I watched the Phantom of the Opera last night. I think it's an amazingly beautiful movie and must have been a beautiful show live. The leading lady had a phenomenal voice, the music was haunting and slow and I'm still singing along. But more amazing than all is the story. As usual, I identified with the monster. It's amazing what effect grace and innocence and love--not pity but real love--have on the agonizing ugliness of our humanity and the little festering worlds we build out of our pain. It wasn't the phantom's face that made him a monster, and it wasn't the cruelty of the world--it was his mask and his isolation that did it. And it wasn't the romantic love of a woman that redeemed him; it was charity without pity, it was acceptance and grace incarnated that did it. That's pretty amazing.