C. S. Lewis on the Life of Language

It is idle to complain that words have more than one sense. Language is a living thing and words are bound to throw out new senses as a tree throws out new branches.

-Miracles, (HarperCollins, 2001), 279

If you have a vernacular liturgy you must have a changing liturgy: otherwise it will finally be vernacular only in name. The ideal of "timeless English" is sheer nonsense. No living language can be timeless. You might as well ask for a motionless river.

-Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer, (Harcourt, 1992), 6

Of course language is not an infallible guide, but it contains, with all its defects, a good deal of stored insight and experience. If you begin by flouting it, it has a way of avenging itself later on. We had better not follow Humpty Dumpty in making words mean whatever we please.

-The Four Loves, (The Inspirational Writings of C. S. Lewis, (Inspirational Press: 1994), 213-214)

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Reading to Realize

I've always loved reading. I learned to read early, and I grew up reading anything and everything I could get my hands on, sometimes multiple times. Now that I'm older, I've found it necessary to develop my thoughts in regards to why, how, and what we read.

Oswald Chambers advises, "Don't read to remember - read to realize."¹ I think this is excellent counsel. Few of us retain everything we read perfectly, (C. S. Lewis was reputed to have this ability) and attempting to memorize it all is futile and frustrating. Realization must be our primary goal. As John Holt observed, in his delightful book Learning All The Time, "Our minds are much more powerful when discovering than memorizing, not least of all because discovering is more fun."²

Reading to realize requires making reading into an active occupation, not just a passive pastime. Always read with a highlighter, a pen, and (optionally) a notepad. Those of us who have qualms about marking up our books need to get over that first if we're going to get anywhere else. As Mortimer Adler says, "Marking up a book is not an act of mutilation but of love." (His entire essay on the subject - How to Mark a Book - is well worth reading, and marking up.)

Personally, I feel it's important to read books, not e-books. Computer-based reading impairs one's ability to concentrate; we are rushed, distracted, sloppy. The structure of the internet has taught us to scan information quickly, looking for what we want. This is a fine technique for negotiating through cyberspace, but it's a poor strategy for reading.

(You might ask me, in light of this, why I blog, and I would tell you that it's because blogging is cheaper than writing books. Better to practice with the inexpensive ebony before you attempt to carve the real stuff.)

Now then, what books should we read that will help us realize the real? Franz Kafka, writing to a friend, said this:

Altogether, I think we ought to read only books that bite and sting us. If the book we are reading doesn't shake us awake like a blow on the skull, why bother reading in the first place? So that it can make us happy, as you put it? Good God, we'd be just as happy if we had no books at all; books that make us happy we could, in a pinch, also write ourselves.
What we need are books that hit us like a most painful misfortune, like the death of someone we loved more than we love ourselves, that make us feel as though we had been banished to the woods, far from any human presence, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is what I believe.³

While Kafka's sentiments may be slightly overstated, this remains one of the most inspiring paragraphs I have ever read about reading. (While we're on the subject, blogger and seminary student Trevin Wax has some good advice on what to read in his incisive essay On Reading Widely.)

I used to think that life was too short to read fiction. I now think the opposite - life is too short not to read fiction. A story does not need to "have happened" in order to be "true." We can catch glimpses of profound truths in stories that we might never see in systematic explanations. Long live the fiction story. And fantasy, too.

Reading is properly done somewhere comfortable and quiet, outdoors, preferably, if the light is adequate and the weather is commodious. Bring a glass of water, and perhaps some snacks - peanuts, maybe, or sliced fruit. And don't be afraid to lay the book on your lap, pet the dog, and stop and think. It's not about having the most books or even reading the most books - it's about realizing as much as we can. To learn is to remember. As Socrates said, "All inquiry and all learning is but recollection."⁴

What are you waiting for? Switch off this computer and go find a book!

(1) Oswald Chambers, Disciples Indeed (The Complete Works of Oswald Chambers (Grand Rapids: Discovery House, 2000), 400

(2) John Holt, Learning All The Time, (De Capo Press, 1990), 53
(3) Franz Kafka, as quoted in James Sire, Habits of the Mind (InterVarsity Press, 2000), 174
(4) Socrates, Meno, as quoted in Steven M. Cahn, Classic and Contemporary Readings in the Philosophy of Education, (McGraw-Hill Companies, Inc., 1997), 14

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Intuitive Faith

On Sunday, I was sitting on the shore of a mountain lake - pen in mouth, notebook in hand - when a question that has been drumming around the borders of my consciousness suddenly crystallized.

Just how far can we trust our internal sense of rightness when interpreting the Faith?

For a long time, I believed that Christianity was what you got when you took your common sense and turned it inside out. And this is true, to a point. ("For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing...") I enjoyed (gloated over, really) the idea that Christianity was ridiculous, until I started seeing the self-righteous fruit this mentality was producing in my life. Something was wrong.

As Christians we are taught to severely distrust our own intuition. It's true that the heart is deceitful, but what happened to being created in the image of God, walking in the liberty of the Spirit, and having the mind of Christ? Are we so preoccupied with the anomalies that we're missing the answers? I began to wonder.

Then God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness." (Gen. 1:26)

The Lord said to Moses, “Why do you cry to me? Tell the people of Israel to go forward." (Ex. 14:15)

We impart a secret and hidden wisdom of God, which God decreed before the ages for our glory. None of the rulers of this age understood this, for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory. But, as it is written,

“What no eye has seen, nor ear heard,
nor the heart of man imagined,
what God has prepared for those who love him”—

these things God has revealed to us through the Spirit. For the Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God. For who knows a person's thoughts except the spirit of that person, which is in him? So also no one comprehends the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. Now we have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we might understand the things freely given us by God. And we impart this in words not taught by human wisdom but taught by the Spirit, interpreting spiritual truths to those who are spiritual. (1 Cor. 2:7-13)

But the anointing that you received from him abides in you, and you have no need that anyone should teach you. But as his anointing teaches you about everything, and is true, and is no lie—just as it has taught you, abide in him. (1 Jn. 2:27)

I bless the Lord who gives me counsel; in the night also my heart instructs me. (Ps. 16:7)

“For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” But we have the mind of Christ. (1 Cor. 2:16)

Do you not know that we are to judge angels? How much more, then, matters pertaining to this life! (1 Cor. 6:3)

Now concerning the betrothed, I have no command from the Lord, but I give my judgment as one who by the Lord's mercy is trustworthy. (1 Cor. 7:25)

And I will walk at liberty: for I seek thy precepts. (Ps. 119:45)

What does it mean to be made in God's image? Surely it does not mean that we look like Him, and clearly it cannot mean that we possess His divine attributes (the "omni-stuff"). What can it mean but that we were created to feel as He feels and think as He thinks? It's true that in Isaiah 55:9, God says, "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." But does this scripture imply a difference in kind or only in degree?

If God is knowable at all, and the Bible strongly implies that He is, it must be because we share some common metaphysical ground, however small. It must mean we are sub-feelers, sub-thinkers, sub-creators. Most exciting of all, it must mean that we are finding some good within ourselves, as God through His grace reveals His nature in us.

Obviously, not every wish we have leads to spiritual truth. Indeed, our wishes are often conflicting or even contradictory, and as such are (in and of themselves) an unreliable guide to truth.

All that modern stuff about concealed wishes and wishful thinking, however useful it may be for explaining the origin of an error which you already know to be an error, is perfectly useless in deciding which of two beliefs is the error and which is the truth. For (a.) One never knows all one's wishes, and (b.) In very big questions, such as this, even one's conscious wishes are nearly always engaged on both sides. What I think one can say with certainty is this: the notion that everyone would like Xtianity to be true, and that therefore all atheists are brave men who have accepted the defeat of all their deepest desires, is simply impudent nonsense...

So let's wash out all the wish business. It never helped anyone solve any problem yet.*

The point is that we don't find the truth by following our wishes - rather we find our wishes by following the truth. We must simultaneously grant that (A) Christianity satisfies our truest longings and answers our deepest questions, and (B) It does this by virtue of being itself (personified in Christ) and not by us making it into what we think it ought to be. In other words, Christianity provides the inertia necessary for us to escape ourselves. Thus, we must respect it as something raw, real, and other, not something that accommodates our every intellectual whim. It is a window, not a mirror.

Take, for instance, the doctrine of hell vs. the doctrine of universalism (unconditional salvation for all, believers and unbelievers alike). The latter is undoubtedly attractive, (Hitler aside,) and we can even create a scriptural and/or metaphysical case that it aligns better with the nature of God, etc. But is it true?

This, therefore, is, in conclusion, my reason for accepting the religion and not merely the scattered and secular truths out of the religion. I do it because the thing has not merely told this truth or that truth, but has revealed itself as a truth-telling thing. All other philosophies say the things that plainly seem to be true; only this philosophy has again and again said the thing that does not seem to be true, but is true. Alone of all creeds it is convincing where it is not attractive; it turns out to be right, like my father in the garden. Theosophists for instance will preach an obviously attractive idea like re-incarnation; but if we wait for its logical results, they are spiritual superciliousness and the cruelty of caste. For if a man is a beggar by his own pre-natal sins, people will tend to despise the beggar. But Christianity preaches an obviously unattractive idea, such as original sin; but when we wait for its results, they are pathos and brotherhood, and a thunder of laughter and pity; for only with original sin we can at once pity the beggar and distrust the king. Men of science offer us health, an obvious benefit; it is only afterwards that we discover that by health, they mean bodily slavery and spiritual tedium. Orthodoxy makes us jump by the sudden brink of hell; it is only afterwards that we realise that jumping was an athletic exercise highly beneficial to our health. It is only afterwards that we realise that this danger is the root of all drama and romance. The strongest argument for the divine grace is simply its ungraciousness. The unpopular parts of Christianity turn out when examined to be the very props of the people. The outer ring of Christianity is a rigid guard of ethical abnegations and professional priests; but inside that inhuman guard you will find the old human life dancing like children, and drinking wine like men; for Christianity is the only frame for pagan freedom.**

I am becoming increasingly persuaded that Truth and What Makes Sense ought to be the same thing. Only What Makes Sense must be defined by Truth, and not the other way around. (1 Cor. 2:14)

I believe we need a resurgence of the bold Christian intuition, the type that has distinguished great Christian thinkers through the centuries, from Paul to Peter Kreeft. "And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." That is God's promise to us. Do we believe it?

*C. S. Lewis, in a letter to Sheldon Vanauken (Sheldon Vanauken, A Severe Mercy, (Harper & Row, 1977), 88-89
**G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy, (Image Books | Doubleday, 2001), 166

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Giving Thanks For Skunks

I was driving home the other night over Chepo Saddle when I suddenly ran into the unmistakable odor of skunk. After a brief moment of automatic disgust, I found myself overcome, quite spontaneously, by a genuine thankfulness for the creature, and the smell, and everything.

When you love the mountains, you love everything that is the mountains. That means pine forests, thunderstorms, rocky crags, the sharp, cold air of autumn, and the sound of chain saws. It also means icy roads, expensive gasoline, and skunks.

To truly live in a place means being immersed in its character and identified with it's peculiarities. We learn to value and even admire the quirks in things we truly love, whether persons, poems, or places. Until the foul smell of a skunk's scent gland can serve as a symbol for all that we love about life in the mountains, we're not loving life in the mountains at all; we're merely loving the nice parts of life in the mountains, and anyone can do that.

(I owe these thoughts, in the main, to Wendell Berry, who in his book A Continuous Harmony does a masterful job of unpacking the idea of "place." Developing a sense of place is vital, because a place ought to be somewhere we Live with a capital L.)

As I drove on, I realized I've developed a respect and appreciation for the unpredictable unpleasantness of nature. I've been pommeled by High Sierra hailstorms, scorched by the merciless Texas sun, and caught in freezing temperatures in New Hampshire. I've encountered bears, rattlesnakes, and countless thousands of mosquitoes. (Don't underestimate mosquitoes. They are entirely capable of turning an otherwise idyllic wilderness excursion into a perfect nightmare.)

The point is this: as much as we might like to, we cannot separate the undesirable aspects of nature from her beauty. It's all a part of who she is - rugged, grand, and mysterious. She is herself: rewarder of all, respecter of none. So for my part, I will give thanks. For sunsets, for steep trails, and for skunks.

Though I still rolled up the windows.

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Be Still And Know That I Am God

There's only one thing that's more irritating than a faucet that doesn't work, and that's a faucet that drips. It's incessant, and most annoying of all, it's meaningless. The book of Proverbs uses the metaphor of a "continual dripping" to describe living with a contentious woman. It seems those Chinese torturers are on to something.

The purpose of a faucet is to dispense water; the purpose of a Christian is to dispense living water. (John 7:38) Sometimes, however, we become distracted by the dispensing and forget about simply believing. At that point we become Drippy-Faucet Christians.

God's word to us is "Be still and know that I am God" (Psalm 46:10). Notice the two parts of this statement: we must (1) lay down our busyness and insecurity and (2) accept God's identity. When these two halves meet, we are able to enter a beautiful place of rest.

In Matthew 14:22-33 we find the story of Peter walking (or rather attempting to walk) on the water. Jesus reveals himself to the disciples, but Peter is skeptical, and challenges Jesus: "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." Jesus answers, "Come." So Peter steps out of the boat, and actually takes a few steps before he begins to sink.

Time out.

At this juncture, if we're not paying attention, we will miss the whole point of the story. The issue here is not about acheiving supernatural buoyancy - it's about recognizing Jesus for who He is.

You see, walking on the water was Peter's idea, not Jesus's. And it was rooted in a fundamental inability (or unwillingness) to recognize who Jesus is ("Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you..."). Sometimes Jesus looks strange - we have to get used to that. Just when we think we've got Him figured, He shows up walking across the sea in the middle of the night looking like a ghost. (My Utmost For His Highest, March 15)

Oftentimes, what appears to be courageous spirituality may only be a thin veneer for unbelief. This kind of "faith" leads to fleeces, not fruit, and, as Peter found out, it's easy to get in over your head. When Peter begins to sink, Jesus is there to lift him up, asking gently, perhaps somewhat mystified, "Why did you doubt?"

I'd venture to suggest God allowed Peter to sink because He didn't want Peter's faith to be based on his ability to do fancy spiritual stuff. Our faith is to be based on who Jesus is, and nothing else. God may call us to do hard things, but just because something is hard does not mean that God is in it. Doing hard things doesn't make you a Christian any more than throwing sawdust makes you a carpenter.

A lot of us want to do great things for God. This is natural and healthy, provided it remains in it's proper place. Many times, however, we never stop to ask the question: what is it that God calls us to do?

Then they said to him, “What must we do, to be doing the works of God?”
Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.”

(John 6:28-29)

That's it. Just believe. No heavenly visions, no epic feats of spirituality. Are we willing to be still and acknowledge God, or do we become angry like Naaman and complain "Behold, I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call upon the name of the Lord his God, and wave his hand over the place and cure the leper?"

We're all familiar with the story of Mary and Martha, and we know what Jesus said to Martha, as she was "selflessly" working herself into the ground for God: "One thing is needful, and Mary has chosen that good part." Many times, we would rather busy ourselves with spiritual activity than simply sit at the feet of Jesus and find rest in who He is.

When we are young a hurricane or thunderstorm impresses us as being very powerful, yet the strength of a rock is infinitely greater than that of a hurricane. The same is true with regard to discipleship. The strength there is not the strength of activity but the strength of living. Activity may be a disease of weariness, or of degeneration; to be dependable means to be strong in the sense of disciplined reliability.*

After the resurrection, Jesus appeared to the disciples again, this time on the shore. (John 21:4-8) After He tells them where to put their net in order to catch fish, John figures out what's going on and exclaims, "It is the Lord!"

What happens next reveals an entirely different Peter - a Peter who is less concerned about being a spiritual superhero and who just wants to be with Jesus.

When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his outer garment, for he was stripped for work, and threw himself into the sea.

That's it. No fuss, no fanfare, no clever spiritual acrobatics. All Peter can think about is how to get to where Jesus is as quickly as possible, which for the moment means taking a swim.

The important thing is that it's the Lord. How we get to shore is secondary.

*Oswald Chambers, Approved Unto God, (The Complete Works of Oswald Chambers (Grand Rapids: Discovery House, 2000), 40

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Should We Dump "Religion"?

Over the past few months, I have been reevaluating the whole idea of religion, mainly as it relates to what Christianity has become in 21st century America. Did Jesus come to start a religion? Are we making a mistake by presenting and defending Christianity as just another "world religion"? Does religion even glorify God?

On the other side, what about tradition and history? Aren't structure and sacrosanctity both integral parts of a well-rounded spirituality? Is the paradigm shift away from "religion" an unwarranted reactionary response? Is the statement, "I'm not religious - I'm just a Christian" just a trendy thing to say?

In framing the discussion, it may be helpful to think about some definitions. Religion is particularly slippery in this regard, because knowing what a word means in the information age is much more complex than simply looking up. You also have to look at how the word is used at all levels of discourse - spiritual, scholarly, and popular.

So, semantically speaking, we can see that religion is elusive. But that shouldn't stop us from trying to understand it. When you pare it down and throw away the trappings and tassels, I'd suggest you're left with "An ideological structure for spiritual belief." At this level, there isn't much to object to; we have to look a little deeper.

It seems it may be less about what religion is and more about what it has become. It is criticized (I think justly) as serving as "A system that we construct to make us feel good about ourselves and our spirituality", or, even worse, "A way to manipulate God and/or others."

It might also be possible that the place of religion within Christianity has been misunderstood or distorted. Most of us would grant that Christianity includes "an ideological structure for spiritual belief," but does that adequately describe what Christianity essentially is? I don't think so. Jesus came that we might have life, and life abundantly.

Jacques Ellul, in his book The Subversion of Christianity, states that true Christianity is anti-religion and argues for desacralization on every level. Donald Miller's book Blue Like Jazz bears the subtitle "Nonreligious thoughts on Christian Spirituality." Brad and Wayne, cohosts of The God Journey, are convinced that religion has distracted people from the gospel. And Steve Brown (the old white guy) is just sick of it.

C. S. Lewis, however, sees some things worth keeping. Take this excerpt from Letters to Malcolm:

It is well to have have specifically holy places, and things, and days, for, without these focal points or reminders, the belief that all is holy and "big with God" will soon dwindle into a mere sentiment. But if these holy places, things, and days cease to remind us, if they obliterate our awareness that all ground is holy and every bush (could we but perceive it) a Burning Bush, then the hallows begin to do harm. Hence both the necessity, and the perennial danger, of "religion."*

Based on what Ellul has written, it appears he would differ from Lewis on this. Ellul doesn't believe in holy stuff - he believes in a holy God. Granted, the two may not be mutually exclusive, in which case his argument would be based on a straw man. (Do you see the problem? This discussion picks up burrs faster than an Australian Shepherd in a vacant lot.)

If you will notice, the title of this post is a question. So is the rest of it.

*C. S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer, (Harcourt, 1992), 75

Thinking About Friendship

When I am most sincerely honest with myself about life, it is then I am most sincerely grateful for my friends. Friendship (and I mean friendship, not mere acquaintance or association) chafes our independence. It checks our ego and qualifies our self-confidence. It shows us the connectedness of life and teaches us about the challenges and rewards of investing in other people. In short, it is awfully healthy.

When we learn to live in friendship, we learn to be ourselves. We may dream with our friends, or fight, or play cards, or all three - that is not the point. True friendship is built on an attitude, not an activity. Specifically, true friendship exists when we reveal - when we are the real us with another person.

Friendship is the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weight thoughts nor measure words, but pouring all right out just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful friendly hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of comfort, blow the rest away.*

When we take that step and accept the risk of vulnerability, it opens the way to some amazing relational adventures - a whole new world to explore and experience. We feel the way a chick does when it pecks out of its shell - exhausted, yes, but also exhilarated. Our friends become valuable, even indispensable, as fellow explorers - measuring and mapping this dramatic landscape of life.

To every man alive, one must hope, it has in some manner happened that he has talked with his more fascinating friends round a table on some night when all the numerous personalities unfolded themselves like great tropical flowers. All fell into their parts as in some delightful impromptu play. Every man was more himself than he had ever been in this vale of tears. Every man was a beautiful caricature of himself.**

I am grateful to have experienced this on several occasions, and it is indeed beautiful (or rather transcendent, to use a more daring word). There are few pleasures that are as rich and wholesome as the pure interaction of personality, and deep friendships offer an ideal platform for this holy communion.

But alas, it does not last. Life rolls along on great blind, unfeeling wheels, time and circumstance, and friends find themselves scattered and disconnected, groping for that vital contact that seemed so permanent, so sure, so invincible. Relationships cannot be freeze-dried, they will grow and change and die - like the seasons and the patterns of the stars.

And really, this is best. If relationships did not grow and change and die, they would not be alive. When they do, we know they are, and even in separation and loss there are memories that sparkle and glow. Do not spoil the treasures of yesterday by fretting about the trials of today.

Proverbs 18:24 says that he who has friends must be friendly. This may seem self-evident, but I am astounded at how often I go around looking for friends instead of looking for people I can be a friend to. True friendships may often surpass means and serve as ends, but pursuing them as ends will only result in frustration. As C. S. Lewis says, "That is why those pathetic people who simply 'want friends' can never make any. The very condition of having Friends is that we should want something else besides Friends. Friendship must be about something... those who are going nowhere can have no fellow-travellers."

Let's keep our eyes on the goal, and thank God for the friends He gives us to share the journey with.

*Arab Proverb, quoted in H. L. Roush, Jesus Loves Me, (Roush, 1978), 56

**G. K. Chesterton, Charles Dickens, (Wordsworth, 2007), 45

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Down and Out of Time

As you can probably guess from the lack of activity here on the blog, my summer has been quite full. Between working, backpacking, planning surprise parties, going on Search & Rescue missions, and getting sick, time for reading and writing has been scarce.

Spiritually I feel like I'm at a very ambiguous place, disoriented, dried up, and possibly a little jaded. However, as long as faith lasts, it is not an aimless ambiguity, but rather a pregnant ambiguity, like that of a darkroom. Discipleship, like development, takes time. Weeping may endure for a night, joy comes in the morning. "But tension is to be loved / when it is like a passing note / to a beautiful, beautiful chord"

Anyway, in the absence of anything more substantial, I'll throw out some random stuff from the last couple of weeks.

• Peter recently introduced me to the late Christian folk group Silers Bald. Their album Real Life is the best I've heard in awhile: creative, intelligent, and encouraging. Definitely worth a listen.
• I just finished C. S. Lewis's On Stories, which I actually found slightly boring. I think I'm getting to where I'd rather read stories than read about them.
  
• I have a new toothbrush that is extremely painful. I like hard brushes, but these bristles are so hard and so wide that it's impossible to brush without lacerating your gums. Anyway, just stay away from TopCare.
• There was a book sale at the library this morning, and I found several titles I've been watching for, among them Sheldon Vanauken's A Severe Mercy and Jon Meacham's American Gospel. I also picked up a copy of Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz.
• Lately I've been enjoying several excellent podcasts: Steve Brown Etc., Internet Monk Radio, and The God Journey. I may have time to say more about these podcasts later - for now I'll just say that these are guys who are thinking beyond the cookie cutters and clichés and asking the tough questions. Good stuff.
• I'm becoming increasingly interested in rethinking the answers to basic questions we take for granted about who God is, why life matters, and what it means to be a Christian. Expect some ruminations along these lines sometime in the future.
  

As always, thanks for reading, and God bless you.

Take my broken offering and make it whole / set my feet upon the road that leads me home / let me walk as one fixed upon the goal / even though I got a thousand miles to go

-Caedmon's Call

Photo credit: "The Dock" by Rick Coulby (interfacelift.com)