so BSG ended last night. as with any other story i am deeply, emotionally invested in, i was sad, even though it was a relatively satisfying finish. although i found a little 30 rock calmed me down quite a bit.

one of the things about the series that has always been attractive to me was how creator Ron Moore made faith a serious element that the characters had to deal with. watching them struggle with long-held beliefs and traditions in the face of terrible circumstances made them much more believable and connected me with them on a level i rarely experience, in any medium.

and for a series so beloved by skeptics/athiests, the finale’s plot relied heavily on the work of a higher power. the reaction has been pretty interesting to witness. personally, RDM impressed the crap out of me by allowing faith to be a central theme. the last intelligent sci-fi series that incorporated any element of faith was the X-Files. Star Trek was always too chicken to explore the concept.

two things stood out about the finale: one was during Baltar’s speech in the CIC. Brother Cavil asks something along the lines of “How do I know God will side with the Cylons?”. “God is not on anyone’s side”, Baltar explains. His point: the gods/God/higher power/force of nature isn’t for the humans, or the Cylons, or Vulcans, or America’s, or the Muslims, or the universe, or whatever. it’s to us to make sure we’re on God’s side.

the other: while not a part of the plot or overall theme, after finishing the finale, i got the distinct sense of the brevity of our time on this planet. i can read books or hear sermons on making the best use of your limited lifespan, but none have had the impact of seeing Bill Adama’s loss, watching Lee see his father off for the last time, and watching the survivors depart to start their new lives. i was finally shaken up and saw my heart open just a bit, ready to make more use of the idle hours i waste away.

in story of the prodigal son, what do you think the prodigal does during the party that follows his return? i’ve never heard any scholarly exposition on the subject, which is a bummer – i find myself there.

if i were to speculate, i picture the kid sitting at his father’s table. he’s surrounded by tons of grub. he’s got the pimp robe on, the sandals, his dad’s ring, but he’s shifting back and forth in his seat because his father’s servants threw all that gear on right as he got home – and he’d been covered in mud and crap (and still pulling pieces of hay out of his hair, do you throw that on the ground? is that rude?). so he’s totally messing all those fancy clothes up. speaking of the crap, he’s starting to get a feeling for just how bad he smells, since he’s around a bunch of normal, clean people.

and then there’s the bombshell his dad dropped on him. surprising him on the road back home, cutting him off in the middle of his well-practiced speech, blindly forgiving him, making that wild scene in front of the help. that was a few hours ago, and he’s hanging out at the party, still feeling stunned. he doesn’t know what to say to everyone. still extremely embarrassed, his pride shredded to pieces, he isn’t sure what to do now. he wants to feel utter joy at his father’s absolute forgiveness, but he’s still cautious, waiting for the other shoe to drop. he did so much wrong. it couldn’t have been that simple! right?

so there’s music, and everyone’s dancing, tito over there is about to start with the limbo. and good gravy those dudes can cook some meat. but despite grace, despite the celebration, he can’t seem to make eye contact with anyone. dad sits down next to him, eating a piece of cheese, puts his arm around his son, looks over and smiles, tears in his eyes. the son manages a half smile, his face turning red, looks at the floor. he feels remorse, relief, and wants to be as happy as his dad and everyone else, but something is in the way. what is it? he can’t put his finger on it.

at least, if you stuck me in the story, that’s how i’d feel. am i crazy?