Unbroken: Finding Gratitude When All Hope Is Lost

I recently finished Unbroken, a fabulous biography recounting the life of Louie Zamperini. My alternative title for this blog is "I Hope They Don't Break Unbroken", because it's coming out in the theaters in a few months.

I hope they don't transform an awesome book into a mediocre movie.

What am I concerned that the movie get right? Principally, the fact that it was God, a personal God, the Christian God, who intervened at key moments in Louie's life. The book is a biography about Louie, but it also unabashedly touches on the theme that there is a bigger story afoot. That God is sovereign over Louie's life.

But to stick to one small vignette from the book that moved me, let me paint the scene...

Louie got sucked into World War II along with a few dozen million other young men, and had the misfortune of a crash at sea. Misfortune might be misstatement, however, because while many others died in countless ways, Louie lived. Out of a dozen men on the plane that crashed, he and two others survived. Three men dragged themselves out of the sea and onto a raft.

And began to float.

The story from there is long, and one man died eventually. But some weeks into their long journey on a short raft, Louie and his remaining companion Phil found themselves at the end of the end.

The book (excerpted here) describes it thus...

"One morning, they woke to a strange stillness... There was no wind... The ocean stretched out in all directions in glossy smoothness... It was an experience of transcendence. Phil watched the sky, whispering that it looked like a pearl. The water looked so solid that it seemed they could walk across it.

For a while they spoke, sharing their wonder. Then they fell into reverent silence. Their suffering was suspended. They weren't hungry or thirsty. They were unaware of the approach of death.

As he watched this beautiful still world, Louie played with a thought... Such beauty, he thought, was too perfect to have come about by mere chance. That day in the center of the Pacific was, to him, a gift crafted deliberately, compassionately, for him and Phil.

Joyful and grateful in the midst of slow dying, the two men bathed in that day until sunset brought it... to an end.

I find this passage particularly moving because I am so often filled with ingratitude. But here, lying under an unrelenting sun, two depleted skeletal men facing imminent death find ecstatic gratitude for a placid ocean scene.

As I reflect upon their experience, I'm challenged to the core. Do I see God's beauty around me?

I should.

I could stop there but the next scene begs mention.

A bit of backdrop must be noted here. You see, Louie wasn't even religious at this point. More to the point, I'm not even sure the author of this biography is either. She is certainly fair to his story, and recounts it well. But I wonder if she (or Louie) caught an interesting detail in what is recounted next.

The two men had just got through rejoicing in the midst of a great quietness. Now came the show.

"On the fortieth day, Louie was lying beside Phil... when he abruptly sat up. He could hear singing. He kept listening; it sounded like a choir. He nudged Phil and asked him if he heard anything. Phil said no. Louie looked up.

Above him, floating in a bright cloud, he saw human figures, silhouetted against the sky. He counted twenty-one of them. They were singing the sweetest song he had ever heard.

Phil was the one with the deep faith, and yet Louie is the one who saw the angels. Oh, the inscrutable decisions of God. To leave Phil without a ticket to an angelic visitation granted, seemingly, only to Louie.

This is the story as Louie and his biographer recounts it. What I can't help but wonder, however, is whether either of them appreciate the ironic timing of the angelic visit to the fortieth day at sea?

Give God a bit of credit for a sense of humor.

After all, isn't there a story in the Bible about a boat lost at sea for 40 days and 40 nights? With no land in sight? I'm wondering if God has some contractual obligation (beyond the rainbow promise) to send encouragement to those who find themselves at sea alone for that long.