Gladys and the Guilty Remnant's Gospel

Silence makes people speak, as I pointed out last week—but it also conceals. So it has been in the universe of The Leftovers, in which the town of Mapleton (and we) have got to be wondering: is the continued silence from God/the universe about where their loved ones went a way to make them cry out, or is it concealing something? And if it's concealing something, what is that thing? Is it God refusing to tell them why they are still there? Is it God refusing to tell them what happened? Is it some other odd, weird, supernatural disappearance in which the perpetrators aren't talking?

Or is it concealing the fact that there is no reason at all, and nobody's listening?

At the beginning of this episode, Gladys—a member of the GR—is spirited away, duct-taped to a tree, and stoned by mysterious dark figures. The blood stains her white garments. Those stones forcing her to break her silence and plead for mercy, which never comes.

That death shocks the GR (although the townspeople seem considerably less shocked), including Laurie, who reacts so violently that she has a panic attack and winds up in the hospital. In response, Patti takes her to a motel, and then, to breakfast—in normal clothes, and with talking. Laurie can't break her silence, but she listens. Patti tells her that Gladys had a similar experience a year ago, that she was beginning to buckle. And then she ominously warns Laurie—more on that in a moment.

Meanwhile, across town, Kevin continues to take the brunt of the universe. Poor guy can't catch a break: everything in his life keeps disappearing and reappearing. It wasn't just that bagel. His family continues to slowly disappear on him, his home security system is kind of impossible to operate, and his shirts went on the mysterious fritz. He's haunted and now actively heckled by the guy who shoots dogs, who keeps popping up everywhere. He can't get the townspeople to agree to a curfew to keep them safe while he's solving the GR's issue.

Most importantly, though, Kevin comes to terms with the fact that Laurie actually did ask for a divorce, and that it probably is going to happen. His anger and deep sorrow nearly propels him over the edge (and I doubt this is the last time). There is something extra painful and echoing in this fresh disappearance, since it is not as if Laurie simply and suddenly disappeared without a trace. Instead, she's slowly slipping away, bit by bit. But he can still see her around. Literally.

But Laurie isn't remaining silent, though she hasn't spoken a word. Gladys's death has cemented her commitment to the GR. And Meg's, too. In a way that is reminiscent of what happened in the early days of the Christian church, Gladys's death has made her a martyr, and that symbol has elevated her to—well, to something. It remains to be seen what.

I think we could say we're seeing a re-enchantment of silence in cinema today. Martin Scorsese has just (finally) begun production on Silence, but there seems to be a lot of exploration of what it would mean to live in a world where God could exist, but appears to be silent most of the time. Fargo, Broadchurch, Calvary, and the list goes on . . . Deists might say he's fallen asleep or walked away after he set the world spinning. Some Christians might say that when God is silent, it means he is saying "not yet," or he is trying to grow us in some way. Christ, of course, called out on the cross for an answer: "Why have you forsaken me?"

Others might say he's might be concealing something on purpose, keeping secrets from us. That's an old story, one that is a sort of cornerstone of the ancient Gnostic gospels. To be honest, I don't know much about them, but I do know they're all about concealing eternal secrets. And apparently the Rev. Matt knows plenty, because he quotes at length from the Gospel of Thomas to Kevin while they are in the hospital. "Teacher," he quotes Thomas as saying, "my mouth is utterly unable to say what you are like. And Jesus said, 'I am not your teacher, because you have become intoxicated by a bubbling spring.'"

Matt continues, but the conclusion is most striking, quoting Thomas' own words: "If I tell you what he spoke to me, you will pick up rocks, and stone me, and fire will come from the rocks, and devour you."

That's what Patti tells Laurie after she's broken her own silence for a bit: "There can't be any doubt, Laurie, because doubt is fire, and fire's gonna burn you up, until you are but ash."

As for Gladys: someone picked up rocks, and stoned her. And the fire consumed her.

Some further notes:

• So yes, what I'm saying is that it's becoming increasingly evident that the GR is a Gnostic sect, of some kind, and that gives us a way to read them. Remember: they eschew anything resembling earthly pleasure, and they smoke like chimneys, because the body doesn't matter. Which sets this whole Matt vs. the GR thing in a new light, and—if you've read the novels—might signal what's coming next. (Is Gnosticism a reaction to tragedy?)

• Worth noting: Laurie saw the dog-shooting man in the woods, which led her to discover Gladys.
• Note that some time in the past three years, it's become the bureau of "Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, Explosives, and Cults." This is not the first time someone, somewhere, has died—which explains the ominous, creepy suggestion the bureau gives Kevin on the phone about getting rid of the GR.
• And also, that diner conversation: ominous much? What's coming for Laurie?
• Notably absent from this episode: Tom and Christine, who are presumably traveling, masked as Barefoot People with round target-like markings on their heads. Don't forget them, though. The cult of Wayne (and the Barefoot People, for that matter) pose a striking counterpoint to the GR.
• Go back and watch the very first scene.