Signum U. Symposium: Beasts and Rogue One

Last month, I was pleased to take part in a Signum U./Mythgard Institute-sponsored symposium to discuss the two hottest fantasy films of the holiday season, and their various and sundry implications: Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them and Rogue One: A Star Wars Story. Also taking part were friends of this site Katherine Sas and Kelly Orazi (whom you’ll remember from their brilliant essays in Harry Potter For Nerds 2), Curtis Weyant (who is one of my own, personal go-to Star Wars nerds), Brenton Dickieson, Mythgard faculty member and author of the brilliant blog A Pilgrim in Narnia, and of course our moderator, Sørina Higgins. It proved a lively, lengthy and interesting discussion, especially after our host ended the “official” program, and the remaining panelists, having too much fun to hang up, chatted on unreservedly. Please enjoy, and feel free to add your own thoughts on these two films, and our nerdy discussion of same, in the comments.

You can follow Emily Strand on Facebook and Twitter (@ekcstrand).

How Fantasy Tyrants Rise to Power, Part II: Emperor Palpatine

Palp_trustmeI don’t hate the Star Wars Prequel films. In fact, I’ve likely watched Episodes I, II and III more than I’ve watched the original films and certainly enjoyed them as much. There, I’ve said it: I love the Prequels. Roll the comment thread vitriol.

Hatred for the Prequel trilogy in Star Wars fandom fascinates me, though. It’s a fait accompli in intelligent circles – a last acceptable sweeping condemnation. “Those terrible Prequel films,” one academic friend recently called them in passing, as if The Phantom Menace, Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith were one dysfunctional organ within the Star Wars body, threatening the health of the whole and subject to removal without a second opinion. Yet their removal would leave us with a Star Wars that looks like Darth Maul at the end of The Phantom Menace: sliced in half. Like it or not, the Prequels are an essential part of Star Wars story-telling.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not uncritical. The Prequels’ use of ethnic stereotypes to portray characters meant to be “exotically other” (think Newt Gunray, Jar-Jar Binks and Watto) is distractingly offensive, even if it wasn’t meant that way. And sure, Lucas went overboard on the CGI effects. And yep, there was bad acting (flanked by very, very good acting) as well as bad directing.

But there is one criticism of the Prequels I’ll always push back on: their focus on politics. Many fans felt bored or overwhelmed by the films’ heavy political narrative. Whereas the original Star Wars film’s opening crawl tantalized us with “rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base”, and princesses “racingepisode-1-crawl_228ffc5a home,” having stolen “secret plans,” The Phantom Menace’s opening crawl speaks of “turmoil,” “taxation,” “blockades” and endless “debates.” It was a change of tone many fans didn’t favor. Though politics may not be as exciting or sexy as rebel spaceships racing around, still we must attend to the politics of the Prequels, for it is these films’ source of power. Although the Prequels ostensibly tell the story of Anakin Skywalker’s downfall, they also tell of the rise of one of fantasy’s greatest tyrants: Emperor Palpatine, aka Darth Sidious. Palpatine’s rise is not violent at first. In the Prequels, his is a politically-maneuvered ascent, which uses the fear and insecurity of the people and the crushing bureaucracy of democratic rule to establish absolute tyranny.

1999’s The Phantom Menace begins with a game – not the one Chewie and Threepio play on the Millennium Falcon, but a bigger, much darker game, played by the Sith Lord Darth Sidious. He has pitted the greedy Trade Federation against the Galactic Senate – of which he himself is a member – in order to seed division and fear in the galaxy. Filmically, the “menace” of The Phantom Menace was Jar-Jar, but narratively it is Sidious, whose back-to-back holographic appearances in the film’s opening scenes – first as Sidious, then as Senator Palpatine – slip us a clue to the riddle of the film’s title.

At Sidious’ command, the Trade Federation’s droid army invades peaceful Naboo, attempting to hold Queen Amidala hostage, terrorizing her people until she will sign a treaty which legitimizes their occupation. Young Obi-Wan’s instincts serve him well when he has “a bad feeling about this”. Qui-Gon too senses that something more sinister lurks behind the scenes, citing the lack of logic in the julius-caesar-4.jpetFederation’s stunt. So why does Trade Federation Viceroy Nute Gunray listen to Sidious, agreeing to perform his dirty work? In Star Wars and History, Tony Keen avers Sidious’ pseudo-religious position as a Sith Lord gives him political authority over the Federation, just as the title or chief priest, or pontifex maximus, gave Octavian political clout in Imperial Rome (132). This correlation is corroborated by Sidious’ introduction of his Sith apprentice, Darth Maul, a demonic figure who carries out their plans while intimidating the Federation into submission.

Keen points out another important link between Star Wars and Imperial Rome; just as Julius Caesar galactic-senate-history-2_19cf71d1stacked the Roman Senate with his own partisans (129), Palpatine carefully establishes his dictatorship while leaving the appearance of democracy. But it is a democracy that, he suggests, no longer works the way it should. “There is no civility, only politics,” he tells Queen Amidala. “The bureaucrats are in charge now.” (The Phantom Menace, chapter 27) He subtly persuades Amidala not to rely on the Senatorial process, but to vote “no confidence” against Chancellor Valorum, insisting on the need for stronger leadership and trusting to his own magnetism to do the rest. Thus Senator Palpatine becomes Chancellor Palpatine.

pg-35-napoleon-1-dea-gettyThen, in Attack of the Clones, Chancellor Palpatine continues to play on the corruption and bureaucracy that hinder the Galactic Senate’s effectiveness. As war looms, the Chancellor requests and receives special powers, meant to be temporary, like the temporary title of dictator which Julius Caesar sought, attained and only lost when assassinated. These powers enable Palpatine to create an army for the Republic, and fear of the Separatist threat moves the Senatorial vote in Palpatine’s favor. Keen points out the cue Lucas took here from the rise of Napoleon, whose “elevation to the position of emperor was also approved by a large majority of French citizens in a referendum vote.” (Star Wars and History, 139)

In addition to Imperial Rome and Napoleonic France, Hitler’s establishment of Nazi Germany also informs Palpatine’s rise to power. Keen notices that like Hitler, Palpatine uses deep ideological divisions in society and government to his advantage, and when an economic crisis throws the government into gridlock, the brutal dictator’s party gains power through persuasion. And in Revenge of the Sith, a flash point of crisis – the attempt on the Chancellor’s life by Jedi Mace Windu – gives Palpatine the authority to destroy his only remaining rival for power: the Jedi Order. This echoes “the mysterious fire which Hitlerburned down the Reichstag building on the evening of February 27,” (Keen, 143) which allowed Hitler to claim that the government itself was in danger, just as Palpatine cites “a plot of the Jedi to overthrow the Senate,” (Revenge of the Sith) and declares himself leader of the first Galactic Empire, “for a safe and secure society”. Cue Padmé Amidala’s most iconic line: “So this is how liberty dies – with thunderous applause.” It is significant that the final lightsaber battle between Yoda and Palpatine takes places in the halls of government. Why not smash them up? Democratic structures will no longer be needed in Palpatine’s new Galactic Empire.

In Star Wars as in history, unchecked fear among the populace and the crushing inertia of bureaucracy in times of crisis create political climates wherein societies willfully surrender democratic structures in favor of a swift, authoritative action by a strong individual. In Star Wars as in history, this is how tyrants rise. This disturbing political thread of the Prequel films may have bored audiences, but when taken seriously, it should deeply interest us instead. And it should make those who feel secure in their democratic societies rather uncomfortable. Who knows? Maybe this difficult truth about our precarious freedom is part of why audiences turned their thumbs down on the Prequels.

jarjar1I predict that as we continue to deepen our examination of those films, mining their narrative and symbolic richness instead of scoffing at their surface-level flaws, appreciation for the Star Wars Prequels will grow. What do you think? Please share your comments below. If you do, however, please be nice to Jar-Jar. It’s really not his fault.

Follow Emily Strand on Facebook and Twitter (@ekcstrand). Also, you can catch up on Part I of this series, on the rise of Lord Voldemort, here.

Why Leia Matters, Part 2: Literary Impact

Image result for princess leia

Last week, we were treated to Emily Strand’s outstanding post on the origins of the character of Princess Leia, whose cultural value we have never doubted, though the recent death of the woman who embodied Leia, the one-of-a-kind Carrie Fisher, has certainly prompted more serious thought on this remarkable character who is so much more than a distinctive hairdo.  As we saw last week, Leia has complex roots woven throughout literature, film, and history. As we’ll see this week, Leia herself has had a profound influence on a variety of arts in the last 40 years, most notably, literature, especially the literature we study and enjoy here. So, join me for that chat after the jump (to the next page, not to hyperspace; this is much safer, with no need for precise calculations to avoid flying right through a star or landing too close to a supernova).

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Why Leia Matters, Part I: Origins and Influences

Carrie_Fisher_2013She was charming, witty, funny and bright. She was unfailingly candid and brave. Though I didn’t know her personally, I’ve missed Carrie Fisher every day since the heart attack that resulted in her death on December 27, 2016. Fisher’s passing has Star Wars fans reflecting on the princess from a galaxy far, far away, whom Fisher brought to life so unforgettably here on Earth. Here at Hogwarts Professor, we’d like to pay tribute to Carrie Fisher by examining the origins and trajectories of the character of Princess Leia in a two-part, collaborative series. This week, I’ll look what may have influenced and informed the character of Princess Leia, and next week, Elizabeth Baird Hardy will examine the effect Leia has had on subsequent works, especially with regard to one of Leia’s most significant literary descendants, Hermione Granger.

Dynamic and refreshing characters like Leia are often the product of a diverse array of source material. Leia’s origins seem to be two-fold. On one hand, she evolved from the female side-kick characters of early twentieth-century space fantasy, and on the other hand, she seems inspired by real-life women who made daring contributions to war efforts and resistance movements in history.

In How Star Wars Conquered the Universe, Chris Taylor says the long line of Leia’s literary antecedents 250px-Princess_of_Mars_large.jpehggoes back to Dejah Thoris. Thoris was the titular character in A Princess of Mars, the first title in Edgar Rice Burrough’s 1912 pulp space fantasy stories starring adventurer-hero John Carter. Taylor reports that despite Dejah’s near-constant need to be rescued by Carter in these stories, “the eponymous princess of the first book is a scientist, an explorer, a negotiator,” and eventually, “a sexual icon.” (Taylor, 5) Taylor also notes that Dejah might seem to today’s audiences like nothing more than a damsel in distress, but by pre-suffrage American standards, she was a progressive female character.

On the other side of women scoring the right to vote, in 1928, pulp fiction and comics audiences met Wilma Deering, space fantasy hero Buck Roger’s more capable counterpart. Wilma, Taylor reports, could build a radio out of spare parts and wore dresses only when forced. The capable female sidekick character in space fantasy seems, by the time of Buck Rogers, to have established itself as something audiences expect from this burgeoning sub-genre.

Perhaps most influential of all twentieth century space fantasies to Star Wars creator George Lucas was Flash Gordon. First a comic strip, then a film serial, Flash Gordon’s adventures delighted audiences with Carol_Hughes_1940the conventions of the space opera, and also pushed the genre’s boundaries, with story tie-ins to real-life threats to society in its plot lines and in the tyrant character Ming the Merciless. As Amy H. Sturgis points out in her graduate course on Star Wars, one of these space opera conventions is the sidekick heroine who is more than just a damsel in distress. In Flash Gordon, this heroine is Dale Arden: one less empowered than her predecessors Dejah and Wilma, but distinguished in her refusal to leave Flash’s side, even as it keeps her in the thick of the action. And although Dale Arden is an Earthling like Flash, the Gordon saga also contains an alien space princess called Aura who becomes an ally to the heroes. George Lucas seems to combine these tropes of the space princess and the capable female sidekick into the character of Princess Leia Organa.

The influence of these early space operas on the creation of Star Wars and the character of Leia in particular seems clear. Another overwhelming influence on George Lucas, born in 1944, was the second World War, and war in general. For another source of influence in the creation of Princess Leia as a character, we must look to the important roles remarkable women have played in war throughout history.

In Star Wars and History, Liedl and Reagin point to the classical goddess of Liberty, utilized to kindle the rebellion of the commonfolk against the ancien regime in the French Revolution. (43) Both Leia’s2-Leia-Ceremony dress and role in the medals ceremony on Yavin 4 seem to echo Liberty’s role as inspiring figurehead for the Rebellion. But Leia is more than a figurehead, and Liedl and Reagin suggest Leia may also take her origins in women resistance leaders like Constance Markievicz. Markievicz founded a nationalist paramilitary group for Irish teens to stand up to British rule, and as an officer in the Irish Citizen Army, marched into battle during the 1916 Easter Rising alongside her male counterparts. (47-48)

Of course, throughout much of history, women have been involved in war and resistance efforts in far less visible positions than Markievicz. In Nazi-occupied France, women used their mundane roles as mothers, wives, secretaries, etc. to conceal their efforts to combat the Nazis, much like Leia uses her role as a Senator to disguise her doings as Rebel courier and spy in A New Hope. In fact, women across Europe resisted the Nazis by using their relative invisibility, as compared to men, to take on a variety of important roles: “serving as couriers, even smuggling goods and people under the authorities’ watch.” (54) In the more egalitarian world of Star Wars, however, Leia’s sex doesn’t protect her from suspicion by the Empire when she is captured in A New Hope. But you’ll have that with an enemy – Darth Vader – who has the advantage of training in the Force on his side.

LeiaBoth literary and historical sources seem to have inspired Star Wars architect George Lucas in his creation of Princess Leia Organa of the Royal House of Alderaan. Next week, Elizabeth Baird Hardy will help us discover what Lucas himself may never have imagined: how his shirty space princess would inspire and inform new female fantasy and sci-fi icons to delight generations of fans. Stay tuned!


Follow Emily Strand on Facebook and Twitter (@ekcstrand), and share your own thoughts about Leia – or your tribute to that wonderful actress who brought her to life – in the comments.

Rogue One and the Paschal Mystery

[WARNING: Rogue One spoilers abound!]

rogueone_posterMany classic stories have a component of self-sacrifice for the greater good: Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, the original Star Wars. Heck, even Frozen has its “Paschal Mystery moment,” when Anna throws herself between her sister and the enemy’s blade. This notion of loving self-sacrifice that brings profound, new hope – which Christians call the Paschal Mystery – gets far more than a moment in Rogue One; its treatment is thorough-going, multi-faceted and reconsidered for modern audiences. The film’s ensemble cast shows there is more than one path toward a life of relinquishment, lived in deference to the greater good. Each member of the Rogue band is a pilgrim of sorts, on a distinctive path toward the same end, providing his or her own particular insight into what living the Paschal Mystery requires. For Chirrut, Cassian and Jyn, those insights can be summed up in the Christian virtues of faith, hope and love.

Faith: Chirrut Îmwe

“May the Force of Others be with you!” shouts Chirrut Îmwe, a blind Temple guardian, in the streets of NiJedha. Star Wars uber-nerds did little happy dances in their seats when they heard the Force referred to here by its original full name, found in Lucas’ penultimate drafts of the original movie. Chirrut’s faith in the Force of Others – in the collective power of all living things, knitted together by the vast web of our shared being – draws us in, just as it draws Jyn. Can there be a Force of Others? Are we really bound together, surrounded and penetrated by the energy of all the living?

Chirrut answers these questions with a miraculous display of “sight,” mauling half a dozen Stormtroopers chirrut-imwewith only a staff and his faith that “all is as the Force wills it.” More than mere display, it is a sacrifice on Jyn and Cassian’s behalf he needn’t have made. It leaves an impression; blind faith is not foolish or helpless.

Later, Chirrut’s faith in the Force of Others is distinguished sharply from Cassian’s willingness to follow orders he knows to be wrong on Eadu. Chirrut rejects Cassian’s path, instead choosing to follow Jyn, whose “path is clear.” Pretty observant for a blind guy. And while Cassian, in his desperation, had planned to take out one Imperial (Jyn’s father), Chirrut, in faith, uses the Force to shoot down a TIE fighter, nearly taking out the entire Imperial operation on Eadu.

In the end, Chirrut’s radical faith, represented in his mantra “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” allows him to perform the miraculous act that makes the mission a success, even if he doesn’t survive it. He walks unscathed through a shower of blasterfire toward his goal, chanting his mantra. The faith of Chirrut is no bigger than a mustard seed next to the power of the vast Galactic Empire, but it is enough to move mountains, or in this case, the all-important Master Switch. He dies victorious, passing  the mantra to the more skeptical Baze Malbus, who carries it forward toward his own heroic end.

Hope: Cassian Andor

In Cassian Andor, Star Wars fans are presented with an uncomfortable moral conundrum. Aren’t the Rebels supposed to be the good guys? Yet here is one who kills his panicking informant at the trading cassianpost, presumably to ensure his own escape from Imperial soldiers. When we meet Cassian, he is down a deep hole, both physically and morally, and must climb out as the film progresses.

Still, on Jedha, he plants the notion that “rebellions are built on hope” in Jyn’s mind – a notion that will carry the Rogue band to the very end. Cassian is an ambivalent character who has let “the cause” rob him of his humanity and his hope. In the prison cell in Saw Gerrera’s lair, Chirrut Îmwe calls him out, not for his lack of faith, but for becoming a slave to his noble ambitions, creating for himself a prison of inhumanity to carry with him everywhere he goes.

The triumph of Cassian’s pragmatism is on display when he responds to Îmwe that he is starting to think he and the Force have “different priorities.” What are the Force’s priorities, but the peaceful union of all living things? So what have Cassian’s priorities become, if they differ? In the face of a peace that seems too far off to hope for, Cassian the cold strategist has won out. We’ve seen this triumph of pragmatism before in Star Wars; Mace Windu compromised his Jedi commitments to due process and the use of violence as a last resort in his attempt to execute Palpatine in Revenge of the Sith – an act which played an essential role in the vilification and destruction of the Jedi Order. Cassian knows rebellions are built on hope, but if hope is the foundation for his own actions, it is a one that has nearly worn away.

Cassian’s insight into the Paschal Mystery is one that seems to interpret this ancient theme anew for modern audiences, who live in a world where suicide bombers routinely blow up women and children along with themselves, “for the cause.” Cassian straddles the space between the Rebel Alliance (clearly the good guys) and Saw Gerrera’s insurgents, whose tactics are rejected as “extreme.” Cassian has sacrificed for the cause since he was six years old, he tells Jyn. He knows what it means. Or does he? Not all forms of self-sacrifice are inherently good, especially when the sacrifice robs one of one’s humanity. Jyn, full of the hope Cassian himself has inspired in her, corrects him: “you might as well be a Stormtrooper.”

Ph: Jonathan Olley ©Lucasfilm LFL 2016.

But that’s not who Cassian is. Hope gets the better of him, and he can’t pull the trigger to assassinate Jyn’s father. When Jyn’s proposed mission to steal the Death Star plans is labeled too risky by the Rebel Council, Cassian comes to hear his own words (“Rebellions are built on hope!”) more clearly. The speech he gives while offering Jyn his assistance sums up his realization that, for all his life of sacrifice, it has not been enough:

“Some of us — most of us — we’ve all done terrible things on behalf of the Rebellion. Spies, saboteurs, assassins. Every thing I did, I did for the Rebellion. And every time I walked away from something I wanted to forget, I told myself it was for a cause I believed in. A cause that was worth it. Without that, we’re lost. Everything we’ve done would have been for nothing. I couldn’t face myself if I gave up now. None of us could…”

The burden of Cassian’s past in the Rebellion had robbed him of hope. But he now realizes he must play the long game, sowing seeds he will not reap. Cassian’s new-found sense of hope will purify his actions, as in the first letter of John (3:3): “Everyone who has this hope based on [God] makes himself pure, as he is pure.” The ancient historian and Christian apologist Tertullian famously said “the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” But great acts take time, and sacrifice – not of one’s humanity, but sometimes of onthebeachone’s whole person. Cassian will make his final sacrifice on a beach lit up by what looks much like the sun rising on a new day of hope for his beloved Rebellion.

Love: Jyn Erso

When we talk about Jyn, we must speak also of her parents, Galen and Lyra, because their sacrifices in the beginning of the film provide Jyn formative examples of living the Paschal Mystery. Many Star Wars fans felt rattled by the filmmakers choice not to employ the “opening crawl” in Rogue One. (For laypeople, the “crawl” is the text which rises before the audience as Star Wars films open, supplying the needed context for a story that always begins in media res.) But I say: don’t get stuck in the mold, Star Wars fans. Rogue One does something more powerful in its opening scenes, from a storytelling point of view: it shows instead of tells. It shows both of Jyn’s parents sacrificing themselves in different ways for the protection of their daughter and of the galaxy. This sort of thing would certainly have lost impact, squeezed into a 75-word crawl.

Jyn’s parents have prepared meticulously for the day when the Empire will come to takegalen Galen, a brilliant scientist, to complete the design of its superweapon. When the Empire arrives to collect him in the film’s first scenes, Galen makes up lies to feign his cooperation. He plays the long game, though his ultimate plan to subvert the project may, like the Death Star, not yet be fully developed. But Galen seems to know, where there’s life, there’s hope.

Lyra’s action on behalf of galactic justice is not like her husband’s – it is bold and rash. In an act both foolish and brave, she defies the Empire openly, giving her life to stand up for the family’s principles. Her death is a statement made on the heels of another essential act: giving Jyn her Kyber crystal necklace and lyra-ersotelling her to “Trust in the Force.” Lyra passes the gift of faith to Jyn, as if faith is a finite commodity in a galaxy terrorized by the Empire. Without it, Lyra can’t survive; her defiance seems suicidal. But as she goes down, Lyra fires her blaster, hitting Krennic in the shoulder. It may not equal the shot that will soon bring the Empire to its knees, but as Krennic himself says, “you have to start somewhere.”

Despite these gifts of hope and faith from her parents, Jyn is lacking an essential virtue: love. Fifteen years later, she has become a cynical young woman who doesn’t hold political opinions, refusing to see the “big picture” for which her parents sacrificed themselves. She is alone, friendless and deeply skeptical of people and their “causes.” Yet she wears the necklace her mother gave her, and though she “prefers” to jynerso2think of her father as dead, we get the sense she hopes otherwise. But without love, this hope is difficult to sustain.

“We’re not here to make friends,” Cassian says to her, when she feels drawn toward Chirrut’s blind understanding on Jedha. But Jyn is here to make friends, for hers is a journey of love, the kind of love Jesus commanded: the greatest kind, that lays down its life for a friend (John 15:13). This love is at the heart of the Paschal Mystery; Benedict XVI calls it “love in its most radical form.” It is the kind of love her parents, with their own sacrifices, planted in her heart like a seed.

The seed begins to grow when Jyn instinctively risks her life to pull a screaming toddler out of a fire fight on Jedha. Then, confronted with her father’s holographic message, Jyn breaks down, succumbing to the love she feels for him, and allowing it to fan in her the faith and hope her parents exampled. When her second father, Saw Gerrera, goes down with his ship on Jedha, Jyn knows Saw’s hope-less path is not for her. She must deliver her father’s message – and deliver her father, if she can.

Even when she fails to rescue him, Jyn’s love for Galen is rekindled now, and it gives her the moral vision to call Cassian out for acting like a Stormtrooper. This love steels her for the Rogue mission, ignoring the Rebellion’s cold cynicism. When Cassian joins her, inspired by hope, she’s surprised. “I’m not used to people sticking around when things get rough,” she tells him. His answer is a commitment to a new way of life for them both: “Welcome home.”

jyn-erso-rogue-oneWhen Jyn and Cassian successfully transmit the Death Star plans, he asks her, “Do you think anyone is listening?” “I do,” she says, “someone is out there.” Jyn sees now that she is not alone in the world. The image of Jyn and Cassian’s embrace on the beach as the wave of destruction envelops them is haunting, yet profoundly hopeful. In giving her life for the cause, Jyn has come to understand that most radical form of love which Christians celebrate in the Eucharist: that food by which we are made into one Body in Christ. It is “a sacrament of love, a sign of unity, a bond of charity, a paschal banquet in which Christ is eaten, the mind is filled with grace, and a pledge of future glory is given to us.”

Future glory is something the Rogue One band will never know, in this realm. But Star Wars fans know it in the goosebumps of pride we get now, every time we watch the opening scenes of A New Hope or hear the call sign “Rogue” in Empire Strikes Back. Admiral Raddus articulates our hope that indeed, the Force of Others is with them in death, as it was in life. It can be argued that the Rebellion ultimately succeeds because of these scattered individuals who become “[Rogue] One,” just as the Church grew into One Body out of the sacrifice of Christ, its head. Chirrut’s constant faith and Cassian’s renewed hope were essential to the success of their mission, but in Jyn, the Rogue band was led by love, that greatest of virtues, which “bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” (1 Cor. 13:7) And love never fails.

Follow Emily Strand on Facebook and Twitter (@ekcstrand), and please share your own thoughts about Rogue One and the Paschal Mystery in the comments.