C.S. Lewis Conversion

As I was reviewing my notes in preparation for facilitating another table group study through Mere Christianity, I was reminded again of why C.S. Lewis and others (Chesterton, MacDonald, etc.) are so near to my heart:
 

"Remember, I had always wanted, about all things, not to be "interfered with."  I had wanted (mad wish) "to call my soul my own."  I had been far more anxious to avoid suffering than to achieve delight.  I had always aimed at limited liabilities.  The supernatural itself had been to me, first, an illicit dram, and then, as by a drunkard's reaction, nauseous.  Even my recent attempt to live my philosophy had secretly (I now knew) been hedged round by all sorts of reservations.  I had pretty well known that my ideal of virtue would never be allowed to lead me into anything intolerably painful; I would be "reasonable."  But now what had been an ideal became a command; and what might not be expected of one?  Doubtless, by definition, God was Reason itself.  But would he also be "reasonable" in that other, more comfortable, sense?  Not the slightest assurance on that score was offered to me.  Total surrender, the absolute leap in the dark, [was] demanded.  The reality with which no treaty can be made was upon me.  The demand was not even "All or nothing."  I think that stage had been passed, on the bus top when I unbuckled my armor and the snowman started to melt.  Now, the demand was simply "All."

"You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet.  That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me.  In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all of England.  I did not then see what is now the most shining and obvious thing; the Divine humility which will accept a convert even on such terms.  The Prodigal Son at least walked home on his own feet.  But who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance of escape?  The words compelle intrare, compel them to come in, have been so abused by wicked men that we shudder at them; but, properly understood, they plumb the depth of the Divine mercy.  The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion is our liberation." (Surprised by Joy, 220-221)

So much of this sticks out to me as I read this.  I think one of the things I most identify with is his statement: I had been far more anxious to avoid suffering than to achieve delight.  If there was a statement that would sum up my life, this is it!

But even if He does not...

I was reading through the book of Daniel and came across the passage about the fiery furnace and the response to Nebuchadnezzar regarding his demand to worship him:

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to the king, "O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter.  If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king.  But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." (Daniel 3:16-18)

So these three men are threatened with death by fire if they do not bow down to the king and worship his image of gold.  What struck me about their statement is not their faith that God will save them, but that His saving them from the furnace was not a condition of their obedience to Him.  They were going to obey God regardless of what God did.  If He saved them great; if He did not, they still would obey Him.  What a great example! 

In this story, God did come through.  They were saved from the furnace.  Yet there is another story, celebrated this week, where God did not save His Son.  God the Son "emptied Himself, taking on the form of a bond servant, and became obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross." (Phil. 2:7)  He did so, enduring the fiery "furnace" of the cross, and the rejection of God in order that you and I might be saved.  Here we find that Christ's obedience to the Father was not conditioned upon being saved from the cup that the Father made Him drink--He surrendered His will to the Father and drank it.  "Not my will, but yours be done." (Luke 22:42)

Is my obedience to God conditional upon certain things?  What things are these?  Why am I allowing those things to separate me from Him?  It seems that greater faith is grown through the surrender of expectations and the abandonment of one to Him.  Even if He does or does not, will I follow Him?  Will you?

Wounded Healer Reflection

I recently finished The Wounded Healer by Henri Nouwen and was really convicted by much of what he had to say. The emphasis on the book is not so much trying to heal others as it is to get the reader to understand that without the mutual identification of wounds and entering into the hurt of another, healing cannot take place. I like what he says in the third chapter:

"Who can take away suffering without entering it?" The great illusion of leadership is to think that men can be led out of the desert by someone who has never been there... we have forgotten that no God can save us except a suffering God, and that no man can lead his people except the man who is crushed by its sins.

He then quotes from Carl Rogers, who writes:

[W]hat is most personal and unique in each one of us is probably the very element which would, if it were shared or expressed, speak most deeply to others. This has helped me to understand artists and poets who have dared to express the unique in themselves.

I tend to forget about my wounds, and move on to what I consider bigger things, while losing the memory of where I once was. I think this is one of the reasons you see the pattern in the Bible of telling stories over and over. It is to remind the person of where they came from, what God did in his or her life, and who he or she once was. God commanded the children of Israel to remember:

Remember that you were slaves in Egypt and that the LORD your God brought you out of there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. (Duet. 5:15, see 7:18, 8:2, 8:18, 15:15, 16:12, 24:18, 24:22)

My favorite scene in The Two Towers has Sam saying:

By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you.

Remember where you came from. Remember what He has done. Ministry to others depends on it!

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. (Is 53:5)