Last year, when the first part of the Wicked movie came out, I wrote about how Elphaba’s longing to stand in the Wizard’s good graces—and her eventual discovery that the man behind the curtain had no real power—deeply resonated with my own journey out of Mormonism.
Yesterday, I saw Part Two. I enjoyed many of the expected highlights of Act Two, especially the raw force of No Good Deed. I think Jon M. Chu handled a far more difficult act with surprising deftness. But the moment that landed hardest for me was a small change from the Broadway production—one that completely reframed a song I’d never found particularly moving before.
Mild spoilers ahead.
In the stage version, the Wizard sings “Wonderful” after Elphaba confronts him about his deception. He explains his rise to power, insists he’s merely giving the people what they want, and tries to persuade her that “the most celebrated are the rehabilitated.” Come back, he tells her, and she’ll be praised again.
On stage, the moment never felt compelling. It didn’t seem believable that Elphaba would seriously consider his offer.
But in the film, the scene is reworked in a way that is far more personal—and far more powerful. Glinda joins him, pleading with Elphaba to return. Suddenly, the temptation feels real. You can see why Elphaba is genuinely drawn in and willing to consider it.
Glinda even reprises a few lines from Defying Gravity:
“Elphie, think of what we could do.
Together, unlimited.
Together we’re unlimited.
Together, we’ll be the greatest team there’s ever been, Elphie.”
What makes the moment so seductive is that Glinda isn’t naïve. She knows the Wizard isn’t truly magical. And yet she still chooses to see him as “wonderful,” insisting that if they stay loyal, “there’s no fight we cannot win.” She offers Elphaba the chance to fix everything without conflict or loss—so long as she closes her eyes to what she now knows.
As an ex-Mormon Christian, that temptation felt real and painfully familiar.
Over the last few years, I’ve lost friendships I never wanted to lose. Much of it has been unavoidable, simply because I now speak openly about things many people I love do not want to confront.
Some of my Latter-day Saint friends have encouraged me to stay in the Church despite my doubts—to set aside the things that trouble me and remain in fellowship, conforming my beliefs to the institution’s teachings. Like Glinda, they mean well. They can’t imagine a life outside the Wizard’s approval. And so they gently urge me to nuance things, to overlook “moral ambiguities,” to act as though the uncomfortable truths don’t exist.
And honestly, sometimes the pull is real. It would be easier to go back to the days when I saw LDS prophets as unquestionably heroic, when the Church felt safe and familiar, when I still belonged seamlessly with friends and family.
But Elphaba realizes she cannot stay, because what the Wizard offers is not true. And in the end, the Wizard is wrong when he declares:
“The truth is not a fact or reason.
The truth is just what everyone agrees on.”
No.
The truth is not relative or built on consensus
It is not something we can reshape until it feels comfortable.
For Christians, Truth is a person—Jesus Christ—who calls us to walk in the light even when it costs us everything.
“Whoever does not take up his cross and follow Me is not worthy of Me.”
“Everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children… for My name’s sake, will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life.”
—Matthew 10:38; 19:29
For the first Jewish Christians, returning to the familiarity and beauty of the old covenant would have been deeply tempting. The temple was magnificent. The priesthood was ancient. Family and community ties were strong. Going back would have healed so much relational pain. Yet the writer of Hebrews urges them—and us—not to turn back to shadows, symbols, or the comforts of a familiar system:
“Do not throw away your confidence; it carries a great reward.”
—Hebrews 10:35
That conviction—that the Truth of Jesus Christ was worth giving up everything—enabled the early believers to endure persecution, to face rejection by their own households, and to suffer even martyrdom rather than deny what they had seen and heard.
It is costly to walk away from a story that once shaped your entire world. It is costly to lose relationships for the sake of conscience. But in the end, we cannot go back, especially after we’ve encountered the One who is the Truth. No matter how tempting the invitation, we must keep following Him, whatever the cost.
