Wild Things and the Heavenly Host

Emelie Thomas | March 1, 2021

It’s a wild world we live in. Consumption runs rampant, our politics resemble a rumpus, and we are cordoned off from community. Max, the wild child from Maurice Sendak’s iconic Where the Wild Things Are, knows a thing or two about such predicaments. From the confines of his bedroom, Max travels to the wildest world of all, embarking on a mysterious, monster-filled journey which culminates in a reminder of hope and our heavenly haven.  Perhaps the Wild Things can call us to turn from our rebellion and revel in the one in whom authority and glory resides.

Maurice Sendak’s “wild things” look like monsters. Furred, feathered, and fanged, they can be frightening (I witnessed my nephew scream and refuse to sleep for fear of them when introduced at age four). They are a fascination, a figment of Mr. Sendak’s imagination — not the sort you’d expect to see strolling down the sidewalk. In the course of our reality-deadened, mundane days, this menacing menagerie would seem strange; and yet, the Bible shows us that we are constantly surrounded by formidable and fearful beings. Scripture describes terrific angels who greet our kind with words to ward off fright (“Fear not...”) and creatures surrounding the very throne of God, four living creatures full of eyes in front and behind and six wings apiece; elsewhere, there are dragons, great beasts resembling winged lions, four headed leopards[1], and terrible beasts with ten horns and seven heads[2]. Max’s wild things, who “roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws” are paltry when compared to these beings; yet, they can draw our attention to a transcendent reality whose terrors we would do well to regard.

 ‘There is gnashing of teeth — the wild things must be demonic!’ you might think. Perhaps… and we would do well to entertain this notion. Max becomes the king of the wild things, commanding them with words akin to Christ’s authority over the demons; yet, Max is no Christ-like king. Max entertains the wild things, engaging in their rumpus, and then, after telling them to “BE STILL!” Max sends the wild things to bed without anything to eat. Max does not have any food to give; he does not resemble the good shepherd, the Lamb who lays down his life for his sheep and bids them eat of his flesh. Max wears a wolf suit, acting in the guise of the one who snatches and scatters.

 “The night Max wore his wolf suit…” begins Maurice Sendak at the beginning of the book, going on to depict Max making “mischief of one kind and another...” Max’s mischievous actions include pounding nails into the wall, hanging his stuffed animal in a noose, and stealing after his dog while wielding a fork-weapon. We are so familiar with Max and his wild things that we might not think twice about their actions (I love reading this book to my children, and admittedly, have a couple cutesy-looking wild things lurking in the corners of my stuffed-animal bin). Yet, upon closer examination, Max’s mischief at the outset of the story eerily parallels the thief, or wolf, in scripture, who “comes only to steal and kill and destroy[3]” (Max steals after his dog, kills his stuffed animal, and destroys the wall). Max does not enter through the door; by climbing in a different way, he gets sent in another direction entirely – to his room, without any supper.

 Jesus cautions us against the thief and the wolf. The threat of the demonic is real and it is all too easy to align ourselves with it, or to become complacent. Thankfully, although Max assumes the guise of the wolf in his collusion and coronation with the wild things, he is not THE wolf. Max is a sheep, like us. And his mischief, like ours, is a distortion wrought by fallenness. “I’LL EAT YOU UP!” cries Max as he defies his mother. Max’s challenge is poignant because eating is the start and the heart of our sinful, surfeit appetites. In our sin, we consume one another, affront those we love, and too-readily retreat into self-isolation.

If Max continues in the way of the wolf, he too will be scattered. His shepherd knows this. When Max climbs in another way, the door is shut on him (his bedroom door, that is). Yet, his journey brings him closer to the true door. Max takes his turn at being king, and discovers his emptiness; he sends the wild things to bed without anything, and acknowledges a void that mischief and rebellion cannot cover. “Max the king of all wild things was lonely, and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.” Max is a sheep, and was never meant to be a wolf or a wild thing; because of this, he can still sense the shepherd’s summons.

 “Then all around from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat…” The answer to Max’s deepest desire is a transcendent feast — food that nourishes the soul[4]. But Max cannot partake of it in his sinful, self-righteous state. As we do before approaching the Lord’s table, Max repents, turning from his self-erected throne; “... he gave up being king of where the wild things are”.

Yet the wild host surrounding Max bewail his departure: “Oh, please don’t go — we’ll eat you up — we love you so!” These wild things are not the cherubim and seraphim of the Almighty Creator, but they know one of the most fundamental gospel truths. Love consumes.

 “So Jesus said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever feeds on me, he also will live because of me.” John 6:53-57

Max leaves the wild things, “sailing back over a year / and in and out of weeks / and through a day” and leads us, the reader, back into the confines of his room. He has journeyed, at the last, to a place prepared for him, to the love of a parent, to a feast set out in his true home. So, too, Christ leads us into transcendence, preparing our heavenly, eternal home even as he enters our hearts, our homes, and our houses of worship in the here-and-now.

It’s a wild world we live in, but there is nothing new under the sun. There will come a day, after the rumpus described in Revelation, where the Son will say “BE STILL”  and will draw all things to himself. He is, after all, all-in-all, more wildly wonderful than we can ever imagine.

[1] Daniel 7:6

[2] Danile 7:7, Revelation 13:1

[3] John 10:10, ESV

[4]  “Oh taste and see that the Lord is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!” Psalm 34:8, ESV

Emelie Thomas is a nuclear trained Naval Officer with a degree in English Literature. She is married to Jay Thomas, who shares the same odd pedigree, and they are parents to three children. Emelie spends her days with the Nuclear Navy and spends her evenings celebrating literature and liturgy with her little ones.