Warning: Spoilers ahead.
It took the boredom of an icy winter day to convince my tween and teen sons to watch the new Disney animated movie Encanto with me. I had heard the catchy songs topping the Billboard charts and wanted to see what all the encanto (Spanish for “charm” or “attraction”) was.
Like the name, I was enchanted by the movie — until the last five minutes or so. And that ending, well, I could not stop thinking about it (even more than the “Bruno” song that is stuck in everyone’s head).
Sarah Blackwell
The story begins with a legend, a magical house and a blood line where each member is endowed with one special power, except one girl, Mirabel. The Madrigal family becomes the center of a small community with each of the family members using their giftedness to help others. What Mirabel begins to sense, though, is that for many of the family members, the blessings have turned to burdens because of the excessive pressure put upon them to be perfect, act a certain way or always be the strong one. We begin to see that these talents sometimes can be torment. Fractures form within the family.
After a series of events, however, the magic ends and their house literally falls apart, leaving them with no powers and no home. Soon, though, we see beautiful images of the whole community, blessed for so long by the gifts of the Madrigal family, joining together to rebuild the house over several seasons.
Throngs of people come to provide food and other necessities. The family members, both blessed and burdened by their giftedness through the years, seem content working with the townspeople without their magic to help them. It seemed to me the best ending of a Disney movie ever. Not a magical one, but one about the wonder of a community joining together. It was unexpected, refreshing and real. Mirabel’s power seemed to be that she could see her family for more than just their powers. It was a tribute to teamwork, mental health and authenticity.
At the final feast of celebration for completing the house, Mirabel gets to turn the door handle to enter their new home. It signifies the start of a new life of being ordinary, but still loved and cherished by their community and supported by them in new ways. The pressure and the expectations placed on the characters because of their gifts seems lifted. They are loved simply for who they are and not what they can do.
That is, until Mirabel turns the door handle, and the magic comes back. I deflated like a balloon sputtering around the room. I understand this is a fairy tale (of sorts), with a happy ending (of sorts), and Mirabel finally gets her gift (of sorts), but honestly, rarely have I been so disappointed in a movie’s ending.
As my son remarked, “Well, what’s to keep this all from just happening again?”
Was it a Disney ploy for a money-making sequel? What is to keep the unhealthy family cycles from returning? Will the townspeople go on relying on the Madrigal family to do the “heavy lifting”? Will they learn to set boundaries? Will the family members go back to being defined by their “one gift”? Why was a children’s fairy tale getting into my head?
Then, it struck me why this was so bothersome. It is precisely what we do in our church communities. A select group of people — pastors, elders, deacons — are gifted in ways they use to bless the church community. Others are drawn to the community because of these gifts. They are known for their preaching or pastoral care or love of children. Inside though, the pressures always are mounting to be perfect, to respond to every crisis quickly and appropriately, and to build and grow the church. Many church leaders can relate to the lyrics from one of the songs titled “Surface Pressure”:
If I could shake the crushing weight of expectations,
Would that free some room up for joy
Or relaxation, or simple pleasure?
Instead we measure this growing pressure.
From the outside, sometimes our leaders are not seen as people with inner struggles of their own but simply for the roles they fill. Like Mirabel, we need to check in on them as people who have born the burden of death, loss, grief, isolation and depression in this pandemic time just like the rest of us.
“Just as the community rallied around the Madrigals, so too, must all our members join side by side to rebuild.”
After coming through a few tumultuous years, many houses of faith are weak or are starting to crack. We cannot rely only on these gifted leaders to build things back alone, though. We need to roll up our sleeves and ask how we can help. Just as the community rallied around the Madrigals, so too, must all our members join side by side to rebuild.
We will find true flourishing when we all recognize the gifts we bring to our communities instead of relying unfairly on a few for everything. So, in my ending, we would all re-enter the house together, but the magic would be from the unity of our community working together and not the giftedness of a few. And this egalitarian body of believers, like the one Paul discusses in 1 Corinthians 12, would be our real encanto.
Sarah Blackwell is a 2020 graduate of the Gardner-Webb School of Divinity. She is a former deacon at Providence Baptist Church in Charlotte, N,C., and volunteers with youth and young adults. She lives in Matthews, N.C., with her husband and two sons who usually make her watch Battlebots, Mythbusters, and anything from the Star Wars saga. She is a contributing writer at Word & Way. Follow her writings at www.proximitytolove.org.
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