We weren’t sure what to expect going into Thunderbolts* since the MCU hasn’t exactly been hitting it out of the park lately. But this one surprised us. Not because it had the flashiest action or the most epic stakes, but because it had weight: emotional, psychological, spiritual weight. This isn’t a movie about superheroes saving the day. It’s about broken people trying to figure out if they’re anything more than weapons on a leash.
In this episode, we dig into what Thunderbolts* says about identity, trauma, and redemption. Are these characters actually changing—or just changing sides? The movie uses sarcasm to mask despair, shows the aching need for belonging, and paints a chilling picture of how power treats people as expendable. From Judges to Philippians, we’ll explore what Scripture says about suffering, grace, and what it means to become a new creation in Christ. Because let’s be honest—sometimes showing up and trying not to make things worse is the most honest redemption arc of all.
Thunderbolts* is directed by Jake Schreier, with writing by Eric Pearson, Joanna Calo, and Kurt Busiek, and the score is by the band Son Lux.
First Impressions of Thunderbolts*
I said it during the episode, and I’ll say it again here—Thunderbolts* is the best Marvel movie since Spider-Man: No Way Home. And sure, that’s not the highest bar to clear these days, but this film had something most of the recent MCU entries have lacked: heart. Not in the mushy, sentimental sense, but in the raw, weighty, “there’s something deeper happening here” sense.
The story kicks off with Yelena in a moment that walks the line between suicidal ideation and dry humor—and it hits. Not because it’s edgy, but because it’s painfully honest. That moment, and the tone it sets, told us this movie wasn’t going to be about capes and explosions. It was going to be about broken people trying to survive in a system that doesn’t care if they heal—just that they’re useful.
There’s a surprising emotional depth here, often buried under sarcasm and wit. The humor doesn’t undercut the seriousness—it reveals it. These characters are wounded, jaded, tired—and that humor is a defense mechanism. We get that. A lot of us do. As Eve pointed out, Thunderbolts* asks some hard questions: Can you change without a dramatic speech? Can you be redeemed if you’re still messed up? Is surviving the same thing as healing?
And we loved that Thunderbolts* didn’t give easy answers. Redemption here isn’t about absolution—it’s about showing up. Trying not to make it worse. Being willing to lean on someone, even if trust is still a work in progress. There’s something honest and profoundly human about that.
We also talked in this section about how refreshing it was to skip the origin story. The MCU often bogs itself down starting from square one every time it introduces a new face. Thunderbolts* just throws us into the mess midstream—“We now join our story already in progress…” And honestly? That works. It respects the viewer’s intelligence and lets us focus on the real meat of the story.
And then there’s the government-as-villain angle, which we’ll unpack more later—but even from the jump, it’s clear: these characters aren’t being honored for valor. They’re being reactivated like broken tools because someone in power still sees a use for them. That felt all too familiar—and chilling.
Thunderbolts* doesn’t ask you to root for perfect people. It asks you to care about real ones.
Messy Redemption Arcs in Thunderbolts*
One of the things we kept circling back to in this section was how Thunderbolts* doesn’t hand out tidy redemption arcs. And that’s actually one of the things that makes it feel more grounded. These aren’t people with clean breakups from their past mistakes—they’re dragging the whole suitcase behind them. They’re not trying to pretend they never did anything wrong; they’re just trying to make it through the next mission without slipping back into it.
We talked about how easy it is to confuse rehabilitation with repentance. Just because someone’s useful again doesn’t mean they’ve changed. And that’s not just a movie thing—it’s a human thing. We see it in politics, in churches, even in our own relationships. Sometimes we want someone’s usefulness more than we want their heart to be transformed.
This brought us back to a key theme from our King of Kings episode: behavior has consequences. And that got me thinking—do these characters really face consequences for what they’ve done? Or are they just being handed a new role because someone powerful can still benefit from them?
Woe to those enacting crooked statutes and writing oppressive laws to keep the poor from getting a fair trial and to deprive the needy among my people of justice, so that widows can be their spoil and they can plunder the fatherless. (Isaiah 10:1–2)
That passage was heavy on my heart during this scene. The government in Thunderbolts* isn’t interested in justice—it’s interested in outcomes. And in a world where people are used up and tossed aside for expedience, Scripture reminds us that God sees every injustice—and He doesn’t shrug at it.
We also brought in some comparisons from Scripture. Eve’s small group’s been walking through Judges, and if there’s ever been a book full of flawed deliverers, that’s it. One of the examples we talked about was Ehud—his story is found in Judges 3:12–30. Ehud was an unlikely deliverer—a left-handed man who used his perceived weakness to assassinate a foreign oppressor and lead Israel to freedom. His story is a vivid example of how God can use the unexpected and imperfect to bring about justice. These guys—sometimes chosen by God, sometimes just thrust into the role—are rarely clean or noble. They’re a mess. And yet, God uses them. Not because they’re heroes, but because He is.
But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise, and God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong. (1 Corinthians 1:27)
That’s the heart of it—redemption isn’t about having the cleanest résumé. It’s about a God who works through weakness so that His glory—not ours—gets the spotlight.
And maybe that’s what struck me most about Thunderbolts*. These characters are immensely skilled, but their abilities haven’t given them meaning. They’ve been soldiers, spies, assassins—but they’ve never been heroes. And when they finally start to work together for something even sort of good, it’s like a spark lights up in them. For a moment, they get a glimpse of purpose.
Is that full redemption? No. But it’s a step. It’s not a sermon, it’s not a teary confession—it’s just them trying to not make things worse, trying to trust someone else with the load. And in a world that often expects a dramatic transformation or nothing at all, that kind of slow, messy effort feels honest.
Because maybe redemption doesn’t always come with applause. Maybe it starts with just showing up—and being willing to change.
Pain Behind the Punchline
There is no one righteous, not even one. There is no one who understands; there is no one who seeks God. All have turned away; all alike have become worthless. There is no one who does what is good, not even one. Their throat is an open grave; they deceive with their tongues. Vipers’ venom is under their lips. Their mouth is full of cursing and bitterness. Their feet are swift to shed blood; ruin and wretchedness are in their paths, and the path of peace they have not known. There is no fear of God before their eyes. (Romans 3:10–18)
Eve brought this passage into the discussion to remind us that none of us start out as heroes—not in Scripture, and not in life. The world likes to rank people as better or worse, more or less redeemable. But Scripture levels the playing field. We’re all in need of grace.
One of the things we couldn’t ignore in Thunderbolts* was the way humor and trauma dance so closely together. This film is packed with snark and sarcasm—but a lot of it feels like a shield. The characters laugh, sure, but not because life is funny. It’s because the alternative is breaking down. There’s a moment where you realize some of these punchlines are really cries for help dressed up in wit.
We see it especially in characters like Yelena and Alexei. They throw out zingers in nearly every scene, but the pain underneath is never far away. The jokes feel earned because they’re layered over real hurt. That’s what makes them hit so hard. And honestly? That feels pretty true to life.
We talked about how suffering and humor often go hand in hand. It’s a coping mechanism. For a lot of people—including us—it’s easier to laugh it off than to face the heaviness underneath. But that doesn’t mean the weight isn’t still there.
And that got us thinking about what Scripture says about suffering. Romans 5 gives us this incredible progression:
Not only that, but we also boast in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope. (Romans 5:3–4)
That’s not survival mode. That’s transformation. But we don’t get there by ignoring the pain—we get there by letting God walk us through it—not around it, not pretending it doesn’t hurt—through it.
Because the truth is, the people smiling the hardest might also be the ones hurting the most. And we’re called to see that, to love them well, and to walk beside them, even when all they can do is crack a joke and hope you understand.
You Don’t Have to Do It Alone
Another major thread in Thunderbolts* is how much these characters lean on each other—not perfectly, not even always willingly, but consistently. They’re not just thrown together by a mission. They begin to shoulder each other’s burdens, even in their brokenness, and that hit close to home.
We’re not meant to go it alone. Scripture paints that picture clearly.
If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together. (1 Corinthians 12:26)
Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take up my yoke and learn from me, because I am lowly and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. (Matthew 11:28–29)
That’s not just a church cliché—that’s a call to community. And it’s one that runs counter to the world’s message to tough it out and keep your struggles to yourself. The reality is, when we carry our burdens in isolation, they only grow heavier. But when we let others in—even if it’s messy, even if they can’t fix it—we’re walking in obedience to the way God designed us to live.
Jesus knew we’d face trouble. He told us plainly:
You will have suffering in this world. Be courageous! I have conquered the world. (John 16:33)
We reflected on how often the world’s idea of “helping” still comes with strings attached. It’s transactional. But Christian love is sacrificial. It’s about showing up even when it’s inconvenient. Even when you don’t get anything back.
That’s what makes the slow bond in Thunderbolts* so compelling. It’s not instant trust or warm fuzzies. It’s tested loyalty. It’s, “I’ll be here—even if I don’t know how.” And in a culture that prizes self-sufficiency, that kind of community is radical.
Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6–7)
We’ve all had times when we felt like we had to hold it together alone. But Thunderbolts* reminds us—and so does Scripture—that you don’t. We need each other. And we need the One who never leaves us nor forsakes us.
The Lord is near the brokenhearted; he saves those crushed in spirit. (Psalm 34:18)
Eve brought up the song “Lean on Me,” which many of us know as a classic anthem of mutual support. But she pointed out something I hadn’t considered before: even that song has a kind of transactional undertone—help me now, and I’ll help you later. That’s the world’s version of community. What we’re called to as believers is something deeper—selfless, sacrificial love. We don’t support each other because we expect a return; we do it because that’s what Christ did for us.
We also talked about how difficult it can be to admit that we need help in the first place. It can feel like weakness, like failure, like you’re letting someone down just by needing support. But the gospel flips that. Our need doesn’t disqualify us—it draws us closer to the One who made us to live in community. When we admit our burdens and invite others in, we’re not just being honest—we’re being obedient. And we’re creating space for healing that isolation can never offer.
So whether you’re the one cracking the joke to keep from crying, or the one who doesn’t know how to help but wants to show up anyway—keep going. Keep leaning. Because we’re in this together.
Thunderbolts* Characters Lack Fulfillment
There’s a scene in Thunderbolts* where Yelena asks her father if he’s fulfilled, and he answers with hollow enthusiasm: “Yes! So full, so filled…” only to immediately confess that he’s miserable. That moment really stuck with us. Because who hasn’t felt that before? You hit all the supposed milestones—career, success, recognition—and yet the satisfaction never quite lands.
This film leans into that vocational disillusionment. These characters have been soldiers, assassins, agents—they’ve mastered their skills, but those skills haven’t fulfilled them. They’ve been used, celebrated, discarded—and now they’re asking: what’s the point?
Scripture speaks directly to that kind of emptiness. The author of Ecclesiastes wrestled with this in real time:
I hated all my work that I labored at under the sun because I must leave it to the one who comes after me. And who knows whether he will be wise or a fool? Yet he will take over all my work that I labored at skillfully under the sun. This too is futile. So I began to give myself over to despair concerning all my work that I had labored at under the sun. When there is a person whose work was done with wisdom, knowledge, and skill, and he must give his portion to a person who has not worked for it, this too is futile and a great wrong. For what does a person get with all his work and all his efforts that he labors at under the sun? For all his days are filled with grief, and his occupation is sorrowful; even at night, his mind does not rest. This too is futile.
There is nothing better for a person than to eat, drink, and enjoy his work. I have seen that even this is from God’s hand, because who can eat and who can enjoy life apart from him? For to the person who is pleasing in his sight, he gives wisdom, knowledge, and joy; but to the sinner he gives the task of gathering and accumulating in order to give to the one who is pleasing in God’s sight. This too is futile and a pursuit of the wind. (Ecclesiastes 2:18-26)
It’s not that work is meaningless. It’s that work without purpose is. When we labor for our own glory—or just to get by—the result is exhaustion. But when we shift that purpose, something beautiful happens:
“Whatever you do, do it from the heart, as something done for the Lord and not for people, knowing that you will receive the reward of an inheritance from the Lord. You serve the Lord Christ. (Colossians 3:23–24)
That’s where fulfillment starts—not with applause or results, but with faithful obedience. Even the small stuff matters when it’s done for Him.
Whatever your hands find to do, do with all your strength, because there is no work, planning, knowledge, or wisdom in Sheol where you are going. (Ecclesiastes 9:10)
Consider it a great joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you experience various trials, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing. (James 1:2–4)
So when Thunderbolts* shows us these bruised and disillusioned characters trying to find meaning in the mess—it resonates. Because fulfillment doesn’t come from getting everything you want. It comes from learning to trust the One who gives you everything you need.
Thunderbolts* on Reputation vs. Identity
One of the questions Thunderbolts* quietly asks is this: who gets to define you? Is it your worst moment? Your resume? Your role on the team? These characters have been labeled—villain, weapon, traitor—and they’ve internalized those names. But deep down, they’re wondering: is that all we are?
And it’s not just them. A lot of us wrestle with the same thing. We carry labels from our past—some given to us, some we’ve given ourselves. But identity isn’t the same as reputation. Your reputation is what people think about you. Your identity is who you are, especially in Christ. And those two things don’t always line up.
Paul lays it out clearly in Ephesians:
But that is not how you came to know Christ, assuming you heard about him and were taught by him, as the truth is in Jesus, to take off your former way of life, the old self that is corrupted by deceitful desires, to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, the one created according to God’s likeness in righteousness and purity of the truth. (Ephesians 4:20–24)
The verses that come before this warn against walking in darkness and futility, like those who are far from God—people hardened in heart, alienated from truth, and driven by empty desires. That’s who we were. But in Christ, we’re called to something more.
Knowing that is one thing. Living it is another.
We see that tension in Thunderbolts*. These characters may have new orders, new uniforms, even new teammates—but they still struggle to believe they’re anything more than what they’ve done. And honestly, so do we. It’s easy to say, “I’m a new creation.” It’s harder to stop wearing the name tags we picked up in our shame.
But Scripture doesn’t say, “If anyone cleans up their act, they’re a new creation.” It says:
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has passed away, and see, the new has come! (2 Corinthians 5:17)
That’s the truth. The hard part is believing it when our memories—and sometimes even other Christians—try to tell us otherwise.
So here’s the question Thunderbolts* leaves us with, and the one we’re asking ourselves, too: Who’s writing your name tag? Because if you’re in Christ, that name has already been changed.
Surprised by Thunderbolts*
Thunderbolts* surprised us in all the best ways. Beneath the quips and chaos, it’s a story about bruised souls reaching for purpose, belonging, and maybe even redemption. We saw reflections of our own struggles in these characters—their guilt, their sarcasm, their aching need to know they’re more than the worst thing they’ve done.
We talked about messy redemption, about how suffering can shape us without defining us, and about the difference between who we are and what we’ve been labeled. We looked at community, calling, and what it means to live not as the world sees us, but as God names us.
Next time, we’ll keep leaning into that tension between identity and transformation as we explore new stories—and the timeless truth behind them. Until then, remember: you don’t have to have it all together to take the next step. Just show up, lean on grace, and trust the One who already calls you His.
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