January/February 2001

Are The Simpsons "Okily Dokily?"

by Barbara Curtis

They've been called The Last Christian TV Family in America. Mom, Dad and kids do everything together -- meals, movies, vacations, even watching TV. They say grace before dinner, attend church each week, quote Scripture for guidance, cry out to God in time of trouble and thank him in between.

They're The Simpsons!

Alright, already. Before yanking your subscription or this humble writer's credentials, take a deep breath, and as bad-boy Bart would say: "Don't have a cow, man!"

Like Lucy caught by Ricky in some whacko scheme, I know I have some 'splainin' to do. As little as a year ago -- having never seen a single episode of The Simpsons, I would have reacted with righteous indignation to read there might be anything worthy in such a subversive show. I would have been in good company. The Simpsons, long-forbidden fare in many Christian homes, has been denounced from pulpits across the country, and referenced by countless moral authorities as symbolic of all that is wrong with America. In 1992, Former President George Bush said, "We need a nation closer to the Waltons than to the Simpsons."

But do we?

After all, let's face it, most of us are unlikely to see the Walton days again -- in our neighbors' homes or in our own. Yes, there do exist small communities that hearken back to that era, and by the grace of God can even sustain it. The trouble is, where there are would-be Waltons, you may be blinded by the light, but you'll probably find little salt.

I contend you will find both in The Simpsons.

Contempt Prior to Investigation

The Simpsons moved into TV land in January 1990, almost instantly becoming familiar as the folks next door. Like most good Christians, I refused to give them the time of day. But that didn't stop me from tch-tching here, there and everywhere about their dysfunctional family.

I'd heard about Homer, couch potato supreme Dad, whose life centered on beer guzzling/TV watching, with brief interruptions for work -- or more accurately, avoiding work -- at a nuclear power plant.

Then there was Bart (think anagram "brat"), the in-your-face underachieving son, ever choosing whatever is false, ignoble, wrong -- well, just think Philippians 4:8 -- only opposites.

So typical of the media to focus on terrible male role models. Tch, tch, tch.

The women in the family I never knew much about -- that is, until I finally decided to stop relying on gossip and pay them a visit myself.

I can't take all the credit for this. The fact is, I kept stumbling across articles in respected conservative journals hailing The Simpsons as "the greatest TV show ever," "the most intelligent, funny and even politically satisfying show ever on television" and even "among the most religious programs on television."

These remarks intrigued me. What if there was more to this dysfunctional family than I thought?

Finding the Fun in Dysfunctional

There is indeed much more to The Simpsons than they've gotten credit for. After watching a few dozen shows -- some of which admittedly had no redeeming value -- I was impressed with the grace abounding in the characters' relationships, as well as the intelligence and wit of the writing.

First of all, Hooray! Hooray for writers who in two lines can make a point political pundits labor over for hours! In one episode, underage Bart uses Grandpa Simpson's name on his cartoon submissions, then finds Grandpa has been receiving and depositing the royalty checks.

When Bart asks, "Didn't you wonder why you were getting checks for absolutely nothing?" Grandpa rasps, "I figured 'cause the Democrats were in power again."

Such political satire, with roots in newspaper cartoons like Pogo and Li'l Abner, is way more effective on TV.

While The Simpsons has been criticized for its anti-Christian jabs, the scenes I've seen have been not only right on target but laugh-out-loud. In one, Homer's super-Christian next-door neighbor punishes his son by sending him to bed without a Bible story. When his wife worries that he may have been too harsh, Ned says, "You knew I had a temper when you married me."

The Flanders family -- Ned, Maude and sons Rod and Tod are just too good to be true. The family has a satellite TV dish, but 216 channels are blocked, leaving them only one. The children, who favor games like "Clothe the Leper" and "Build the Mission," quit watching their Davy and Goliath video once they realized a talking dog was blasphemous.

Ned and Maude have a loving marriage, but hit some rough spots and were finally driven to see a marriage counselor because, as Ned explains, "Sometimes Maude (God bless her), she underlines passages in my Bible when she can't find hers."

On a deeper level, Christian judgmentalism is lampooned when Maude goes away to a church camp to learn how to be more judgmental. Christian hypocrisy is constantly satirized in the character of Reverend Lovejoy. He provides a sharp contrast for Ned, a nerdy but authentic Christian, without a hypocritical bone in his born-again body.

In "Ned Flanders, My Hero," Christian author Frederica Mathewes-Green writes: "Ned is endlessly cheerful because he is pure in heart. He treats everyone around him with generosity and kindness, and can't imagine they wouldn't treat him the same way. He is incapable of cynicism or contempt, unlike just about everybody else in town.

"That's the mystery of Ned Flanders. He may be decked out as a nerd, but it's that nerd disguise that enables him to smuggle authentic Christian virtues into world-weary homes every Sunday night.

"Obviously, he's set up to be a laughingstock and buffoon, a caricature of a Christian. But given that everyone on TV is a caricature of something, being a goody-goody isn't such a bad onehe's actually the nicest person on the show. He's even the most competent. In a tight situation, he's the one you'd want around. On a dangerous whitewater rafting trip you'd be grateful for old Neddie, who is smart and brave and knows how to catch a fish with a cheese doodle. ("Godspeed, little doodle," he murmurs as the hook slips beneath the waves.)"

I'm glad I'm not alone in finding the Christian highlights hilarious. Our weaknesses are, after all, our weaknesses. We all know Neds and Maudes and

Reverend Lovejoys -- may even be them from time to time ourselves.

Perhaps the greatest weakness of all is to take oneself too seriously.

Not that we're the only ones. America is rife with pietistic groups, and not one of them escapes The Simpsons barbs: feminists, environmentalists, exercise nuts, vegetarians, big corporations, corrupt politicians, NRA members, anti-gun lobbyists, Charlton Heston, Ted Kennedy, Republicans and Democrats.

When it comes to exposing human foibles, The Simpsons is an equal opportunity employer.

No Place Like Home and No One Like God

The Simpson family, no matter how outwardly dysfunctional, is perhaps the most devoted family on television today. And there is no other show in TV land that so acknowledges the immediacy of God and the effectiveness of prayer.

Peel away the laughter, and you will find the Simpsons have a strong foundation in love and faithfulness. Do they have their quarrels and misunderstandings? Certainly. Do they fail each other now and then? Absolutely. Yet there are transcendent moments of honesty, humility and selflessness.

In "Colonel Homer," Homer, miffed at Marge, meets a waitress in a country bar who shucks her apron to sing songs like "She Don't Understand

You, But I Do." When Homer offers Lurleen help with her singing career, she takes him home to her trailer park and asks him if there's anything he wants. "A glass of water," he says innocently, then goes home to Marge. Later he becomes Lurleen's manager and makes her a star. Marge worries she is losing Homer. And indeed, Lurleen does fall in love because Homer is the only man who hasn't taken advantage of her. But when she finally throws herself at him, Homer flashes back through his romantic history -- all negative except for Marge, who tells him, "I'll love you forever." Not only does Homer hightail it out of there, but takes the added precaution of selling his lucrative contract to another manager for only $50.

What faithfulness! What grace!

Marge, usually the stable, moral and unconditionally loving center of the family, has her occasional trials and temptations. In "Scenes From the Class Struggle in Springfield," when she buys a Chanel suit in a thrift store, the upper class women take a new shine to her and invite her to the country club. Her desperate efforts to whip her family into shape become increasingly harsh and hurtful. Finally on their way to the big debut, the family trailing several paces behind, Marge overhears Homer say, "You kids should thank your mother. Now that she's a better person, we can see how awful we really are." Marge is instantly remorseful, renounces her highfalutin' ways and detours her family for dinner at Krusty Burger.

What redemption! What grace!

"Bart vs. Thanksgiving" begins on a cynical note -- a day of food, football, grouchy relatives and sibling squabbles. At dinnertime, Bart tosses Lisa's handcrafted centerpiece into the fire, refuses to apologize and is sent to his room. Homer's Thanksgiving grace begins in denial, ends in confession: "And Lord, we are especially thankful for nuclear power, the cleanest, safest energy source there is. Except for solar, which is just a pipe dream. Anyway, we'd like to thank you for the occasional moments of peace and love our family has experienced. Well, not today, butYou saw what happened! Oh, Lord, be honest! Are we the most pathetic family in the universe or what!"

Bart is too paralyzed by fear of humiliation to apologize. But Lisa, once she has overcome her own anger, is able to persuade him why he needs to take the chance. When Bart sort of says he's sorry, Lisa's forgiveness is instantaneous. Homer overhears and concludes, "You know Marge, we're great parents." The family feasts on turkey sandwiches with strains of "We Gather Together," backing Homer's prayer, "Oh Lord, on this blessed day, we thank Thee for giving our family one more crack at togetherness."

What Christian parent couldn't identify with such grace?

No doubt about it, when it comes to larger-than- life heroes, on The Simpsons, God is the only one.

Family is important, but priorities are priorities. When Homer stops going to church, Marge warns,

"Homer, please don't make me choose between my man and my God, because you just can't win."

Marge applies Scripture to daily dilemmas, like whether to take in a homeless bus driver, "Doesn't the Bible say, 'Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers, that you do unto me?'" Though a laughline follows when Homer stammers, "Yes, but doesn't the Bible also say, 'Thou shalt not take...moochers into thy...hut?'" it only adds luster to the truth.

Homer's take on the Bible may sound dumb, but couldn't be more accurate: "Everybody's a sinner," he complains, "except this guy."

Prayer abounds on The Simpsons and is always answered. When Homer pleads, "God, if you really are a God, you'll get me tickets to that football game," the doorbell rings, and Ned Flanders offers Homer tickets.

In a more serious scenario the Flanders family, filming the story of Moses, lays their baby in a basket among the reeds by the river. As the video camera rolls, the basket is swept away. Ned cries out, "Flanders to God, Flanders to God, get off your cloud and save my Tod!" Lightening strikes a tree, which falls across the river, blocking Tod's path. Everyone cheers as Ned thanks God. And God, making the OK sign through the clouds, speaks in Ned's native tongue: "Okily dokily!" God is omnipotent, but God is personal. And he cares. Who knows but that seeing him this way on Sunday night might not pique a pagan's curiosity just enough to nudge him into church next Sunday morning? 

Amy Award winning writer, Barbara Curtis has written more than 400 articles for 50 magazines, with an emphasis on current issues in today's culture.

Why We Need to Lighten Up An interview with Dr. Calvin Miller Dr. Calvin Miller, pastor and professor at Southwest Baptist Theological Seminary, is the best-selling author of more than thirty books as well as a gifted and good-humored speaker. Barbara Curtis: Is humor compatible with Christianity? Calvin Miller: Sure, especially when you think that humor is connected to joy, and joy is something that is supposed to characterize Christians. BC: Do you find Christians to be afraid of humor? CM: Yes -- and that makes Christian speakers afraid they'll be accused of not taking God seriously. People say things like, "He's funny, but I think I needed more." BC: How necessary is humor? CM: Well, if you're a writer or a speaker, you tell a story. If you're an artist you draw a picture. This is art -- and art holds up a mirror. Some things will be funny and some things will be broken. BC: How does this relate to Christianity? CM: The arts and the Bible are both about the same thing. Both are about life. Both hold up a mirror. BC: Is there anything that should be off-limits to Christians in the realm of humor? CM: Yes -- sacrilege. Ironic humor is effective, but sometimes satire descends into the inane and silly. When you make God look bad, that's a theological obscenity. We don't want to find ourselves there. BC: How much do Christians need to understand the humor of their times? CM: Preachers especially need to know where their culture is. One thing I admire about Francis Schaeffer and Charles Colson is that they are open to entertainment as a way to see what is going on with the culture. BC: How do you know where to draw the line? CM: If your walk with Christ is being jeopardized by entertainment, movies, music, you need to move away from those things. But there are some people whose walk with Christ is such that they can use these things to "read" the culture and help other Christians understand and relate more effectively.

Connecting with the Culture A recent survey indicated that the kind of neighbor people LEAST want next door would be a fundamentalist -- meaning you and me. How could this be? After all, aren't Christians honest, kind, thoughtful, compassionate? I guess at our best we are all that and more. But sometimes, sadly, we're rigid, harsh and judgmental. Too often our strongest opinions are based on things we know the least about, so that our response to a show like The Simpsons is so exaggerated and off-base that we leave unbelievers scratching their heads in bewilderment. After all, they've seen the show and know it's not as bad as we claim. Still, some would argue, we live in a fallen world, and we must be careful. Our culture is full of darkness. We do well to avoid contact with all that is not uplifting, noble and pure. Isn't that what is meant in Philippians 4:8? Perhaps for some, this amount of caution is absolutely necessary. And yet for others, it can be too easy an out -- ducking the responsibility of relating to our culture and all the resulting complications. It's easy to define the world as black/white, good guys/bad guys, saints/sinners and just to stick on the safe side rather than to get out there where there's a mixture -- which would require personal investment and offer the chance for some real conversation. In 1992, Bob Briner wrote in Roaring Lambs -- a must-read for every Christian writer, musician, and artist -- as well as for those wrestling with the question of relating to our culture: "We say we believe that God's Word relates to all of life and has the answers to all of life's questions. Yet we primarily spend our time and energies talking only to each other, writing only for each other, performing only for each other. This abdication has made it possible, even necessary, for evangelical Christians and their beliefs to be interpreted to the world primarily by non-Christians. The fact that they almost always get it wrong is our fault, not theirs." How will they ever get it right if they don't know us? Yet how will they ever know us if we are so standoffish, so painstakingly different than they? What are we so scared of? I think of Jesus choosing fishermen -- smelly, crude, maybe not so nice to be around -- as his closest associates. Of causing consternation among the "spiritual" folk by eating with tax-collectors and prostitutes. His commitment was obvious in his parables -- to stand on common ground, to find ways to teach through the things with which his culture was familiar, to trust that the light within God's people is stronger than the darkness without. I believe we can do that, too.

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