Existential Films on Beauty, Community and Creativity: Exploring Ways of Integrating Mental Health Insights into the Theological Discussion on Loss and Grief

Abstract

It is commonly accepted by mental health professionals who work in the area of death and grief that both the help which communities may offer to the bereaved and creativity may prove decisive factors in their recovery after loss; the article aims to introduce specific existential films to the discussion about the value of both. Communality and creativity are also key ecclesiological and theological concepts. They are integral parts of the life of ecclesiastical communities, which honor the memory of the dead and have a duty to stand by their mourning members. These concepts may therefore create a bridge between spirituality and psychology/psychiatry, encouraging church leaders and health professionals to cooperate in addressing the needs of the bereaved. In the above-described context, films like Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life (2011), Rachid Buchareb’s London River (2009) and the short animation film Lila (2014) by Carlos Lascano may become valuable resources. Firstly, for challenging questionable religious responses to death while also discovering beauty in natural and community life in spite of/through loss, as well as embracing the memory of the deceased through creativity. As the latter has been characterized by relevant bibliography in death studies as both a form of expressing grief and a therapeutic process, it is also a crucial calling for the faithful to remain creative in the image and likeness of their Creator. In the discussion of the films, these links between theological/spiritual and psychological/mental health perspectives are explored with regard to both preparing for death and responding to it through joint efforts or lessons at schools.

1. Introduction

The fact that religions and spirituality (non-religious spirituality included), as well as art in its various forms, have addressed death and loss does not seem debatable. They often provide people with comforting answers, but also bring up disquieting but crucial existential questions. In contemporary societies, mental health professionals have, of course, assumed an important role in treating people who go through the traumatic experiences of loss and grief. Part of this process is rediscovering meaning in life after the overwhelming effects of loss (Pate 2024, pp. 9–10; Neimeyer 2019, pp. 80–81). Through reviewing relevant literature, I will argue that this dimension of therapy in itself can be a point of convergence between theology/spirituality and psychology/psychiatry. In this context, it could be said that art therapy utilizes expressive arts to help the bereaved express their feelings, process loss, and ‘reconstruct a world of meaning’ (Beaumont 2013, pp. 3–5). I will, therefore, elaborate on the premise that this may be linked to the theological principle that humans are called upon by God to be responsively creative and thus poetic in the broadest sense of the word. So, creativity, as a fulfillment of God’s expectation, may prove meaningful and cathartic for the bereaved.

All of the above seem to make more sense within the environment of the (ecclesiastical) community. For this reason, I begin the second part of my article by revisiting some basic theological principles regarding communality and then creativity in dialog with psychotherapy. Following on, I introduce the thematic concepts of the three existential films (The Tree of Life, London River and Lila) that have the potential to become valuable resources in our further elaboration of the value of community and relationships, (artistic) creativity, and the healing power of art both from the perspectives of Christian theology and mental health. There is, of course, a reason these particular films can be called existential, since they all fall under the following description: “Existential films explore deep themes of human existence, freedom, and the search for meaning […] portray characters facing existential crises, grappling with questions about life, death, and personal choice” (Agnetha 2024). In exploring these connections, I shall focus on Christianity, with an emphasis on core Orthodox doctrines and practices, while enriching my references with theologians and authors from other denominations.

In the Discussion, I aim to explore the possible connections between theology/spirituality and psychology/therapy through a theological and symbolic analysis of the aforementioned films. This article’s ultimate objective is to propose the integration of psychological insights into the theological approach to grief, and vice versa. Since this aim is attainable only through an interdisciplinary approach to loss and grief, I would like to make a few additional remarks on why this integration is necessary. The pastoral care of the Church—an academic field in theological schools—requires basic psychological and therapeutic knowledge. What might be sound from a theological point of view may not be appropriate for all individuals, as age, cultural differences, and cognitive development must be taken into consideration (Soetioso and Fithriyah 2026). The two fields complement one another: Research that collects and analyzes data from various areas can enlighten therapists, while also proving significant for church and religious leaders. Furthermore, spiritual backgrounds and religious experiences are increasingly valued by mental health professionals, especially when they have shaped the way of life of the bereaved. Hence, psychology and therapy alone may not be fully effective unless complemented by spiritual and religious exploration.

This article’s primary concern is to enrich theological discussions on loss and grief through a creative dialog between key theological principles and the field of death studies. Methodologically, this exploration is grounded in theology, spirituality, and pastoral approaches to loss, drawing on frameworks that parallel specific therapeutic principles. As noted in the preceding paragraph, the latter may inform the pastoral care of the Church/or religious communities, while faith and spirituality cannot be ignored by therapists. Hence, integration emerges from dialogical interactions across disciplines.

2. Exploring the Common Ground

• Communality and support for the bereaved in ecclesiology and psychotherapy

It is relatively clear and mostly indisputable—irrespective of denominations and doctrinal differences—that the Church should be understood as a communal reality and, therefore, viewed (ontologically) as such, that is, as an assembly of believers in which Christ and the members of the community constitute the Body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:12–28, New King James Version). Thus, St. Paul’s analogy or metaphor by which he describes the mystery of the Church in the world is not just exemplary of its very nature (Florovsky 1972, pp. 37–55), but also of denoting what the ecclesiastical community should aspire to embody: Its members must try and lead a life in which belonging to the Body of Christ, and by extension to one another, leads to practices that show mutual respect, support, compassion and—above and through all of these—love (1 Corinthians 13:1–7 [NKJV]). It could be argued that Florovsky encapsulates the link between ecclesiastical ontology and faith on the one hand and practice/action on the other hand in the following:

No multitude, every member of which is isolated and impenetrable, can become a brotherhood. Union can become possible only through the mutual brotherly love of all the separate brethren. […] Christianity means a ‘common life,’ a life in common. Christians have to regard themselves as ‘brethren’ (in fact this was one of their first names) as members of one corporation, closely linked together. And therefore charity had to be the first mark and the first proof as well as the token of this fellowship.

(Florovsky 1972, pp. 42, 60)

Participation in the sorrows as well as the joys of the other members of the ecclesiastical community may therefore reveal its real nature, the very essence of being a Christian, as follows: “And if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; or if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it” (1 Corinthians 12:26 [NKJV]). Therefore, to be true to its nature, a community must stand by the bereaved in fitting ways during their times of loss and grief.

Nonetheless, one’s effort to describe membership in the Church of Christ as a universal reality would be incomplete without the addition of the following eschatological perspective: The hope of the faithful that Christ’s resurrection will enable them to rejoice in the eternal life, reunited with the beloved members of the community who passed away (Schmemann 2003, pp. 21–44; Florovsky 1972, p. 36). This hope should not justify some kind of a leap into the future, a form of escapism into a higher reality which may result in despising the life of the earthly community (Schmemann 1981). Therefore, remembering the dead and remaining connected to them through prayer, various rituals of remembrance, and the Divine Liturgy par excellence is an expression of love between members. Through these practices, they see every human being as irreplaceable and hold faith that the Church’s life is a foretaste of eternity.1

In the field of mental health and psychotherapy, the value of community, and therefore belonging to a group of individuals who are willing to provide support to the bereaved during the grieving process, is widely acknowledged (Fish 2020). On the one hand, this is merely factual. In Sweden, for example, certain data indicate that most people receive (emotional and practical) support from their family and friends. In the case of unexpected death, they find support by communicating with other people who have had the same experience. In both cases, this has proved mostly sufficient for the bereaved (Benkel et al. 2024, pp. 2, 4). On the other hand, research investigations that gathered data from different countries show something very interesting, i.e., that peer support, which is provided by people who have experienced loss themselves, is as effective and sometimes superior to the support provided by professionals in reducing grief symptoms and improving the wellbeing of the bereaved (Bartone et al. 2019, p. 139). This last observation may remind us of the great importance of compassionate participation in both the joys and the sorrows of fellow humans. This is normally experienced by the members of any authentic ecclesiastical community as part of the aforementioned ecclesiological communality. Therefore, belonging to such a community will likely mean that the bereaved receive the support they need from the very people around them, if the Church remains consistent with its core mission. In this case, death studies appear to remind ecclesiastical communities of their true nature and duty.

Concerning the value of faith and religiosity, research in the area of mental health and bereavement has revealed that it is contingent upon certain factors: family background, societal characteristics, the degree of active religiosity and pre-existing religious beliefs, all within a specific ethnic/cultural setting. Faith and religiosity are expressed as hope in a reunification in the “afterlife”, but also through participation in rituals, whose aim is to cherish the memory of the dead. These are determining factors in one’s need for theological responses to loss or seeking comfort by taking part in traditional ceremonies (Oyebode and Owens 2013, pp. 62–63; Institute of Medicine 1984). At the same time, the unique response of each individual to loss causes a variety of reactions and leads to different approaches, in which communal (religious) structures and patterns and one’s own path towards recovery are not mutually exclusive (Benkel et al. 2024, pp. 9–10; Beaumont 2013, p. 1). Based on this, it can be argued that the concept of individual uniqueness should be re-examined by theology and the Church, particularly for creating an environment in which everybody should feel free to react to tragedy without feeling suppressed by the community (Oyebode and Owens 2013, pp. 61, 64). In this regard, I am of the opinion that art and artistic expression may have a lot to contribute within a creative dialog between theology and therapy, and this is an idea I will further expand on at a later point in my article.

b.

Creativity in theology and art therapy

According to the very first book of the Bible, humans are assigned a sacred and highly creative task: “Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to tend and keep it” (Genesis 2:15 [NKJV]). Caring for the world, tending a “garden” that needs to stay beautiful, through careful work, should, of course, be understood as a symbolic phrase, rich in both aesthetic and theological implications. Man, who was created in the image and likeness of God (Genesis 1:26–27 [NKJV]), bears the responsibility of continuing His creative work, while God had already set a lofty standard by making everything good, beautiful and, at once, useful, so that all of His creations serve one another (Psalm 104:10–23 [NKJV]; Lossky 1978, pp. 55, 65, 67). The creativity of humans due to their creation in the image of God is not usually as emphasized as other qualities are within this doctrine, of which the most frequently mentioned are intelligence/reason and free will. Yet, in patristic works, such as those of Cyril of Alexandria and Gregory Palamas, which discuss the richness and mystery of humans’ similarity to God, creativity is said to be what sets humans apart from the rest of creation. This is due to the fact that the “quality of sense perception” allows them to build, paint, cultivate, and explore, thus creating their own world and culture (Stamoulis 2024, pp. 10–11; Lossky 1978, pp. 121, 123).

One very significant aspect of human creativity in Christian tradition, as part of the responsibility of humans to continue God’s creation, is that it might perfect and renew the created world. This is manifested, for example, in God’s commandment to Adam to name the animals (Genesis 2:19–20 [NKJV]), and therefore recognize them and connect with them, as a kind of poet and priest,2 a creative act which is consequently communal in nature. Yet, this transformative power of human creativity as a synergy with God may find its fulfillment in the era of the New Testament and its eschatological perspective. As Paul Martin notes:

As we learn from the sacred poetry of Scripture and liturgy, God is life, and as life is lived in faith, hope and love, meaning is restored–“Behold, I make all things new” […] This passage from Revelation 21:5 harkens back to St. Paul’s observation concerning the pagans […] surely we can see […] that all are called to be “poets”. God calls all of humanity to participate with him in the work of renewal. […] life in Christ is all about beginning anew and making all things new. It is about giving our logos “flesh” in lives pleasing to God. It is about fashioning our lives into “works of art” holy and acceptable to God (cf. Romans 12:1). It is about love, and it is about sacrifice. Our lives in Christ are to be “love offerings” and poems. No matter whether poet, musician, painter, or none of these by profession, all are called to be poets at living.

(Martin 2007, pp. 184–85)

The context in which creativity and poetic spirit are placed in the previous passage, i.e., the (spiritual) endeavor of transforming oneself in relation to others within a new reality through various expressions of faith, hope, and especially love, is one that broadens our understanding of Christian aesthetics (Stamoulis 2024, pp. 20–22, 27–28); It is not necessarily about practicing an art form.3 Hence, it is more about discovering creative poeticality, which may lead to healing, health, and wholeness as a re-membership into the loving community, as well as the ability to see the world anew and “welcome one’s part in it anew” (Berry 1990, p. 9).

Therefore, it appears that this poetic unfolding of the “restored meaning” that Martin describes at the beginning of the above passage may reveal the relevance of spirituality and art therapy for the bereaved. This is because the latter also introduces a transformational process, during which different forms of creativity assist those grieving by expressing their sorrow,4 memorializing the dead, and recovering from the loss; it is a process of healing (Beaumont 2013, p. 5; Pike 2023). On one hand, this builds on the premise that loss and bereavement nurture creativity, which in the field of death studies has assumed the status of a conventional wisdom (Brennan 2015, p. 291). Brennan’s comprehensive description, “an inextinguishable human impulse to create in the face of loss; more counter-intuitively, to create something beautiful from the ugly detritus of pain and suffering” (Brennan 2015, p. 301), seems to capture the essence of this wisdom.

On the other hand, science provides an enlightening observation about the therapeutic function of art in general; it is associated with the release of chemicals that help reduce stress and regulate emotions (Anderson 2025). This highlights the potential benefits of grieving people engaging with the arts, as they are often suffering from complete disorientation, depression, anxiety, or other symptoms of complicated grief (Neimeyer 2019, p. 80; Beaumont 2013, p. 2). Such symptoms were frequently intensified at the peak of the recent COVID-19 pandemic, when art therapy for the bereaved, even through various adaptations, continued to give comfort and relief to people who were experiencing loss in many forms (Keisari et al. 2023, pp. 2–3).

3. The Films

Before presenting the thematic concepts of the three films, I must outline my criteria for selecting these specific works from among the many that explore loss, grief, and bereavement. Essentially, these films provide a suitable framework for discussing community, creativity, and the beauty that can emerge from them. They challenge traditional theological explanations of loss, emphasize character individuality to explore unique grieving processes, and are visually compelling. This allows for an exploration of the symbolic dimensions of faith, loss, and grief from the perspectives of both theology and art therapy.

London River is a film that is based on the events of a terrorist attack on a London bus and a metro station on 7 July 2005. It depicts the fictional story of how Ousmane, an African from Mali who lives and works as a forester in France, and Elizabeth, an English woman and the widow of a navy officer who lives on Guernsey Island, meet in London after the attack had taken place. They are both desperate as they are looking for their missing children. In a coincidental twist of fate (Ousmane notices that their children are next to each other in the picture Elizabeth had been posting all over the capital’s streets and gives her a call), the filmmakers have them joining forces in order to find Ali and Jane. However, their first meeting is a very unpleasant one. Heavily prejudiced—likely due to Ousmane’s ethnic and religious identity—she refuses to shake his hand. In the next scene, the black Muslim man is interrogated at a police station after Elizabeth reports that his son is associated with her daughter. As the police continue to investigate the case, the two parents are provided with more than a few indications that Jane and Ali were not only friends, but that they were also living together in Jane’s flat and she was taking Arabic lessons with him. Even though they go through the horrific process of being asked to identify young, seriously wounded victims of the attack at the hospital, or the bodies of dead people at the mortuary, they do not talk to each other. Nonetheless, in a turning point of their acquaintance, they agree to sit down together at a park and there they become candid and kind to one another, with Elizabeth being the first to confess her prejudices (“I thought your son manipulated my daughter”, she says) and Ousmane showing pure honesty as he says: “I thought the worse; I thought my son was one of the bombers”. A valuable friendship in the midst of a tragedy begins, as they find their common interest in caring for nature, and Elizabeth eventually invites him to stay over at Jane’s flat until they discover the fate of their children. Ousmane is a serene, faithful Muslim who we repeatedly see performing his daily prayers, visiting mosques, and maintaining his calmness while the agonizing events unfold. On the contrary, Elizabeth is not visibly religious; she never prays, and she does not visit a church. There is no happy ending to this tragic story as the police eventually inform them that both Ali and Jane were confirmed victims. The protagonists are both devastated, with Elizabeth looking visibly broken, while Ousmane is speechless but appears equally helpless. Their unbearable mourning begins, and at the beginning of it they are utterly alone. In one of the closing scenes, we see Ousmane talking on the phone with his wife in Africa, informing her of the terrible news: “…No, there will be no burial; there is no body…” we watch him say, holding the phone with a trembling hand, and then “…It’s God’s will…”, he mumbles, as he hangs up. The last time we see them together is at Jane’s flat, packing their belongings and picking up memorabilia of their children, speechless and sad. Ousmane breaks his silence and says, “I think our children loved each other. Let’s don’t leave each other on a bad thing”, to which Elizabeth says nothing. Yet, he starts singing something to her, in Mali, his native language, a song that sounds like a dirge, and they are both drawn into the sad melody, although Elizabeth does not understand the words. As Ousmane makes his way out of the backyard, she walks towards him and says “Thank you”, and hugs him in tears as he thanks her too. The last two scenes portray them returning to their ordinary lives, overwhelmed by their loss: She visits the grave of her late husband, where an extra epigraph with her daughter’s name is added, and later she is standing on the cliff by the sea, weeping and maybe contemplating suicide, but then angrily digging in the field on her property. Ousmane looks similarly lost and withdrawn from reality and his faith (P. A. Thoma 2015, pp. 15–17), drifting through the woods and, when asked whether he would like to check on a remaining elm tree (his job was to protect them), he simply replies: “Chop it down”. His life appears to have become meaningless, and he has lost his will to care. Both parents struggle to accept the sudden loss of their children, a profound psychological trauma that therapeutic frameworks specifically recognize and treat as complicated grief (Neimeyer 2019; Beaumont 2013).

One could argue that Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life is a film without a storyline. The film utilizes a non-linear narrative structure, although the opening words, the voiceover, and primarily the quote from the book of Job, along with the words of the mother to God to her family and children, help us discern some basic themes: humans and God; God’s silence, and God’s silence towards human loss and suffering in particular; and the beauty of nature, and the (unnecessary) distinction between nature and grace. The quote from the Book of Job that precedes the story—while an inexplicable light glimmers in the darkness from within the depths of a cave—sets the tone (or the context) of the entire film: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? […] when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?” (Job 38:4, 7 [NKJV]). Let me note that through this question, God Himself addresses Job’s agonizing questions about his life’s devastating trials. It is somehow paradoxical that Malick chooses to provide his viewers with probably the most enigmatic answer to one of the most existential questions—that is, the one about evil, suffering, and theodicy—but he does it at the very beginning of his film. Thus, any other question, and arguably every event in the life of the American family of the 50s–60s that the film portrays, will follow suit and will make sense with (indirect) reference to this question. An event that the filmmakers dwell on and portray from the perspective of both the mother and the father is the unexpected death of their son R. L., the reasons for which remain rather unclear. Nonetheless, we are given a few indications that he was killed in the Vietnam War. Mr. O Brien looks almost apathetic and angry at first, protective of Mrs. O Brien, as she is visibly more fragile, constantly weeping and lost in her sorrow. Her mother’s words to her were supposed to give her solace: “Life goes on. People pass along. Nothing stays the same. You still got the other two (children). The Lord gives and the Lord takes away and that’s the way He is. He sends flies to wounds that He should heal”. The serene young mother quietly questions this approach, and this is manifested in the way she responded to the priest’s words in a previous scene, “He is in God’s hands now”, by making a statement through posing a rhetorical question: “He was in God’s hands the whole time. Wasn’t he?” The father eventually breaks down and expresses some remorse for his cruel behavior towards his dead son, a feeling that is described in death studies as “role guilt” (St. Peter’s Health 2026). Indeed, another theme that The Tree of Life presents is the tough love and authoritarian practices that Mr. O’ Brien used, as he would impose his will on the young Jack, contrary to his wife’s graceful approach to parenting. Mrs. O’ Brien hugs her sons; she plays with them in the yard under the big tree, thus embodying the grace that is supposedly (and according to the nuns the film refers to) antithetical to nature; the latter denotes selfishness and egocentricity. However, the lingering camera of Malick’s cinematic genius that draws the eye to all of the graces of the beautiful landscape throughout the film (light and air/wind being paramount in this depiction) reveals that nature is full of grace. It contains and conveys it (Barnett 2013, pp. 14–17). One of the extraordinary elements of this film is the unexpected plunging into time through the depiction of creation scenes, and even an incident in which a dinosaur spares the life of another creature in the prehistoric era, all of which seem irrelevant at first. Nonetheless, as bold a method as this is, it should not take long for the viewers to realize that the filmmakers are portraying the creative power that pervades the universe, together with the mercifulness which has always been present in the world. Set in 2010, the final and most revealing scene shows Jack—now a middle-aged, psychologically traumatized architect—wearing a formal suit as he steps through a free-floating door into a dreamy landscape. It is a seashore, where a reunification with his entire family takes place. All the beloved people meet again, walk peacefully towards one another, and silently rejoice in the very presence of what seemed to be lost but is now restored in a scene that was described “as the greatest film depiction of eschatological bodily resurrection ever” (Senechal et al. 2020).

Lila, an animated short film by Carlos Lascano, is a tribute to beauty and creativity, or the beauty that arises if one remains creative. It is rich in symbolism and metaphors that may extend its potential implications beyond death, while honoring the value of community, relationships, and nature. The protagonist is a young woman, probably in her late teens. Upon her departure from her apartment, she notices that the carnation in her vase has totally withered away, and this seems to make her quite sad. Then, with almost a permanent grin on her face, carrying her pencils and sketchbook, she walks through the streets of the city and sits at a cafeteria, where the transformative and surreal power of her craft comes into play. Looking at people, she starts drawing them, and her mood is immediately changed by what she thinks is missing in their lives, as she decides to ease their loneliness. So the old solitary man shows satisfaction when he notices that the artist is inspired to draw him, and the young man who seems to be longing for the company of his girlfriend somehow senses the kiss of a young woman on his cheek—a woman that Lila drew, whom he cannot see. In a subsequent scene, Lila is sitting on a bench in a park, performing similar transformative actions. Eventually, on her way back to her apartment, she manages to transform the entire city (probably in her imagination) into a more colorful, mythical place. What is more revealing is that when she re-enters her living room, the carnation is blossoming again, an event that is most likely symbolic, as it signals the entrance from the here into the hereafter—the afterlife. Some kind of revival has taken place, and it paved the way for something even greater. Lila looks at the black-and-white picture of her parents and herself as a child, implying that they are no longer in her life. But she resumes her artistic activity and makes the reunification with them possible: She draws a seashore, where her younger self runs happily towards her beloved parents, who embrace her dearly.

4. Discussion

In my hermeneutical approach to these films, with a special focus on the three notions which may be considered central in their storylines, i.e., beauty, community, and creativity, I will first point out how each of them may contribute to my theological elaboration on the issue of loss and grief. My approach is deliberately a comparative one, so I will stress both the things that may be viewed as similarities between the films and, at the same time, how they may complement each other, thereby adding unique elements to the ongoing discussion of the abovementioned topic. Some insights from different psychological research/theories on loss and bereavement, along with possible connections of these films with art therapy and its methods, will follow the brief theological analysis.

We can rightfully argue that The Tree of Life may be seen as a story that fits well into the concept of local (Christian) community. The main characters attend the services at the church; friends and relatives are close to the family through good and bad. Faith in God is presented both as a living relationship through the mother’s constant prayers to God and through the kneeling and praying of the less expressive father. Regarding the support that the community gives to the bereaved, the very presence of members of the extended family, neighbors, and friends is clearly a positive thing. Nevertheless, their theological perception of loss and suffering requires that we delve into the matter and seek a more comprehensive insight. Let us not forget, though, that Ousmane’s explanation of his son’s loss in London River and that of the mother of Mrs. O’ Brien and the priest in The Tree of Life have something in common: they attribute the loss of beloved people to God’s will. For although they represent different religions, that is, Christianity and Islam, they see God—in his wisdom—as the one who rightfully decides when to take a life. Humans who experience the loss of their own people only need to uncomplainingly accept this tragic event. Even though such an approach, which consequently recommends obedience/submission to God’s will, would surely make sense within Islamic theology and spirituality (Shariyf 2001; P. A. Thoma 2015, p. 14),5 Christian theology should not limit itself to it.

In this regard, Saint John Damascus’ remarks on God’s providence may prove very helpful. Just as he does on other matters, he recapitulates patristic thought on God’s will, particularly concerning the things “that do not depend upon us”. Saint John is very clear from the start when he clarifies that “God’s providence is beyond knowledge and beyond comprehension”. However, he does proceed to discern God’s ways by referring mainly to the following three kinds of providence: things that are due to providence which are “by approval” (only the undeniably good things), while others are “by permission”—aiming at protecting/educating and salvaging (the one who suffers or others who observe their suffering); the third way of providence is abandonment, either “by dispensation” (for our instruction and salvation) or as “absolute abandonment”, which occurs when God does everything to save someone, but they remain “uncured” or “incorrigible” (Damascus 1999, pp. 261–62). As important as they are, the previous remarks would be incomplete or even dangerous for pious people who tend to over-rationalize God’s presence and actions. This is especially true if they are not accompanied by the following clarifications, which acknowledge the ambiguity and, ultimately, the mystery of God’s will:

One should furthermore bear in mind that the ways of God’s providence are many, and that they can neither be explained in words nor grasped by the mind. One must note that for those who accept them with thanksgiving the attacks of adversity rebound to salvation and definitely become instruments of aid. One should also bear in mind that God antecedently wills all to be saved and to attain to His kingdom. For he did not form us to be chastised, but, because He is good, that we might share in His goodness.

(Damascus 1999, pp. 262–63)

Given the previous quotation, I would like to argue that, from a theological point of view, one’s aim when addressing the problem of evil and suffering should not be to somewhat vindicate God in the face of tragedy. God’s benevolence and omniscience, based on Damascus’ remarks, are utterly mysterious and therefore incomprehensible. It is for this reason that theodicies often fail,6 while the recognition of the fact that the acts and providence of God may be unfathomable justifies the aforementioned motto of The Tree of Life from the book of Job (Job 38:4, 7 [NKJV]). Therefore, Malick seems to provide his viewers with an answer to the problem of evil in advance, a choice that is surely remarkable. The answer is as simple as it is troubling: humans are unable to understand or contain the ways of their Creator and the Creator of the Universe. To claim the opposite, that is, to assert that you know exactly what God wants, is arrogant and preposterous (Berry 2005, p. 49).

Returning to the issue of death and the way it is experienced by the members of the community, and regardless of often insufficient efforts to explain God’s will, a Christian approach to grief should not disregard Christ’s stance towards death. For it entails an unwillingness to accept the death of a beloved person as “normal”. Alexander Schmemann’s commentary on the death of Lazarus justifies grief and mourning and rejects the escape to, supposedly, a higher reality as an answer to the problem of death. The value of the earthly community is not to be despised:

“[…] Christ weeps at the grave of his dead friend Lazarus—what a powerful witness! He does not say, ‘Well, now he is in heaven, everything is well; he is separated from this difficult and tormented life.’ Christ does not say all those things we do in our pathetic and uncomforting attempts to console. In fact he says nothing—he weeps. And then, according to the Gospels, he raises his friend, that is, he restores him into that life from which we are supposedly to find liberation toward a higher good”.

(Schmemann 2003, pp. 24–25)

In consideration of the aforementioned theological points, their aim being to address some of the common perceptions of loss which the two films portray, one ought to also shift one’s focus from God to humans and the impact of rigid ideas about God’s will on the wellbeing of the bereaved. In other words, a controlling and egocentric God might be an entity that nobody would want to relate to. A Force that either decides to take a life (in order to bring it closer to Him) or routinely does it to instruct and educate the faithful is not an appealing spiritual presence. Moreover, this perception of God is one that provokes anger and instills unnecessary guilt in the hearts of the vulnerable grieving people. The following story is a characteristic example:

“My son is twelve years old right now, but his mom died when he was six years old. At the time my wife was diagnosed with terminal cancer, we faithfully attended our church. Shortly after my wife passed away, my son didn’t want anything to do with God or church. He was adamant. He cried every time we went to church. He refused to talk about God or pray or even let me pray over him or with him.

Last summer I sent him to church camp, and a youth from our church figured out what the problem was. When his mother died his lovely Sunday morning Bible study teacher said to him, ‘God took your mother because He needed her.’ Now, while she didn’t say God needed his mother more than he did, that is the impression my son was left with regarding her death. My son was angry with God. To top it off, he felt guilty for being angry at God”.

(Jacobs 2016)

Stories like this raise the issue of grief counseling and whether it is provided by the right people and in the correct manner. Research has shown that specific training and several credentials are required for this task (Breen et al. 2019, pp. 615–16) and that simply being a church or funeral worker does not enable one to give the appropriate support to the bereaved. On the other hand, it is important to note that the role of funeral service providers within the context of compassionate communities in supporting the bereaved was found to be very crucial in the Western world (Aoun et al. 2019, pp. 619–20). Based on this fact, it would seem perfectly logical that these people are provided with the appropriate training and resources, so that their interaction with the grieving members of the community is both theologically and psychologically proper to the highest possible degree (Jacobs 2016). This would require a smooth collaboration between church communities and psychological health services, which (in some cases) may need to overcome various prejudices and the inclination to devalue either the spiritual or the psychological perspective.

London River and The Tree of Life also allow us to ponder the very content of the concept of community, and particularly, whether our perception of it is broad or inclusive enough. This issue is (indirectly) raised in the aftermath of tragic losses and through a cinematic lens that deliberately exposes the beauty of relationships and nature as an antidote to tragedy. As seen from the perspective of ecclesiology, Elizabeth’s and Ousmane’s acquaintance and interaction in London River calls for a reassessment of faith in and belonging to the Church as the Body of Christ. This is because it portrays how life and tragedy may lead one to extend the love that the Church is expected to manifest in its life beyond religious boundaries as an affirmation of its real purpose, i.e., the desire to embrace all humanity. Embracing all strangers, all different people, who are then seen as images of God, as creatures for whom Christ died on the cross, is a genuinely Christian approach (Leddy 2011, pp. 122–26). However, we are not given any hints of a continuation of their friendship, which was the result of experiencing the same tragedy and eventually supporting each other through difficult times. This is an open-ended film, and even though the two are separated in the end, the possibility of a lasting friendship lies ahead of them (P. A. Thoma 2015, p. 23). It is as if the filmmakers are asking a question of universal significance: Can death and grief bring people of different faiths and cultures together and create an enduring, not just a temporary, bond?

As far as the symbolic role of nature is concerned during the scene that conveys a situation that is similar to the experience of anticipatory grief (Neimeyer 2019, pp. 81–82; Caserta et al. 2019, pp. 225–26), their mutual dedication to it initially brings the two strangers closer to one another; as Elizabeth and Ousmane sit together on a bench inside a beautiful park, they share common experiences, without knowing if their children have been killed. Mother Earth seems to create the common ground that the two culturally and religiously different people were seeking in the midst of tragedy. By choosing this landscape for this dialog, the filmmakers make it significant/symbolic, and we may point out a resemblance between this and “eco therapy” (“green” or “nature therapy”). The latter acknowledges the healing capacity of being in nature, while a therapist/clinician helps the bereaved to create art with natural objects and to reflect on the life cycle and on being a part of the wider natural world, which survives death and decay (Pate 2024, pp. 25–26). In addition, in The Tree of Life, the big tree in the family’s lawn looks like an actual member of the household and the community around it; a reminder of the consoling beauty of Creation and the “garden” into which God put people to rejoice and creatively build their lives. Therefore, in both films, physical life and the physical landscape are of great significance, for they serve as a reminder of membership in a wider community and in the totality of God’s creation. Therefore, nature on screen serves the same foundational role as human actors in dramatic films (D’Aloia 2012, pp. 90–91). Consequently, cinematography—and the way the natural world is portrayed in these films—carries profound existential and ontological value (Stratton 2017, p. 3). Nonetheless, nature (their creative endeavors in the forest and the field, respectively) does not comfort either Ousmane or the angry Elizabeth in the closing scenes of London River. Nothing can be taken for granted, just like not all methods of art therapy will work for all people who grieve (Anderson 2025). While the family garden in The Tree of Life turns into a place of mourning and despair, this is where Malick’s vision takes us a step further: to the skies and the unfathomable presence of divine life and grace in the entire universe, which may potentially lead to a broadening of the comprehension of the bereaved. Set to the renowned Lacrimosa—a Catholic requiem for the dead—these explosive scenes of destruction do not merely clash with the music; rather, they complete it, illustrating a universe that is simultaneously weeping and eternally recreating itself (Kerbel 2011). Ousmane’s mourning song that he sings for Elizabeth, with its incomprehensible words that move and eventually fill her with gratitude for his presence, is also an entrance into the realm of mystery and inexplicability, which is better expressed through art (Berry 2000, p. 113). It is, of course, no coincidence that art therapy includes methods which use music and song as a means of expressing grief, cherishing the memory of the deceased, and bringing mourners together to compose, sing, and record it (Keisari et al. 2023, pp. 6, 8). Hence, music and singing bring healing.

While London River does not offer any kind of redemption/catharsis either to the protagonists themselves or to its viewers who may identify with their suffering, both The Tree of Life and Lila include this dimension, as they explore the possibility of hope and relief through their portrayal of reunion with the departed. The landscape of the reunion, as we have seen, is also the same in the two films. Jack and Lila alike meet with their loved ones, who had died, at the seashore, which thus becomes a place of a beautiful revelation. Pondering the meaning of this choice by Malick and Lascano, one may point out that the seashore, where land meets the sea, could be seen as a border between the known and the unknown or the unexpected. However, in the New Testament, it is also a place of miracles performed by Christ (Mark 6:45–51; Mathew 8:23–27 [NKJV]). Most importantly, taking these films and their depiction of an afterlife into consideration, any interpretative approach should consider that the resurrected Son of God appeared to the disciples by the sea of Galilee, where he sat and ate with them at the seashore (John 21:1–25 [NKJV]). This is therefore a case in which film imagery may have assimilated biblical faith in resurrection, which, one may argue, makes the films appear as theology. Furthermore, from an aesthetic/technical point of view, water in cinema is a substance which marks the passage from one psychological situation to another, while a psychoanalytical approach to “enwaterment” in film views it as healing (D’Aloia 2012, pp. 99–100).

Considering all the above may lead to a fruitful dialog between (film as) theology and art therapy; as previously mentioned, creativity is a God-given human ability, which may ideally allow humans to make meaningful, useful and even beautiful things for themselves and their community. In this way, they would fulfill the potential of their creation in the image and likeness of God, thus participating in His glory and, as a result, experience catharsis in this world. This is why The Tree of Life and Lila, through their unique artistic depictions of the hereafter,7 may assist theology/spirituality by not inferring an escape to a supernatural, otherworldly sphere (where the bereaved would meet the dead), devoid of earthly things and earthly beauty. Spiritual people, however, should maintain the ability to visualize and express their hopes and dreams for a future/renewed relationship with their loved ones. This is where a revisited theological perspective remarkably meets an art therapy method, namely Gershman’s and Braddeley’s use of “prescriptive photomontage”, whose aim is:

“to help clients to revision their bonds with their deceased loved one in a way that rebuilds life meaning. For this technique, the client is asked to use family photos to tell his or her life story, then to brainstorm with the therapist about a preferred story in which the client envisions a future life that includes a different, but continuing bond with the deceased person. The artist-therapist (Gershman) then creates a digital photomontage depicting the client’s imagined future life story, which she calls a “Healing Dreamscape,” using digitally altered versions of the original family photos. Thus, the product is a personalized fine art piece that becomes a source of hope for the client”.

(Beaumont 2013, pp. 4–5)

The degree to which artistic works such as films may be integrated into discussions on loss and grief inevitably varies based on several factors. Personal experiences, beliefs, values, and familiarity with a given artistic genre all affect how these works are received (Marsh 2016 pp. 1–3). Furthermore, a meaningful dialog with films presupposes “a fusion of horizons”, combining different perspectives (Romanowski and Vander Heide 2007, pp. 55–57). Consequently, when utilizing art forms in pastoral and therapeutic settings, it is important to acknowledge that their positive contribution may be limited. Specifically, films are not to be perceived in the same manner as printed text, as visual media introduces interpretive elements such as acting, cinematography, and musical scores (Kickasola et al. 2013, pp. 5–6). Consequently, establishing a foundational culture of film viewing may be a prerequisite to their pastoral and therapeutic effectiveness. Furthermore, due to the abovementioned factors, individual perception of visual symbols is inevitably subjective; this may lead participants into deeply personal areas of bereavement that are better addressed during one-on-one sessions. Group film discussions should therefore be viewed as a single step in a holistic process, and their appropriateness for large groups in a pastoral or therapeutic setting remains debatable. Furthermore, not all works that discuss loss and grief are appropriate for such a discussion. Those that raise challenging questions for theology, for example, should not be a problem, but those that provide definitive answers may be inappropriate. Likewise, there are films which present a vision of the afterlife or an explanation of loss that can be confusing and potentially harmful to children (Doggy Center 2021). Therefore, collaboration among pastors, theologians, and psychologists/therapists is highly recommended in the selection of appropriate films.

5. Conclusions and Future Considerations

This article demonstrates how reflecting on three existential films can facilitate discussions on bereavement, while integrating typical reactions to death and loss. This analysis helps readdress complex theological concepts and assesses the appropriateness of treating grieving individuals from a psychological perspective. Through this creative dialog between spirituality and therapy, professionals can enrich their understanding and become more effective in treating the bereaved. Within this context, the interreligious approach to grief raised in London River holds special significance for today’s multicultural societies.

As I have placed (ecclesiastical) community and (artistic) creativity at the center of my approach to death and grief, which primarily expands on the meaning of the three selected films, emphasizing the redeeming beauty that may derive from both, I should stress that the existence of either of them cannot be taken for granted in today’s world. Part of it is due to the reduced role of religion and religiosity in many parts of the world, particularly in European countries, such as Great Britain, which used to identify as almost entirely Christian (Blaylock et al. 2017, pp. 16–17; Hackett et al. 2025). Furthermore, the fluidity of the post-modern era, which is greatly reinforced by the rapid digitalization of our world and the prevalence of online connections between people, has changed both our perception and experience of belonging to a community. It has also redefined creativity, as it is now less connected to actual physical activity and physical life.

Beyond any intention to label this new and constantly changing reality as worse or more dangerous than that of previous eras, it would be rather unwise not to embrace it with caution while trying to make the most of it, and this includes the area of grief therapy. The recent pandemic called for such a swift adjustment and, notably, there were cases in which certain people felt more comfortable with therapy sessions through an online connection rather than attending them in person, and these even enhanced some aspects of drama therapy (Keisari et al. 2023, p. 8). This should bring our attention to the issue of uneasiness that is felt by some of the bereaved during therapy due to the lack of familiarity with the therapist, as relevant research has indicated (Breen et al. 2019, pp. 614–15). However, it can be argued that these facts do not suggest that the more traditional type of community should be abandoned, but that community and communality may have become more flexible and thus adaptable realities. Did Christians all over the world not watch the liturgy and other rituals online during the pandemic as Churches resorted to technology to save some sort of communality during lockdowns? Therefore, theology and spirituality should not cease to seek and attain a renewed form of community life which first and foremost includes tragedy, embraces loss and encourages participation in the sorrows of fellow humans (Reklis 2009, pp. 37–43). In this regard, Berry’s account of “tragic imagination”, which could be viewed as ecclesiastical, is descriptive of the essentials of community life through every era. It is crucial that it not only speaks about overcoming loss but also about death awareness:

What is wanting […] is the tragic imagination that, through communal form of ceremony, permits great loss to be recognized, suffered and borne and that makes possible some sort of consolation and renewal. What is wanting is the return to the beloved community or to the possibility of one. That would return us to a renewed and corrected awareness of our partiality and mortality, but also to healing and joy in a renewed awareness of our love and hope for one another. Without that return we may know innocence and horror and grief, but not tragedy and joy, not consolation or forgiveness or redemption.

(Berry 1990, p. 78)

In this context, and more particularly on the issue of how community responds to loss and how it supports its grieving members, one should question, and future research in this area should consider, investigating the degree to which priests/pastors/theologians and the laity have abandoned those typical (false) responses to loss which were found to be evident in the selected films. It should be noted that such responses limit their pastoral effectiveness, as they are theologically inadequate and potentially psychologically damaging. Another point for consideration is whether parishes are willing to invite mental health professionals to systematically educate their members who take on pastoral work (including church and funeral workers) on what is correct to say—or not to say—to the bereaved from a psychological point of view. This is also another issue for future investigation, the results of which may help remove obstacles, such as a potential “secularization” of pastoral work, and even lead to collaborative work between parishes and therapists, including art therapists.

Loss and grief are areas in which art and artistic works, such as the films I have commented on, may be of great help to parishes and therapists alike. Cinema is primarily a gathering, ideally a community gathering or the joining of smaller companies within the same audience, whose desire is to watch a film on the big screen and then reflect upon and talk about it. Would it not be helpful for a parish or a community to put on film screenings, followed by a discussion directed by priests/theologians and therapists, jointly initiating a reflection on loss and grief and the needs of the bereaved? Given the appropriate circumstances and a mutual wish to help the bereaved, these gatherings may, of course, utilize films like Lila, The Tree of Life, London River, and so many other films that discuss the same subjects in a more structured therapeutic process (Wolz 2004). The latter would allow spiritual as well as psychological issues/questions to emerge and be addressed by the appropriate servants—church workers or health professionals, respectively. Thus, cinema therapy may assist the bereaved, simply through their commenting/reflecting on the different reactions of fictional characters to loss, in elaborating on their own situation and expressing their grief in their own unique ways (Rubio 2024).8 However, the article highlights that film-based discussions on death and grief are limited by viewers’ cultural backgrounds and principles, while emphasizing that not all such films are theologically or psychologically appropriate for gatherings.

As for the dimensions of (natural) beauty and beauty through creativity, these can never be seen and attained if church institutions or certain spiritualities reject the world and focus excessively on the afterlife. Both are crucial to theology/spirituality and therapy due to their relevance to the creation of humans in the image of God and their ability to transform negative emotions/experiences into a positive and hopeful way of life. Hope in the afterlife should not entail rejection of this life, which is a stance that is highly uncreative. In addition, such a dichotomy between the here and the hereafter, and choosing the latter over the first, could create a huge gap between scientific knowledge and expertise on one hand and religion and spirituality on the other. Why would someone need mental health insights or therapy if what matters after all is moving on to the “real life” and everything in between is just a temporary obstacle? Under these circumstances, a creative collaboration of religion/spirituality and mental health professionals is highly unlikely to occur. In addition, the reason for integrating scientific knowledge and mental health insights into the discussion about loss and grief therapy is first and foremost theological: It is the same Spirit, the Spirit of God, which distributes the various gifts to the community (1 Corinthians 12:7–11, 27–30 [NKJV]). Hence, it is the Church and theologians who should be the most eager to acknowledge the importance of activating the entire Body of Christ by honoring and utilizing all of its graces collaboratively through an interdisciplinary approach to the specific challenges of life (P. Thoma 2025, pp. 45–48; Borrego and Newswander 2010, p. 63; Lenoir and Hasni 2016). Creative and artistic renewal, combined with a Christian praxis, can share common ground with grief therapy to support the bereaved. Spirituality, artistic expression, and therapeutic practice must converge to support the grieving. Recognizing their individual limitations, these disciplines should collaborate holistically to serve the broader community and foster human healing.