I'm Happy--Death and C.S. Lewis

I'm so saddened by what the Steven Curtis Chapman family is going through. Unfortunately, working as a claims adjuster, one tends to hear this kind of news a little too frequently. When it's someone we know or care about, it hits closer to home, of course, but it doesn't make it any more tragic. Someone's life along with their hopes, dreams and loves is changed forever. Some feel a great loss, some take on a new, incredibly heavy burden for the rest of their lives, and some both. Those on the outside mourn, judge, evaluate, condemn, and probably give thanks that it wasn't them.

And I suppose that is part of the human experience. Before technology, I imagine each village dealt with its own tragedies throughout a lifetime. I imagine that important news would trickle in occasionally-a raid on a nearby town, a fire, a rampaging bullock or something like that. But now we multiply that exponentially, we compress it into soundbites and "headline news". Think about it.

So I struggle with depression and cynicism. "The other shoe's about to drop." If it ain't hit you yet, it's coming. Even better, work in "consider it all joy, my brothers when you encounter trials of every kind". Wow. Is God in this? So we're back to one of the fundamental theological topics anyone with their eyes somewhat open wrestles with- something along the lines of "If God is in control, is He good?" or some variant (Ok, so He's good, but not in control, or He's in control, but not good.)

Well, the assurance from scripture is that God IS good. Sure; rant, rave, scream...I take comfort that "God can handle your bitchin'" as a dear pastor friend once told us. God is good. And I am beginning to slowly believe the ol' cry that what He's really interested in is ME, a relationship with ME.

OK, that is true. But if the ME is in 12 point font, The GOD font is immeasurably larger, and the ME gets swallowed in, consumed in The GOD. I am speaking of font sizes as an illustration of my idea that when we think of God's love and concern for us, which is an incredible thing to dwell upon, we quickly run into the corners of the little box we build to define what that love means. I fail to comprehend, even now, the possibility that God's love for me, for us, for the Church, for the world, is consistent with his sovereign rulings and control of a universe that threatens to destroy us.

There's no answer that we can hang our hat on and be done. There's no way to accept, with peace, the sudden death of a child, the annihilation of a young conscience, the crushing burden of parents dealing with both in their family. We live, as C.S. Lewis says "in that roofless world...where men walk undefended beneath naked heaven." (O.K, purists, probably taken out of context, but it resonates, eh?) So we cry out to God, who is good. We cry out in fear that we are not immune. We cry out for strength to not succumb to the spirit of the age and seek protection in pharmaceuticals, violence, retaliation/revenge, increased vigilance, tighter rules and thereby stifle life. We fight cynicism, anger, resignations. We cry out for courage to face each day, not knowing what it will bring, but having a hope outside of what we see and feel, and yet finally not apart from it.

When I read C.S. Lewis, I am less afraid of 'crossing the veil', if you will. "Jack" captures this idea of new life but larger, larger and unencumbered by things that mark us as a fallen race now.

In Perelandra, the main character, Ransom, is sent to Venus where he encounters an incredibly sensuous world. Alone, he finally encounters another humanoid.

"Never had Ransom seen a face so calm, and so unearthly, despite the full humanity of every feature. He decided afterwards that the unearthly quality was due to the complete absence of that element of resignation which mixes, in however slight a degree, with all profound stillness in terrestrial faces."

So, I think about this resignation as part of our terrestrial faces. We all share this. None knows the complete absence of resignation and the fear and trepidation about external circumstances beyond their control, except perhaps a child. Hmmm, I'm called to be childlike. Which means letting go, and My God, is that hard. Letting go of the hold on how things 'should be' in order for me to be happy. Letting go of comfort and what I find my identity in...

And so, I look at life and try to determine if I am truly happy. And you know, I am. I really am. In some ways that happiness stands on a razor's edge, tenuous in its certainty--the wind could change in a minute. So the the shoe waits to drop. I deal with resignation, with fear, with worry, with anxiety...

In other ways that happiness is secure beyond fear. There is a place, a destination where fear, pain, tears, and even resignation, will be gone forever. "How strange" we will think when confronted with the extent to which those passing things or forces or emotions (I'm not sure what I'd really call them) ruled our lives and then will have NO power whatsoever. And I really have no idea. Every hope of heaven, every dream of fullness, of seeing Jesus clearly and praising Him "as I ought" is today flawed in some way by the organic disease that is sin, that blinds the eyes. Sometimes something lets you see through that a little more clearly, a 'sign of the Kingdom' here and coming. C.S. Lewis's stuff tends to do that for me.

OK. I don't blog often enough. I'm not sure where I started and I'm not sure where I'm going. I may have already said some of this in an earlier blog. Later!