The Wrong Side of the Door... Spring Retrospective

“We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words – to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. That is why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses and nymphs and elves – that, though we cannot, yet these projections can enjoy in themselves that beauty, grace, and power of which Nature is the image. That is why the poets tell us such lovely falsehoods. They talk as if the west wind could really sweep into a human soul; but it can’t. They tell us the ‘beauty born of murmuring sound’ will pass into a human face; but it won’t. or not yet. For if we take the imagery of Scripture seriously, if we believe that God will one day Give us the Morning Star and cause us to put on the splendour of the sun, then we may surmise that both the ancient myths and the modern poetry, so false as history, may be very near the truth as prophecy. At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Someday, God willing, we shall get in.” ~CS Lewis, "The Weight of Glory

Easter Thoughts

*Image via Frolic

It was the day before Good Friday; the air was cold, the sky gray and utterly dismal. It felt like the kind of day on which a horrid crime might occur; the kind of day on which, for example, a person might be crucified.

As I looked outside at the pouring rain, my imagination drifted back to that day two thousand years ago, and I wondered, what must it have been like for Christ's disciples, for those who knew and loved Him best? On the natural level – that is, in terms of what the human senses could perceive – the day was certainly anything but good - its significance for mankind as enigmatic to those who saw it happen as its name is to modern people now.

That Good Friday, His disciples having abandoned Him – that is, all but one, and the women who were devoted to Him – Christ, the Messiah – the one who was to save Israel – carried His own cross to the place called Golgotha, the Place of the Skull, and there was crucified. Three large nails like spikes were plunged through His hands and feet. His outer garments were divided; they cast lots for His tunic; and after He received a drink of bitter wine He bowed His head and breathed His last.

And then – ostensibly, it was all over. Even His last words, “It is finished!” rose up to affirm this seeming truth. Christ, the Messiah, was dead. Dead. His body, cold and lifeless. And a spear pierced His side.

What was there to do for the few that remained but to take the Body down? Remove the nails and bind it in linen wrappings with a mixture of myrrh and aloes, as was the burial custom of the Jews. This second Adam was then buried in a garden, in a new tomb in which no one had yet been laid.

What does it mean? they must have asked themselves. Is this the end? And if so, how can it be?

What, I wonder, must the Sabbath day that followed have been like for the disciples? For those who had forsaken Him, there must have descended a spirit of shame, confusion, and despair. Uncertainty, and an almost dizzying sense of anti-climax. Stupefied, they must have walked about in a stupor. Sick with grief, they couldn't make sense of what had happened – couldn’t even distract themselves with work. Instead, their burial rites interrupted, they were compelled to sti still, mulling it all over.

But then – the tomb was found empty. The women who had gone there with spices came back to testify that they had seen angels, been visited by the Risen Christ! No matter. To the disciples – their words appeared as nonsense. It wasn’t until Christ revealed Himself to them personally that they understood – it was only after they had seen that they could believe.

When you think of it, not much has changed. We live by the light of revelation – and must cling to this revelation when nothing, not even nature, seems to affirm its truth.

Today I woke up and the world was unaccountably changed. Dutch was home. All the dark clouds, which had hovered fitfully above the trees for so many long days, were gone. The sky was clear and blue and brilliant.

All the neighbors emerged from their cocoons. The children across the street, whose faces I had not yet seen, were out on their front lawn, joyously engaged in the act of making a fort using a child-sized picnic table, a porch umbrella, and some old sheets. Even the insects – most of them just hatched – had come out from their hiding places to play: a white butterfly hovered above the blooming rhododendrons, its two white wings trembling like little scraps of paper in the warm, thick air. Swarms of bees circled the ranunculus, buzzing cheerfully. Two doors down a chicken clucked, warbled, sang.

The four of us, reunited at last, couldn’t help but pack a picnic and join in the revelry. As we walked past an endless succession of jewel-bright lawns, and I began to describe to Dutch the agonies of life without him – I had to interrupt myself: for in that setting which was suddenly so beautiful, so idyllic and splendorous, I began to question the credibility of my own story.

How can it be that here, today, a new world is born where yesterday there was only rain and gloom, and everywhere a spirit of dissolution and torpor?

I don’t know. It is unaccountable to me – and yet I rejoiced to see how well nature served to illustrate the point that appearances can be deceiving. At first glance, victory may present itself as defeat. That which today may appear hopeless, irredeemable, gone forever, may tomorrow find new life, new birth, and the promise of redemption.

I couldn’t help but reflect that the Christian life – that is, the life of the disciple – is often filled with these kinds of stunning contrasts and reversals. One day, the sun breaks through the clouds, bathing everything in the light of revelation. One can nearly see the Risen Christ, and feel His Presence in every created thing, man and beast and bush. The next, the light of the vision vanishes – and one is left to wonder when, if ever, it will return again.

Like Lucy after she has first discovered Narnia, one learns that there is no telling when the Wardrobe will open itself again to worlds unknown. The magic never works the same way twice – and never on command. One cannot walk back to the same place and expect the same result. Instead, one must wait and believe, recognizing that we are not in control of the magic – but that the magic is in control of us, and that it is a Person, Jesus.

"He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see..." ~Matthew 28.6

The Return of the King

“I cry aloud to the Lord; I lift up my voice to the Lord for mercy.
I pour out my complaint before him; before him I tell my trouble.
When my spirit grows faint within me, it is you who know my way…
Set me free from my prison, that I may praise your name.” ~ Psalm 142.2-3, 7

Time moves very slowly as we await Hessel’s return. Whatever attempts we’ve made to venture even a little distance from our rented “home” have more often ended in disaster: a burned hand, a hailstorm, crying, and losing our way.

I am very tired.

Nap-times, which I usually reserve for restorative activities such as reading, writing, and exercising – are now typically spent laying prostrate in bed, reading the Psalms, or staring listlessly at the shadow-patches on the blank beige walls.

Again and again, my mind goes back to the analogy Cynthia Heald offers in one of her books – how being a mother of young children is like being in the trenches. I was pleased to discover several intriguing facts about trench warfare this afternoon, while hiding my head beneath the quilt that is spread across Audrey’s bed, and conducting painstaking research on my i-phone:

1. Trench warfare is essentially a defensive, not an offensive, type of warfare. Platoons of soldiers used to literally camp out in trenches which were dug directly into the battle lines. Their goal was simply to endure by staying put - and keeping the enemy from gaining any of their ground.
2. Because trench warfare was essentially a battle of endurance, “winning” required wearing down the enemy’s resources – food, supplies, ammunition – or organizing an assault on the trench that was discovered to hold the brunt of the supplies.
3. Disease due to poor sanitation or a lack of proper supplies was often as big a killer as an enemy assault.
4. Trench warfare was so taxing on soldiers (physically and psychologically) that they were typically only relegated to serve in the trenches for 15% of their overall deployment time.

Mothers of young children will doubtless find myriads of metaphorical “gems” in these facts, as I did. My four take-aways: first, Christ fights – and wins – the battle on my behalf; my job is to stand firm, not letting the enemy overtake my ground; second, “merely” enduring is an incredibly valuable component in winning a war – I may not be called to actively fight, but I must have enough spiritual grit to hold out until help arrives; third, it’s not enough to keep the enemy from assaulting your trench – I must be properly equipped inside in order to endure successfully and fend off disease; finally, no one can sustain the kind of acute pressure that is called for when in the trenches – it’s temporary, and relief will come eventually!

“He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by Him all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities - all things have been created through Him and for Him. He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.” ~ Colossians 1:15-17