Cool Hand Jesus
Pilate asked him again, "Have you no answer? See how many charges they bring against
you." But Jesus made no further reply, so that Pilate was amazed.—Mark 15:4-5
Read Mark 6:30-46
A Sunday school teacher had tried to teach her class of youngsters that you don't go to heaven by earning it, but simply because God loves you. She asked them, "If I sold my house and my car and had a big garage sale and gave all the money to the church, would I go to heaven?"
"No!" the children exclaimed.
"If I cleaned the church every day, mowed the church's lawn, and baked a fresh blueberry pie for the minister, would I go to heaven?"
"No!" the children answered again—though the wiser ones knew that baking that blueberry pie would get you pretty darn close!
"Well then," the teacher begged, "how in the world can a person get to heaven?" After a short pause a little boy on the back row said, "You gotta be dead!"
Well, what do we have to do to go to heaven? Or, what is a more realistic and relevant question, What do we have to do to feel assured that we are on the right track in life, that we are headed in the right direction, and that we have a right relationship with God?
As Christians, our church teaches us that the answer to these questions has something to do with our relationship with Jesus Christ. We have been told variously that we must "accept Jesus as our Lord and Savior," that we must believe that he is "the only begotten Son of God," or that we must make the ultimate decision to join the church and follow Christ's teachings. In particular, we are often asked to believe that "Jesus died to save us from our sins." To many persons, these assertions are not as easy to understand as it might at first seem. What does it really mean to be a Christian? How do we know whether we are truly among Christ's followers?
In the church the usual approaches to these questions involve rational discourse—discussion using words and logical explanations. But there is another historic resource for the Christian faith, namely, the fine arts. It is well-known that there is a significant connection between great art and religious faith. Specifically concerning the Christian religion, congregations from the beginning have sought to create an attractive and thought-provoking setting for worship. This includes not only architecture but painting, sculpture, tapestry, and religious drama. The musical arts have probably been the most prominent of all.
Compared with the established arts, a relatively recent form is the art of movie making. Though most movies today seek little more than transitory amusement, some films may be regarded as genuine art. Concerning faith, there are movies which deal specifically with the subject of religion. The classic, Elmer Gantry, is one of my favorites. But there are many movies which, though not specifically about religion, wrestle nevertheless with broad and deep questions about what we can believe in and what life may finally mean. Such movies may be thought of as being implicitly religious in content.
In that vein, this morning, as a departure from my usual sermon structure, we are going to consider the 1967 film Cool Hand Luke, directed by Stuart Rosenberg and starring Paul Newman, George Kennedy, Jo Ann Van Fleet, Strother Martin, and several other actors who were then new to the public but who are now easily recognizable. Cool Hand Luke is based on a book by Donn Pearce, himself an ex-convict, who wrote about a real prisoner, a safe-cracker named Graham Garrison. In the movie, the character "Dragline" became a break-out role for George Kennedy, who won an academy award for Best Supporting Actor. Paul Newman was nominated for Best Actor but lost to Rod Steiger for In the Heat of the Night.
But Paul Newman creates an astonishing and unforgettable character in Lucas "Luke" Jackson, who in prison comes to be known as "Cool Hand Luke" because of his imperturbable demeanor during a poker game. As the film begins we first meet Luke when he is drunk late one night. He is on the deserted main street of the small southern town where he lives, cutting off the tops of a whole series of parking meters. Later we learn that Luke was once a heroic soldier who was decorated several times for bravery in combat. But the savagery of war and the hardships of his own childhood have left him scarred emotionally, so that he is lovable but maladjusted, rebellious, and reckless.
For destroying public property Luke receives two years of hard labor on the county road gang, digging ditches, chopping weeds, and shoveling hot tar and gravel onto roads in weather which seems to be perpetually characterized by blazing heat and sweltering humidity. But this is not just a movie about prison. In the words of reviewer Tim Dirks:
Rich religious symbolism, references, and imagery are deeply embedded within the movie, with some critics arguing that Luke represents a modern-day, messianic Christ figure who ministers to a group of disciples and refuses to give up under oppression. The film's theme centers on an outsider-protagonist who transforms the occupants of a Southern chain gang and tragically sacrifices himself at the end.
As they begin their sentences, the new prisoners are lined up in front of the rest of the inmates—fifty altogether—where a guard explains the rules.
Your clothes got a laundry number on 'em. You remember your number and always wear the clothes that has your number. Any man forgets his number spends the night in the box. These here spoons, you keep with ya. Any man loses his spoon spends a night in the box. There's no playin' grab-ass or fightin' in the building. You got a grudge against another man, you fight him Saturday afternoon. Any man playin' grab-ass or fightin' in the building spends a night in the box. First bell is at five minutes of eight, last bell is at eight. Any man not in his bunk at eight spends a night in the box. There's no smokin' in the prone position in bed. If you smoke, you must have both legs over the side of your bunk. Any man caught smokin' in the prone position in bed spends the night in the box. Today, you get two sheets. Every Saturday, you put the clean sheet on the top and the top sheet on the bottom. The bottom sheet you turn in to the laundry boy. Any man turns in the wrong sheet spends a night in the box. No one will sit in the bunks with dirty pants on. Any man with dirty pants on sittin' on the bunk spends a night in the box. Any man don't bring back his empty pop bottle spends a night in the box. Any man loud-talkin' spends a night in the box. You got questions, you come to me. Any man don't keep order spends a night in the box.
"The box," of course, is a windowless wooden shed the size of a small closet in which men being punished sit and sweat all night.
In the searing hot sun the convicts endure soul-breaking labor. They must ask permission—for example, "Takin' it off, boss!"—whenever they want to do something out of the ordinary, such as remove their shirts during the heat. In 1649 poet Richard Lovelace wrote,
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
and indeed, the opening scenes of Cool Hand Luke suggest that the worst thing about being a convict is not simply the incarceration or the restriction of movement, but the suffering of being oppressed in every moment by a system which treats you not as a person but as an object, which denies your humanity and destroys your sense of dignity. We do well to recognize that millions of people all over the world cope with conditions much like these every day, even though they are not in an actual prison.
In addition to coping with harsh rules and a sadistic warden, Luke also has to deal with the toughest of the inmates, the de facto head of the prisoners, "Dragline," played by George Kennedy. Luke's rebellious and sarcastic comments annoy not only the guards but Dragline, who eventually takes Luke on in a brutal Saturday boxing match while the guards and prisoners surround them. Luke is severely bloodied and beaten but, typical of his indomitable spirit, he won't stay down. Gradually the convicts begin to feel sympathy for Luke. One cries, "Just stay down, Luke. He's gonna knock ya down again, buddy. It's not your fault. He's just too big. Let him hit ya in the nose and get some blood flowing. Maybe the bosses will stop it before he kills you." Mockingly Luke responds, "Well, I wouldn't wanta frighten 'em."
After more pounding even Dragline feels sorry for Luke. Finally he simply walks away, leaving Luke pulverized but undefeated. It is as if by staying in the fight and absorbing all the blows Luke has somehow borne all the anger and soaked up all the malice and sin of the other inmates. They begin to show him a grudging admiration. Dragline ironically becomes Luke's friend and supporter.
In one of the movie's famous scenes Dragline bets everyone that Luke can eat fifty hard-boiled eggs in an hour. One reviewer wrote:
The number fifty becomes significant. Since there are fifty prisoners' souls and fifty eggs, Luke's ingesting of the eggs parallels Christ's taking upon himself the sins of the world and bringing about a rebirth. Eggs, the celebration of Easter, and the resurrection are symbolically tied together.
At first, of course, the eggs are easy to eat. But after Luke has eaten about thirty-five the scene becomes painful. As the men cheer, joke, and place bets, just before an hour elapses, the bloated Luke swallows the last egg. The men move off in a state of celebration, leaving Luke alone, lying on the table where he has been sitting, his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms flopped over the sides of the table, appearing in an overhead camera shot to resemble a crucified Christ figure. Despite his discomfort, a smile plays on his face.
As a prisoner Luke receives a depressing visit from his mother and brother. His mother is old and sick, and Luke senses that this will be the last time he will see her. Shortly after the visit Luke's mother does die. Not only is Luke not allowed to attend her services, but the warden, sensing that Luke may try to escape to go to the funeral, has Luke locked in the "box." After the burial Luke is let out, but that night he makes a hole in the floor of the bunkhouse and escapes. Soon he is captured and punished by the warden (Strother Martin), who looks at Luke and utters the film's most famous line: "What we have here is a failure to communicate."
Several days later the men are out at work on the road when Luke manages to escape again. By now the men idolize him, for only Luke is able to stand against the degrading conditions and the cruelty of the warden. But after this second escape Luke is apprehended again, and this time he is returned thoroughly bruised and beaten. After considerable time in the box, in order to humiliate Luke before all the prisoners, Luke is forced to dig a grave-shaped ditch in front of the bunkhouse. After he makes the excavation he is beaten by the guard for "getting it wrong" and forced to fill up the hole and then dig it again. At last Luke's spirit is broken. Lying on the ground in front of the guard, he begs:
Don't hit me anymore. Oh God, I pray to God you don't hit me anymore. I'll do anything you say, but I can't take anymore.
[Warden:] You got your mind right, Luke?
[Luke:] Yeah. I got it right. I got it right, boss.
[Warden:] Suppose you's backslide on us?"
[Luke:] Oh no, I won't. I won't, boss.
[Warden:] Suppose you back-sass?
[Luke:] No, I won't. I won't. I got my mind right.
[Warden:] If you run again, we gonna kill ya.
[Luke:] I won't, I won't, boss.
After watching all of this, the prisoners who had previously idolized Luke turn away from him in scorn, as the disciples abandoned Jesus when he was arrested.
Forsaken by the other inmates, for a time Luke becomes a kind of lackey for the guards. Eventually, though, his old spirit returns. One day on the road Luke succeeds in stealing the guards' truck. With Dragline standing on the running board, Luke speeds away. Soon the two decide that it would be better to split up. That night during a rainstorm Luke finds himself passing a country church, and goes inside to get out of the rain. He sits in one of the pews and after a while, in a scene reminiscent of Jesus in Gethsemane, Luke looks up at the rafters and attempts to talk to God.
Anybody there? Hey, Ol' Man, you home tonight? Can you spare a minute? It's about time we had a little talk. I know I'm a pretty evil fella. Killed people in the war and got drunk and chewed up municipal property and the like. I know I got no call to ask for much, but even so, you gotta admit, you ain't dealt me no cards in a long time. It's beginning' to look like you got things fixed so I can't never win out. Inside, outside, all 'em rules and regulations and bosses. You made me like I am. Just where am I supposed to fit in? Ol' Man, I gotta tell ya. I started out pretty strong and fast. But it's beginnin' to get to me. When does it end? What you got in mind for me? What do I do now? ... All right. All right. [He kneels and folds his hands for a "proper" prayer.] On my knees, askin'. [Luke waits, but there is only silence.] Yeah, that's what I thought. I guess I'm pretty tough to deal with, huh? A hard case. I guess I gotta find my own way.
Soon, when Luke looks out the window and sees police cars surrounding the church, he says, "That's your answer, Ol' Man? I guess you're a hard case, too." Then Luke emerges onto the front porch of the church. He looks through the dark drizzle at the law officers, the guards, and the warden, and mockingly repeats the warden's famous line: "What we have here is a failure to communicate." Unknown to the others who hear him, the words have a double meaning, for Luke is really thinking of his failed attempt to communicate with God.
In that moment one of the guards, a crack shot who always wears opaque, reflective sun glasses even in the dark, shoots Luke through the throat, mortally wounding him. Dragline, already being held by the guards, hurls himself upon the guard, knocking the sunglasses into the mud. For the first time we see this guard's eyes, bulging out in panic as he is being choked.
The film ends with Dragline back on the road gang, chopping weeds with the other prisoners. The others want to know how it ended. "What'd he look like at the end, Drag? Were his eyes open or closed?"
He was smilin'. That's right. You know, that Luke smile of his. He had it on his face right to the very end. Hell, if they didn't know it before, they could tell right then that they weren't gonna beat him. That old Luke smile. Oh, Luke. He was some boy. Cool Hand Luke. Hell, he was a natural-born world-shaker.
Every time I view this movie I'm convinced again that it asks some of the most perceptive, penetrating questions that can be asked about the Christian faith.
First, there is an obvious questioning about the effectiveness of prayer. In our churches we like to tell stories about people in trouble whose desperate prayers are miraculously answered by God. But, Cool Hand Luke asks, what about the far larger number of persons who, like Luke, go to God in great distress and are answered only by silence?
A second question asked by the film has to do with the role of heroes and martyrs in religion. The prisoners are only too happy to have Luke, with all his bravado and sass, to bear the brunt of the guards' rules and the warden's sadism. Luke becomes not merely a relief from boredom but a hero, the focus of their lives and a deliverer from their misery. We are aware that religion, from the days of old, has regularly been criticized for being a refuge for the psychologically weak—a crutch for people who are unwilling or unable to bear their own moral and emotional burdens. In our Scripture reading from Mark 6, we read that Jesus had compassion on the crowds because they were "like sheep without a shepherd." When we "look to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith," is this healthy—or unhealthy? As Cool Hand Luke concludes, the surviving prisoners relish telling the tales of Luke and his courage while they themselves remain in bondage, content for all practical purposes to serve out their time placidly. So, the movie asks us, What are the crucial differences between a religion of unhealthy dependency and a religion of true moral courage and human liberation?
Third, like the movie Cool Hand Luke, the Christian narrative leads to the death of the main character. How, if at all, can we make sense of this death? And, are there ever any circumstances in which undeserved suffering is redemptive?
Why are many prayers unanswered? Is it really healthy to worship a hero such as Christ? Is unmerited suffering ever a good thing? The strength and beauty of Cool Hand Luke is not so much that it answers these questions as that it asks them in an exceptionally eloquent and unforgettable way. Occasionally, it is a good idea for a sermon to proceed in the same fashion! We will come back to these three questions on some other day—but, in the meantime, how would you answer them?
As we close, there are some good hints in a note I received from one of our members by e-mail a few days ago. She wrote:
I have glimmers of things I can't put words to—that is as close as I have ever come to faith, I suppose—but I am fascinated and inspired by the things Jesus is recorded to have said and done in the gospels. They seem so radical to me, and so right. Some of them are simply enigmatic to me, but always they draw my attention.
So often, that is what true faith really is—not knowing all the answers, but simply allowing ourselves to be fascinated and inspired by the radical and enigmatic message of the Gospel.
Let us pray.
Lord Jesus, send thy Spirit into our hearts. Grant that, even when clear answers are not quickly forthcoming, we may yet find that our journey of faith is rich and rewarding. Amen.
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