The theology of Chicken Little.

Since I'm a dyed-in-the-wool procrastinator, April seems like a good time to talk about New Year's resolutions. It usually takes me a month or more to: a) realize the New Year is upon us; b) formulate some resolutions. If you are still keeping up with your 2007 resolutions, good for you; I admire your tenacity. If not, allow me to offer my encouragement and assure you that it's not too late to get back in the saddle.

I have discovered, in the course of an undisclosed number of years (including twenty of marriage and nearly as many of family life), that one frequently finds inspiration in the unlikeliest places. One such recent occasion was in watching a scene from the Disney (Pixar) animated film Chicken Little, which my husband and I previewed last fall, and enjoyed enough to purchase on DVD. The writers deserve credit for taking a very short fable and spinning it into eighty-one minutes of clever and enjoyable family entertainment. It has its iffy moments, of course--most contemporary movies do (one example: I didn't care for the choice of karaoke song in one short scene), but on the whole, it's a refreshingly wholesome flick.

The main character (Chicken Little, an archetypal loser/underdog), is trying to live down having humiliated himself in front of the whole town with his (apparently) bogus "sky is falling" allegations. (He is later vindicated, but I won't spoil the plot for those who haven't seen it.) The downtrodden little schlep tries to make good, and he does so by having hope in the possibility of his redemption, even while nearly everyone around him (including his hapless dad) has no faith in him. His father is embarrassed by him, and the town ridicules him, as do most of his schoolmates. Nevertheless, Chicken Little is (pardon the usage), a plucky little fellow who succeeds against the odds because he 'believes in himself and has friends who support him. However, I'm not here to review the film, so much as to tell you what I gleaned from it.

One of my favorite segments is the baseball game, where the decidedly non-athletic Chicken Little is trying desperately to prove himself (especially to his father, a former high school jock-hero). Despite his coach's advice to "take the walk--don't swing!" the little bird braces to face the pitcher, and says slowly to himself." "Today is a new day." And it is. By some marvel, he gets a hit, scores a home run, and becomes the hero of the game. There's more to the movie, of course, but that would be telling.

Today is a new day. It's simple, it's corny, it's been said a thousand times before, but it's true. There is no sin so great, no slump so deep, no Night of the Soul so dark, that the saving power of Christ cannot lift you up and set you on a new path. I find myself surprised by how often, when I'm feeling discouraged, Chicken Little's words come back to me: "Today is a new day."

Satan doesn't go for that. His dictum (modified) is: "Same crap, different day." The devil doesn't just wear Prada (yet another movie reference, but I haven't seen that one), he also likes to tote luggage--lots and lots of it, and he encourages us to do the same. Nothing brings us down more quickly than the weight of our past sins and failures, hindering us every time we attempt to move forward.

Forget about it. Start fresh, move on. Take Chicken Little's advice, which is also found in Scripture (Revelation 21:5): "Behold, I make all things new." If you've let your resolution slide, New Year's or otherwise, "Now is the time" to get back on track--that's in the Bible too: 2 Corinthians 6:2. (See, I don't spend all my time watching movies.)

As Christians, we know it takes more than loyal friends and self-confidence to succeed--it takes the power of Jesus' cross and resurrection, which brings us to Easter quite nicely. The Church in her wisdom gives us the freshness of springtime, the reprieve of redemption, and the joy of resurrection, all rolled into one. So Lent is over. Don't sweat it; there's still time to take stock, recharge your spiritual batteries, and go forward--even when it feels like the sky is falling.

Mariette Ulrich writes from Scott, Saskatchewan.