Embracing the Alien Within

Superman's Call to Our Shared Humanity

Embracing the Alien Within

Superman’s Call to Our Shared Humanity

TL;DR: In a world quick to label and divide, Superman reminds us that true belonging isn’t earned through power or pedigree, but through vulnerability, compassion, and the daily, imperfect choice to show up human.

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Last night, under the dim glow of a theater screen in this sweltering Midwestern summer, heat pressing in like a metaphor, we settled in to watch James Gunn’s Superman.

As the story unfolded, I felt a familiar ache rise in my chest.
The kind that comes from years of living on the margins.
Of wondering where you fit.
Of carrying stories not quite welcome at the table.

There I was, a wounded healer, watching Clark Kent navigate a world that saw him not as neighbor, but as threat.
An alien. A danger. A body to exile.

It hit close to home.

I thought of immigrant friends who’ve shared their own stories of unbelonging, of being labeled “other” in a land that promises welcome but too often builds walls.

By the time the credits rolled, I found myself blinking through tears.

Superman wasn’t just saving Metropolis.
He was healing something in me.
Reminding me that being human isn’t a status you’re born into.
It’s a courageous choice you make, every day.

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What Makes Me Human?

“I’m not from around here. But that doesn’t mean I don’t belong.”

In Gunn’s telling, Superman is more than a savior from the stars,
He’s a symbol of holy paradox.
Born of another world, raised in the dust of Smallville.
Kryptonian blood. Kansas roots.
And caught in the tension we all feel:
Who am I, really?

Lex Luthor plays the part of empire perfectly.
He accuses. Labels. Otherizes.

“Alien.”
“Invader.”
A threat to the fragile order of things.

But Clark speaks with quiet clarity:

“Every day I wake up wondering if I’m doing this right. I fail. I fall. But I keep trying. That’s what makes me one of you.”

Clark chose to be human, not a super-human.
That line reframes power not as perfection, but as presence.

This is the Gospel, isn’t it?
Not a God who stands above, judging,
But One who kneels beside us, becoming.
Not a Christ of control, but of compassion.
Not an outsider come to conquer,
But one who enters the world’s wounds to heal, from within.

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Hope for the Outsider

I couldn’t help but hear echoes of Jesus,
Fleeing Herod as a refugee,
Walking dusty roads as a misunderstood teacher,
Dying a criminal’s death under empire’s hand.
The One who was in the world, but not of it.
Alien, yet Emmanuel.

Superman’s story fits within this broader theological imagination.

• Open and relational theology reminds us that God is not detached, but always moving toward us.

• Liberation theology insists we meet Christ most clearly in the margins, in the refugee, the excluded, the ones empire calls “less than.”

James Gunn seems to get this. When critics pushed back on Superman being portrayed as an immigrant, he responded in a recent interview:

“Superman has always been about hope for the outsider. If that stirs controversy, so be it—screw the haters.”

Yes. This is about immigration.
About borders.
About fear and belonging.
And about who gets to define what it means to be “one of us.”

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Fortress or Family?

Clark could’ve stayed hidden.
He could’ve retreated into a literal and metaphorical Fortress of Solitude.

But instead, he stepped into the chaos.
Took off his glasses.
Risked rejection.
And chose relationship.

There’s something deeply sacramental about that.

As I watched, I found myself asking:

• What if our greatest strength lies not in hiding our wounds, but in sharing them?

• What if holiness looks more like shared struggle than personal purity?

• What if being human is the bravest thing of all?

The prophet Isaiah once dreamed of a world where the wolf and lamb live side by side (Isaiah 11).
No fear. No exile. No dividing walls.

Superman echoes that dream when he insists:

"Dreams save us. Dreams lift us up and transform us. And on my soul, I swear... until my dream of a world where dignity, honor and justice becomes the reality we all share -- I'll never stop fighting." (Action Comics #775, written by Joe Kelly)

What if we believed that again?

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A Personal Confession

This reflection doesn’t come easy.

I’ve failed over and over again,
Missed chances to speak up for the excluded.
Let my own comfort mute the cries of the vulnerable.

But Superman’s story stirred something Gospel-deep in me:

We are not saved by strength.
We are healed by solidarity.

And being human is not just something to possess or protect,
It’s something we live into together.

It’s not just a status to defend.
It’s a sacred calling.
A shared dignity that binds us to one another.
A fierce and tender commitment to fight for every person’s worth,
Especially those the world tries to exile.

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Reflection Questions

• Where in your life have you felt like an “alien”, out of place, misunderstood, or unwelcome? What might it look like to bless that ache instead of erase it?

• Can you recall a moment when fear led you to label someone as “other”? What does it mean to repent, not with shame, but with love?

• How does the story of Jesus as an outsider disrupt our cultural narratives about immigration, borders, and belonging?

• What would it look like to build a life, or a church, not as a fortress, but as a table wide enough for every exile?

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A Closing Benediction

God of Love,
Who came not in conquest but in vulnerability,
Not to dominate, but to dwell,

Teach us to see the image of God
In those the world calls alien,
In every neighbor cast as threat,
In the face of the refugee,
And in the ache of our own unbelonging.

May we, like Superman,
Rise not through strength alone,
But through love that bears wounds and still shows up.

Let us build not fortresses, but tables.
Let us guard not power, but dignity.
Let us live not in fear, but in the fierce hope
That every soul belongs.
And may we never forget,
Our humanity is not a weapon to wield,
But a gift to share.

In the name of the Stranger who became flesh,
And still walks with the wounded.
Amen.

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