Late Saturday night I watched The Passion of the Christ. I'd been avoiding watching this movie from the moment it came out simply because I knew how emotionally affected I would be. I couldn't bear to see the treatment Jesus received displayed so graphically. Not because I disagreed with Mel Gibson's interpretation or because I felt it was too graphic, but rather because I knew, as bad as Gibson could have made it, the reality was worse, and I just couldn't watch.
The feeling didn't change when flipping channels in the middle of the night but a particular scene caught my eye, or rather I should say, a particular point of view. As I watched the movie play out, I was eerily captivated by Gibson's attention to Mary's, Jesus' mother's, scenes. I had never really considered her having to watch the treatment of her son happen in before her eyes.
Being a mother myself, I kept coming back to the knowledge that I couldn't have done it. I could not have stood and watched people beat my child to a literal bloody pulp. I couldn't have borne seeing the crown of thorns on his head, or the nails being driven through his flesh. And yet she did. She saw it all knowing it was His will and that she could and shouldn't stop it.
When Jesus was receiving his forty lashes Mary turned and walked away. Surprisingly, I found myself angry with her. I was furious she turned her back on him even though I freely admit, had I been in her place, I don't know that I could have watched. But my anger, I realized, came from the same place as my doubt - motherhood. If my child had to suffer those things, the barest minimum I could do would be to stand beside him and hold his gaze. Let him know I was there as much as possible, as much as I could be. To bear the pain of watching, as He bore the greater pain of suffering. I'm not saying I could have done it, only that I think I should.
As I predicted, I cried through the whole thing. I cried for the suffering of my Lord, but also I cried as much for the suffering of His mother - someone I'd never considered before.
Such is the power of the point of view.
I am intimately familiar with the story of the death and resurrection of Christ. Saved at the age of eight, I've heard and studied the account ever since. And yet, here I am, twenty nine years later with a new revelation. Though the scope of this blog and the minimal length of this post doesn't allow me to go into all of the spiritual ramifications for my life, it does allow for one very specific lesson.
Do not underestimate the power of looking through someone else's eyes - including your characters.
When you write (and I'm preaching to myself here, so pardon me please if you've heard this all before) look at the story through the eyes of more than just your main character. What do you see that you couldn't see before? What do they know that your main character does not? What have they suffered? What joy have they known? What baggage, preconceived ideas, and biases do they bring to the table? How does that color their actions? Their reactions?
Even if you never put a single word of their experiences into your work, they guide the action as much as anything else in your story, and give your novel a layer of depth you might not have had earlier. Not everything you write is bound for publication. But everything you write has value. Backstories and differing points of view, though not part of your book, are part of your characters. Because of that reason alone, they are worth exploring.
But there's more. Let's say you have a story in your head that's been brewing a while but it seems a little overdone, a little cliche, a little "been there, done that." A trick of the trade is the POV switch. There is a children's book I read years ago that tells the story of the three pigs from the wolf's side. It is hilarious and engaging and nothing at all like the story we've heard a hundred, thousand times.
Such a simple shift, but such a brilliant story telling tool.
. . . Would you look at that!
