjoy each other very much; they seemed to extend genuine welcome and affection toward each other. There were lots of smiles and hugs and pats on the back and bantering remarks tossed about. Many “How have you beens?” peppered the conversation.
But one thing was very, very, very (yes, three “verys”) clear from the outset: this was a tightly closed system. The Dome had nothing on this group. I don’t think the folks inside were concerned about getting out. But those on the outside could not get in…at all…in any way…for any reason… (again) at all.
Because, not only was this system tightly closed, those inside seemed oblivious to the presence of those outside…maybe it wasn’t actual obliviousness…maybe it was obliviousness’s more informed cousin: indifference.
Like yellow-billed oxpeckers riding the backs of indifferent zebras, the outsiders were barely noticed by the insiders. The outsiders’ presence was tolerated but they were not taken in.
Another non-family system member, also consigned to outlier land, leaned toward me and said, “Now I know what a church visitor feels like.” I sighed internally (in my position you must master the internal sigh) and thought, “He’s absolutely, heartbreakingly, incontrovertibly, right.”
We need to do something about the reality of “insider” versus “outsider”–we need to realize that, except for God’s grace through Christ, we are all “outsiders” and we’d best cast our loving embrace toward all the outsiders who come our way.
“I was a stranger and you did not invite me in” (Matthew 25:43).
© 2015, All rights reserved. Scripture from the NIV.
September 30th, 2015 at 3:39 am
Absolutely. Churches can be very cliquish, and it pushes people away. Just sitting in the same seat every Sunday is a form of cliquishness. I remember visiting a church and apparently I ‘stole’ someone’s seat, judging by the look and the clucking of the tongue.
Love your ruminations (do zebra ruminate?)
September 30th, 2015 at 8:12 am
Thanx very much for your kind words…I don’t know if Zebras ruminate…but I suspect so…take care and God bless.