A Christmas with Home Alone

Richness in the Slapstick

I don’t know about you, but when I think of insightful, theologically rich content on Christmas, I don’t naturally start with blockbuster films. And no, I’m not referring to any of the films released this year, like Netflix's Hot Frosty, “the story of a widow who magically brings a snowman to life.” Surprising, I know. No, I’m referring to what I consider to be the greatest Christmas movie of all time, Home Alone, which turns a shocking 34 years old this Christmas. 

Most of us remember the hilarious, slapstick humor of the two burglars trying to rob the McCallister family home. We laugh at the scene in the bathroom when Kevin screams after placing aftershave on his face. But there is one scene, so funny and poignant at the same time, that it is worth considering, even if you have amassed multiple advanced theological degrees.

Do you know the one I’m talking about? 

It takes place about ⅔ of the way through the film, right before the infamous break-in of the Wet Bandits. Kevin has fortified his home, but he finds himself strangely drawn to a beautiful stone church (Grace Episcopal Church in Oak Park, Illinois for the exterior scenes), where had earlier hidden from the suspicious van driven by Marv (Joe Pesci) and Harry (Daniel Stern) by posing in their nativity scene.

Kevin enters the church to the sound of a children's choir practicing. The serenity of the scene is broken when his neighbor Marley—a grizzled old man Kevin is terrified of—approaches him and asks if he can sit down.

It’s a moment of peace before the storm. (I highly recommend you watch the scene here to experience the full effect.) Over the course of the scene, we learn that, as unlikely as it may seem, these characters have something in common: broken family relationships.

An in each case, sin and guilt lie at the bottom of the breakage.

To be fair, "sin" isn't mentioned. But it's sin and guilt all the same. And Hollywood gets it right (for once), if sin and guilt make you feel bad, a church is a good place to find answers.

(Some might get technical here and accuse us of bad ecclesiology. The church isn't a building! Agreed! But in a movie, how better can a filmmaker show a church to an audience than with a traditional church building? The best church in your area might meet in a gymnasium—but it probably wouldn't be seen as a church by the audience.)

A Good Boy or a Bad Boy?

But let’s jump to the scene's dialogue. After sitting down, the elderly man asks:

You’ve been a good boy this year?

To which Kevin replies,

I think so

That's not "no," but it's also not "yes."

The old man is wise enough to see through Kevin (though not wise enough to have figured out that this 9-year-old is home alone—but I digress).

Marley pushes back: “You swear to it?” Now, the conversation takes a different tone. Pleasantries and stock answers will not do. Kevin concedes,

I’ve been kind of a pain lately. I said some things I shouldn’t have. I really haven’t been too good this year.

It's a moment of honesty that shows Kevin's character has developed since the beginning of the film. Unstated, but present, is the fear that it was his bad behavior that caused his family to disappear, something he was initially happy about.

How You Feel about Your Family is a Complicated Thing

As Kevin continues, Marley connects with him over the complicated reality of being in a family in a broken world. After Kevin says,

I’m kind of upset about it because I really like my family, even though I say I don’t, sometimes I even think I don’t. Do you get that?

I think everyone gets that!

The conversation continues:

Marley: I think so. How you feel about your family is a complicated thing.

Kevin: Especially with an older brother.

Marley: Deep down, you’ll always love him. But you can forget that you love them. You can hurt them, and they can hurt you. That’s not just because you’re young. (emphasis mine)

How you feel about your family is a complicated thing. This Christmas, many of your congregants will be thinking and feeling the same thing. They love their families, but years of unhealthy familial dynamics has left its toll. Eventually, a toxic equilibrium may settle in where the pain and fear become larger than the peace that would come with reunion. 

One of the biggest challenges in modern, wealthy countries is that we don’t “need” each other in the same way that families in other times did. And while this is obviously good in certain circumstances, most notably the ability for people to extricate themselves from abusive relationships, it may also keep folks who should reconcile from ever doing so. It’s not that they don’t want to, it’s just that it takes work, and no one is going to “assign” it to them. And so, instead of pursuing our family and friends that we are in conflict with, we just move on, trying to act as if they do not exist. Unfortunately, while they may not be in our physical presence, the unresolved tension won’t leave our minds. 

Some time ago, a friend described an uncomfortable situation from when she lived in Washington D.C. post-college. She was renting an apartment with a couple of other girls she met earlier during an internship and study program.

These roommates had a lot in common. They were interesting, motivated, and had similar backgrounds. But at some point, those inevitable conflicts roommates have cropped up—issues with chores, sleeping habits, typical stuff. Unfortunately, neither had the relational skills or desire to reconcile. And so, for the last few months of their shared contract, they lived together apart. 

I remember this friend saying something like this:

I think growing up as a Christian (neither of these young women were Christian), you always assume that when conflict occurs, you are going to reconcile. It’s sort of just what we are told we are supposed to do. And it’s sad to see these two women, both smart, driven, funny, and caring, just give up on each other.

I wish I could say this was always true. Even among Christians, people can fail to reconcile. But it can be true for us, if we choose to take the Christ’s call to forgive and reconcile seriously. 

Settling into Alienation

Marley knows a thing or two about unforgiveness. Marley has a story to tell Kevin. Here's how the dialogue goes:

Marley: You want to know the real reason why I’m here right now? ...I came to hear my granddaughter sing. And I can’t come hear her tonight. 

Kevin: You have plans?

Marley: No, I’m not welcome.

Kevin: At church?

Marley: No, you’re always welcome at church. I’m not welcome with my son. Years back, before you and your family moved on the block, I had an argument with my son.

Kevin: How old is he?

Marley: He’s grown up. We lost our tempers, and I said I didn’t care to see him anymore, He said the same, and we haven't spoken since.

Marley is describing that toxic equilibrium that sets in when a alienation and conflict fester.

Kevin: If you miss him so much, why don’t you call him?

Marley: I’m afraid if I call him that he won’t talk to me.

Kevin: How do you know?

Marley: I don’t know. I’m just afraid he won’t.

Kevin: No offense, but aren’t you a little old to be afraid?

Marley: You can be a little old for a lot of things. You’re never too old to be afraid.

I love that line, “you can be a little old for a lot of things.” What a profound truism. Isn’t it a part of the human condition that we mature as we get older, but hold on to immature attitudes, thoughts, and behaviors? Many of those deep-rooted, immature attitudes, and behaviors come from coping mechanisms developed during our childhood. 

Perhaps ones they worked for a season, but now they are keeping us from experiencing the abundance of life and the new creation that our salvation in Christ affords us. For Marley, it sounds at least a bit like he’s chosen to reject others so that he himself doesn’t experience rejection, even if it is from his own son.

I love Kevin's response to Marley's confession. He tells a story of his own.

Kevin: That’s true, I’ve always been afraid of our basement. It’s dark, there’s weird stuff down there, it’s bothered me for years.

Marley: Basements are like that. 

Kevin: Then, I made myself go down there, and I found out it’s not so bad. All this time, I’ve been worried about it, but if you turn on the lights, it’s no big deal.

Marley: What’s your point?

Kevin: My point is, you should call your son.

Marley: What if he won’t talk to me?

Kevin: At least you’ll know. Then you could stop worrying about it. Then you won’t have to be afraid anymore. I don’t care how mad I was, I’d talk to my dad. Especially around the holidays.

Marley: I don’t know

Kevin: Just give it a shot, for your granddaughter anyway. I’m sure she misses you, and the presents.

There’s so much about this dialogue that I love, beginning with Kevin’s indirect confrontation of Marley. He doesn't merely tell him he needs to make a change, rather he tells him a story that leads Marley to that conclusion himself. How very Jesus-like! And what a profound truth! When we don’t face our fears, including relational ones, they have power over us. When we face them, at very least it provides clarity, even if we don’t receive the answer we are looking for. 

Wrapping it Up

In the past few years, our family has been regularly making a habit of watching Home Alone during the Christmas season. When I first thought of writing this article, I wanted to explore the depiction of the church, so different from almost all other portrayals in mainstream American films.

But what I found was perhaps a deeper truth that itself is built on a theological conviction: that Jesus entered the world as a frail child, partly, to show us what it means to be truly human. And what it means to be truly human is to be in reconciled relationships with our neighbors, including our own families. Just as Christ reconciled us to the Father, we are called to be agents of reconciliation in the world. And perhaps, that can start with our own families.