Light Cycles and Legacy

Michael Andres

Reading

Forget about what’s happened; don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new. It’s bursting out! Don’t you see it?
Isaiah 43:18–19 (The Message)

Reflection

I don’t know what my Apple Music algorithm was trying to tell me the other morning when it served up Daft Punk’s soundtrack from TRON: Legacy. A 2010 sequel to the 1982 Jeff Bridges light-cycle (sorry… vehicle), it’s a modern techno-opera of neon contrasts—knowingly silly and still deeply fun for sci-fi fans and anyone with a soft spot for nostalgia.

The synth tones transported me—back to late-night drives around San Antonio. Parts of 1604 lit with new construction glow, others still dim and flickering through Olmos Park. The music pulled me through memory into a version of myself I hadn’t visited in a while. Like Flynn in the film, I was suddenly face-to-face with a different world—and a different version of me.

The morning moved on. But that brief moment stayed with me. All these years later, the sounds, the special effects, and even the actors (sorry, Jeff Bridges—but you were the only one back from the original) have aged. So have I. We’ve all upgraded and unraveled in different ways.

When I was younger, I spent so much time replaying my life, hoping to reprogram it—or somehow give myself a different source code, new hardwiring. Maybe it was envy. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was just a way to avoid the present. Either way, I thought if I could just gain control, I could finally feel okay.

I’m still not okay—and that’s okay. I’m a work in progress. Good mental health providers, people who know and walk with Jesus, friends, and time have all helped me become more okay with that than I otherwise would be.

But none of us can control our pasts.

We can’t reengineer memory.
We can’t build perfect families, flawless systems, or ideal versions of ourselves.
Not in the past.
Not in the present.
Not in the future.

Spiritual formation—practicing the way of Jesus—doesn’t erase pain, but it does reframe it. It teaches us to see differently. To hold our stories with more grace. To enter into co-creation with God.

Slowly, we let go of the illusion of control.
Slowly, we begin to trust.

Sometimes, the most faithful thing we can do in the Kingdom of God—the kindest act we can take—is one of forgiveness. Forgiving our pasts. Letting go of our desire to right-side every part of the story that feels upside-down.

Sometimes, that’s the next right thing.

Jesus doesn’t need us to be perfect. We don’t need to be optimized or maximized—past or present.

What Jesus longs for is openness. A willingness to be re-coded, re-hardwired. To be loved into a more just and healing future.

For ourselves and for others.

PRAYER
Jesus, do a new thing in me.
Help me step closer to you.
AMEN