Big Lebowski

Thank you God, for “The Big Lebowski” on a Sunday night when I am empty and depression is starting its familiar assault, penning me inside my thoughts. On a Sunday night when I think I can never listen to another person, and remembering the woman who talks too much makes me want to crawl under the bed. On a Sunday night when I fantasize about not being a pastor, and having a 9 to 5, and nobody caring about what I say or do.

On a Sunday night, thank you for “The Big Lebowski”.

Thou knowest how Sam Elliott's opening words comfort me and settle me into my couch, and how they are an invitation to let go.

Thank you for the Dude writing a .69 check with a hint of milk on his lip. Thank you for "Tumbling Tumble Weed" and the “Chinaman” peeing on the Dude's rug. Thank you for Donnie, and Walter, and Jesus' purple socks, and the dream sequence, and for how the whole thing carries me away to the place I most need to be.

Yea verily, thank you for Maud and for the dance of the funky landlord. Thank you for the coffee can of ashes and for Walter's dirty undies.

Thank you for bringing me back to life on my couch and for the way perspective seeps back into me. Thou knowest how much this strange little ritual means to me.

And when the movie is at an end, thank you for the final benediction, for the hearing of the line I always wait for.

"The Dude abides."

Abides. Yes, abiding is good. I remember. The preacher abides; that is all I need to do.

Thank you God, for “The Big Lebowski” on a Sunday night. It never fails me.

And thank you for hearing the most unorthodox of prayers, uttered by a slightly askew pilgrim in his hour of need.

Amen.

© Copyright 2005 Preacher. Last update: 7/17/2005; 8:21:04 PM. Links