Sitting in Silence, but Not in Church

Earlier today I found myself sitting in silence, not wanting to hear anyone speak, and not wanting to leave the place. However, the lights came up and we had to go out of the theater to make room for people attending the next showing. There have been precious few times during my life when a film caused me to sit in awe and wonder. The Elephant Man was that kind of film, as was Chariots of Fire. I had not planned on seeing The Tree of Life, but I had read several reviews during the past week, including one published in the Christian Century, and they were very good reviews. There are so few films worth seeing these days that I really do pay attention when many agree on the merits of a particular film. So, I went in to see the film not knowing what to expect, aside from the common wisdom that one will not understand all of it, rather like 2001: A Space Odyssey. I was one of the few people in my college dorm who liked that movie, probably because I had read the book in high school and had figured out at least most of it, except for the ending. From the moment Tree of Life began, I was taken into the story and the images and the music. I won't give away the plot or the scenes other than to say that portions of all of our lives are touched upon during that film.  Life, death, God, prayer, family, fairness and unfairness, adolescence...it's all there. I thought the movie had ended several times before it did, and I could not even guess what was coming next.
I was sad that the lights came up the moment the credits began. I wanted to sit there and allow it to wash over me. It seemed somehow sacrilegious to speak, because the journey I had just been on took me to holy ground. I will spend good portions of time during the coming weeks pondering the film and its images and the places whence I was transported. I will relive difficult moments in my own life that came to mind while viewing it, and I will look back fondly on simpler times during my early life. I have read reviews since viewing the film written by those who have no patience for messages that are not obvious, people whose attention spans are barely longer that that of gnats. And some were dismayed that a religious message could possibly be found in the film, as if that, if it does in fact exist there, cheapened the artistic merit of said film. I think of about the only phrase I recall in reading Schliermacher in divinity school, when he directed one of his works to his friends, the "cultured despisers of religion." So, if you can find an art theater that is showing this film, because the commercial chains will not touch something so ponderous, go and take a look. How often do you have occasion to sit in silence and awe and wonder?