This world is far from ordinary. It is a strange place, sculpted and personalized by a great God with boundless creativity who is quite literally the definition of love (I John 4:8). This, of course makes the world complicated. For love is the great risk. Love asks for reciprocation. Love asks for a willing affection. And this demands giving freedom away, trusting that the other will voluntary love. This class has helped me to appreciate the supreme risk of the way this world was created.
The sad part of the risk is that we have failed to love in return. We have become caught up in the enthusiasm of gratifying our own desires. We go for the obvious happiness, but we always are left cold, because we are kicking against the order that the world has been set in, the order of whole and complete love. This divergence causes us real pain. Although we understand that this is not the way it’s supposed to be, our longing is constantly beaten down by our preoccupation with ourselves.
But this is where things become really strange. Not only is God adamant about giving us freedom to do whatever we like, but he is determined to have us, though all Hell stand against him. You see, God is majestic, but he will not limit himself by dignity. He will do anything, he will disturb the world he has created, he will speak to shepherds in the Sinai, he will limit himself to a tabernacle. Finally he dwelled among us, to be stripped naked and hammered to a stout piece of wood for the derision of the world. This is a God who is not content with the way things are.
This strange world is the one that this class taught me about. Plantinga’s book provided a framework while C. S. Lewis filled it in with fine style. The incredible beauty of God’s plan for his world was brought wonderfully to light by this class.
Plantinga refers to creation as being an outpouring of imaginative love. Creation is an expression of God’s character. We are God’s art: although he didn’t need us, he loves us as he loves himself, for we are an expression of himself. Art, because it is an expression, is also a way to convey a message. Creation, as art, is God’s first tendril of communication, speaking to us of his glory. This places a great responsibility on us as part of God’s creation to convey God’s message, to bear the weight of his glory. C.S. Lewis understood that this weight of glory that each person carries should influence our actions. “There are no ordinary people, Lewis writes, “It is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit-immortal horrors or everlasting splendours” (The Weight of Glory 9). As God’s artistic expressions we must understand both the gravity of conveying God’s message and the seriousness, mixed with merriment, with which we must engage the world, and especially the people around us as God’s creation.
The tragic beauty of God’s creation is that he gave us a choice. In his desire for reciprocated voluntary love he gave us a choice. Yet we fail him because we limit ourselves to immediate happiness. “We are half-hearted creatures,” says Lewis, “fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us” (The Weight of Glory 1). Because we are people limited in our perception, we attempt to satiate ourselves with temporal pleasures that never really satisfy the great longing for perfect love that we have inherited from God. This misguided desire of ours cleaves us from God. Petty selfish desires make us embarrassed, and as Wormwood points out, fill us with a cloud of guilt that makes us reluctant to seek communion with our creator (The Screwtape Letters Letter XII).
So we have insulted our creator terribly. He has lavished his artistic love on us. He has created with his glory and we toss it aside every day in our disregard for his creation, in our exploitation of those who bear his image. The whole affair is really rather embarrassing, damnably embarrassing, and yet God would not have us despair in our own meagre worlds that we have created. In our embarrassment we try to escape from God’s invitation of love, fleeing the light. But God will follow us to the far side of the sea. “He stoops to conquer,” writes Lewis, “He will have us even though we have shown that we prefer everything else to him” (The Problem of Pain 96). The Lord is willing to humble himself because he is a God of sacrifice. The God who sacrificed complete control over his creation that they might have the freedom to love him will also sacrifice anything to save his people from their self-affliction. We may see his sacrifice anywhere in the story of salvation. He used the weak vessels of prophets and shepherds, he allowed puny sacrifices of doves to atone for sins, and he finally dwelled among us, enduring the cross and scorning the shame (Hebrews 12:2).
The Lord’s supreme example of sacrifice must be our guiding light as redeemed people. We must obey Christ’s message that perfect joy, gained through perfect communion, is to be had at any cost. For us these costs are superficial. The sacrifices that God calls us are simply to deny our fallen selves. Plantinga points out that God calls us to a perfect joy by giving us the Ten Commandments. The Law limits not our true freedom, but our tendency towards self-centeredness. The Law, far from restricting us, sets limits that shear off our sinful selves. Through this painful cleaving we are freed from that which restricts us from joyful communion with God.
Lewis, in A Right to Happiness, points out that rights are only freedoms that are given us. When thinking of freedom we must think as God does. Freedom is not the ability to do whatever we want, for when we are given that option, we inevitably do things we regret. God knows this and asks us to voluntarily give up our “freedom” in order to embrace the higher freedom that he has prepared for us.
The beauty of God’s call on all of our lives is that He despises the mold. He is an artist and has crafted each of his creatures unique. He would not squish us into morality, but encourage us towards a high freedom. He would not squish us into becoming a Christian, but unleashes to us the gifts and passions he has given us for their intended purpose. He not only allows us to pursue our passions, but asks us to: purposefully, for him. In that way we are all beautifully reliant on eachother. We each have our unique place in the kingdom which gives us all a unique value. C.S Lewis points out that this is comforting because we need not worry about whether God has placed us in a practical enough field (Learning in War Time 5). Instead we can trust in him and concentrate on following His will within our sphere of influence. Now I should caution that even within our vocation we must always be attentive to God’s call. If the Bible is anything to go by, God frequently calls us to pull up our stakes and follow him elsewhere.
Of course following God’s will is not often easy. We may be certain we will never regret our obedience, but we must never expect to enjoy the process. C.S. Lewis spoke of this in Our English Syllabus, saying that even if our passion for our academic calling wanes, we must “at least pretend” our enthusiasm (Our English Syllabus 86). This grin-and-bear-it idea will help us get through the tough times for we can, though not easily, pretend passion into existence.
Although C.S. Lewis is quite correct that difficulties will come, we must strive to remove all obstacles of apathy from our pursuit of God’s calling on our lives. We must strive, through every decision we make, through every contact with others, and with God through prayer and scripture, to align our life’s passion with God’s will. I witnessed the power of this synchronization in the DCM film Pray the Devil Back to Hell. The film depicted a group of Liberian women attempting to stop the bloodshed of a corrupt regime. These women were driven by a passion for peace. They pursued it the best way they could. First they protested where the president passed by, then they moved their protest to separate a conflict between the regime and the rebels. When the president still didn’t listen, they sat in front of the parliament until the president agreed to peace talks. And when the peace talks bogged down, they sat down, barring the leaders from leaving until they had resolved the conflict. The women of Liberia were both relentless and ingenious. They identified so closely with their mission that it became a passion that ran straight from their heart, coursing fluidly throughout their body and manifesting itself in actions.
The Liberian women felt their passion so strongly that it instantly manifested itself in actions. Their responses to bloodshed were instinctive, reacting to the changing circumstances. I wish I had this kind of fluidity between knowledge and action. I know God’s mission as he outlines it in history, in creation, in the world. And yet I see the mission imperfectly, blinding myself to it with petty desires. I find it endlessly frustrating that these obstacles are impossible to remove in my own strength. I believe it is God alone who can and will remove the viscosity of deliberation and pride from our lives, allowing the pure flow of God’s will through us, his chosen vessels.
Works Cited
C.S. Lewis, “A Right to Happiness”, http://www.calvin.edu/~pribeiro.html
C. S. Lewis, “Learning in Wartime”, http://www.calvin.edu/~pribeiro.html
C.S. Lewis,“Our English Syllabus”, http://www.calvin.edu/~pribeiro.html
C.S. Lewis, “The Problem of Pain”, http://www.calvin.edu/~pribeiro.html
C.S. Lewis, “The Screwtape Letters”, http://www.calvin.edu/~pribeiro.html
C.S. Lewis, “The Weight of Glory”, http://www.calvin.edu/~pribeiro.html
Plantinga, Cornelius Jr. Engaging God’s World: A Reformed Vision of Faith, Learning,
and Living. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002.
The Holy Bible, New International Version
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Pray the Devil Back to Hell
The film Pray the Devil Back to Hell is a story of the women of Liberia’s successful protest of the civil. I found it refreshing that the women very quickly perceived problems and dealt with them. They didn’t necessarily deal with them the way I would have (such as stripping to avoid arrest) but the point is, they did something. Their instinctive actions against injustice were far removed from people like me who diagnose problems and muse in dorm rooms about possible solutions.
These women were driven by an urge for peace. They pursued it the best way they could. First the protested where the president passed by, then they moved their protest to separate a conflict between the regime and the rebels. When the president still didn’t listen, they sat in front of the parliament until the president agreed to peace talks. And when the peace talks bogged down, they sat down, barring the leaders from leaving until they had resolved the conflict. The women of Liberia were both relentless and ingenious.
It was inspiring to see what happens when people believe in something as strongly as the women believed in peace for their country. Their belief was so strong that their instant decisions as to how best get peace were so instinctive, their desire flowed over directly into action.
And yet these women were not idealists. One of the leaders said “peace is not an event but a process.” These women understood that the going would not be easy, and yet I noticed that they never felt defeated because of the strength with which they held to their convictions.
The unfaltering drive of these women is truly admirable, and I suppose something that Christians ideally have. Watching this film, I understood the value and immense good a person can do if they become a conduit for good.
These women were driven by an urge for peace. They pursued it the best way they could. First the protested where the president passed by, then they moved their protest to separate a conflict between the regime and the rebels. When the president still didn’t listen, they sat in front of the parliament until the president agreed to peace talks. And when the peace talks bogged down, they sat down, barring the leaders from leaving until they had resolved the conflict. The women of Liberia were both relentless and ingenious.
It was inspiring to see what happens when people believe in something as strongly as the women believed in peace for their country. Their belief was so strong that their instant decisions as to how best get peace were so instinctive, their desire flowed over directly into action.
And yet these women were not idealists. One of the leaders said “peace is not an event but a process.” These women understood that the going would not be easy, and yet I noticed that they never felt defeated because of the strength with which they held to their convictions.
The unfaltering drive of these women is truly admirable, and I suppose something that Christians ideally have. Watching this film, I understood the value and immense good a person can do if they become a conduit for good.
Human Pain
When a calf rolls its eyes, it is a signal of intense pain or terror. But whenever you seek to halter train a calf, so that it will be willing to wear a halter and follow your lead, it will inevitably roll it’s eyes, panting heavily. The calf will begin gasping for air, as if the mere fact that you have tied it to a pole is killing it. And yet this is the only way to tame a calf.
It is possible to try to train a calf by coaxing it with little treats and speaking to it. It may become quite tame, following you around. But as soon as the halter goes on, the calf will be back to square one, baulking and straining at the halter. No, the only way to truly train a calf is by “breaking it” by showing it that it is useless to resist the path that you have chosen for it.
From the perspective of cows watching, this is cruel. In fact, I don’t know that those dear bovines could ever understand. Even when they are standing under the lights of a show ring groomed to perfection with a champion’s ribbon hanging from their halter, the cows probably are just thinking: it’s rather bright and can’t I get my hay soon?
But under those same lights stands the farmer, dressed in his all-white show uniform, beaming with pride at his cow –this is what she was born and trained to be. He is eager to show her to the world in all her bovine glory.
This glow of pride that a farmer feels towards his cow is, in a way, like the pride God takes in us after he has tempered us towards his plan. But Lewis points out that this is a very painful process. Lewis says that, to “render our will which we have so long claimed for our own, is in itself...a grievous pain.”
So why use the cow example? To show that the purpose of pain is rarely understood by those experiencing it. In the same way that you could never explain to a cow why it is “worth it” so we will never be satisfied with any explanation. Simply because His ways are higher than our ways.
That is why we will experience pain, because our ways are different than his, and when these differences are highlighted through pain, it will feel like our ways are being derailed. Because they are. We are going through the painful process of conforming to God’s will. And when we finally stand in the ring, we will, through his leading, be more than champions.
It is possible to try to train a calf by coaxing it with little treats and speaking to it. It may become quite tame, following you around. But as soon as the halter goes on, the calf will be back to square one, baulking and straining at the halter. No, the only way to truly train a calf is by “breaking it” by showing it that it is useless to resist the path that you have chosen for it.
From the perspective of cows watching, this is cruel. In fact, I don’t know that those dear bovines could ever understand. Even when they are standing under the lights of a show ring groomed to perfection with a champion’s ribbon hanging from their halter, the cows probably are just thinking: it’s rather bright and can’t I get my hay soon?
But under those same lights stands the farmer, dressed in his all-white show uniform, beaming with pride at his cow –this is what she was born and trained to be. He is eager to show her to the world in all her bovine glory.
This glow of pride that a farmer feels towards his cow is, in a way, like the pride God takes in us after he has tempered us towards his plan. But Lewis points out that this is a very painful process. Lewis says that, to “render our will which we have so long claimed for our own, is in itself...a grievous pain.”
So why use the cow example? To show that the purpose of pain is rarely understood by those experiencing it. In the same way that you could never explain to a cow why it is “worth it” so we will never be satisfied with any explanation. Simply because His ways are higher than our ways.
That is why we will experience pain, because our ways are different than his, and when these differences are highlighted through pain, it will feel like our ways are being derailed. Because they are. We are going through the painful process of conforming to God’s will. And when we finally stand in the ring, we will, through his leading, be more than champions.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Man or Rabbit?
Please forgive me,Professor Ribeiro, but I don’t entirely agree with C.S. Lewis here.
I don’t disagree with his logic. From my vantage point, Lewis quite clearly points out that the question “Can’t I be good without believing in Christianity?” is an attempt to evade Christ, to actually delve into matters. Those who ask such a question simply want to justify their lifestyle without exposing themselves to the rather unsettling possibility that Christianity must be true.
No, I fault Lewis not for anything he does, but for his manner of approach. This is not altogether his fault. I believe that Lewis’s premise, that it is “obviously the job of ever man (that is a man and not a rabbit) to try to find out which, and then to devote his full energies either to serving this tremendous secret or exposing and destroying this gigantic humbug” is not correct. I believe it is the job of every man to seek the truth and follow it whole heartedly. But I do not believe that this task is necessarily obvious to this current world.
I would suggest that the question asked by the postmodern world is not “Is it true?” but “Is it good and useful?” To illustrate, a professor once told me about debates a famous atheist, Richard Dawkins I believe, would have with various Christians. Dawkin’s knockout blow was always “What trait do Christians have to offer the world that non-Christians cannot?” I don’t desire to answer the question here (but I dare say it is an interesting question). Instead, the fact that this question was asked (and unanswered!) signals that this is a world of pragmatism. If something is of little use, it is quite outdated and worth throwing out.
So I think Lewis’s assumption that people have an over whelming desire to know the truth is somewhat outmoded by pragmatism. Or at least, this desire is very much obscured by questions of “What’s the use if it doesn’t make a difference.”
But this is not a criticism of Lewis, because it is unfair to ask him to foresee this rise of pragmatism. I just think it is important to understand the difference of people’s approach to Christianity then and now. From the little I’ve seen, people are disenchanted with the Church as intolerant and self-serving. They see it as a crutch for hypocrites. Its mission of justice and mercy has been tainted by those seeking it as a placebo to ease their conscience as they continue about their lives unchanged. And the pragmatism of the day is not impressed. “It is useless,” it says, “let us shed this Church altogether.”
To my mind, the only argument we can make to pragmatism is one of action. We must have good news, justice, and mercy to offer this world.
I don’t disagree with his logic. From my vantage point, Lewis quite clearly points out that the question “Can’t I be good without believing in Christianity?” is an attempt to evade Christ, to actually delve into matters. Those who ask such a question simply want to justify their lifestyle without exposing themselves to the rather unsettling possibility that Christianity must be true.
No, I fault Lewis not for anything he does, but for his manner of approach. This is not altogether his fault. I believe that Lewis’s premise, that it is “obviously the job of ever man (that is a man and not a rabbit) to try to find out which, and then to devote his full energies either to serving this tremendous secret or exposing and destroying this gigantic humbug” is not correct. I believe it is the job of every man to seek the truth and follow it whole heartedly. But I do not believe that this task is necessarily obvious to this current world.
I would suggest that the question asked by the postmodern world is not “Is it true?” but “Is it good and useful?” To illustrate, a professor once told me about debates a famous atheist, Richard Dawkins I believe, would have with various Christians. Dawkin’s knockout blow was always “What trait do Christians have to offer the world that non-Christians cannot?” I don’t desire to answer the question here (but I dare say it is an interesting question). Instead, the fact that this question was asked (and unanswered!) signals that this is a world of pragmatism. If something is of little use, it is quite outdated and worth throwing out.
So I think Lewis’s assumption that people have an over whelming desire to know the truth is somewhat outmoded by pragmatism. Or at least, this desire is very much obscured by questions of “What’s the use if it doesn’t make a difference.”
But this is not a criticism of Lewis, because it is unfair to ask him to foresee this rise of pragmatism. I just think it is important to understand the difference of people’s approach to Christianity then and now. From the little I’ve seen, people are disenchanted with the Church as intolerant and self-serving. They see it as a crutch for hypocrites. Its mission of justice and mercy has been tainted by those seeking it as a placebo to ease their conscience as they continue about their lives unchanged. And the pragmatism of the day is not impressed. “It is useless,” it says, “let us shed this Church altogether.”
To my mind, the only argument we can make to pragmatism is one of action. We must have good news, justice, and mercy to offer this world.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Engaging God's World: Vocation in the Kingdom of God
A verse that keeps coming back to me whenever I reflect on my life is Galatians 5:16-17.
So I say, live by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the sinful nature. 17For the sinful nature desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the sinful nature. They are in conflict with each other, so that you do not do what you want.
For I see in my life an immense struggle. I constantly let myself down, and it’s not because I don’t know what I should be. I have a Church, a Bible, a Christian Family, and a Christian education. All of these teach me how I should live. But, if I have such a clear idea of right and wrong (by this I mean the little day to day things...there are gray areas in life but if we gave most choices a little thought or sought a little counsel, the answer should become quite apparent) then why is it that I end up cursing myself, my own stupidity? I know what it is that I desire and yet I let a thousand small desires pull me down. The fact that this frustration has happened every day of my existence is disheartening.
But of course, there are good times too. There are wonderful concerts, there are essays that seem to write themselves, the satisfaction of an early morning, and the thrill of helping an eager peer. There are also a thousand little successes that bring me joy and encouragement every day.
But there is something that seems irreconcilable here. How can I experience so much joy and success in my endeavours, and yet constantly be brought down by constant short comings, by desires that spring from within?
John Calvin points out that an unredeemed life keeps oscillating back and forth between pride and despair. I see where he is coming from. These two competing forces never reconcile, leaving me sometimes fully confident, sometimes convinced that I will never overcome myself. This oscillation is very wearying.
But Plantinga points out that God’s redemption, correctly viewed, should give us security. If we surrender our life to God, accepting His inevitable, unstoppable redemptive plan for his world, we can take solace that the right wins. If I can see the triumphant conclusion that God is working, I am given reason to peel myself off the floor after failing yet again.
The beautiful thing about redemption is that by surrendering our will to God’s redemptive power, we also surrender any credit, any pride that we could take in our successes. Our successes become God’s successes. Our failures and successes absolutely disappear when we surrender them to the working of God’s will for his world. Because that is one mission we can be sure will not fail.
So I say, live by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the sinful nature. 17For the sinful nature desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the sinful nature. They are in conflict with each other, so that you do not do what you want.
For I see in my life an immense struggle. I constantly let myself down, and it’s not because I don’t know what I should be. I have a Church, a Bible, a Christian Family, and a Christian education. All of these teach me how I should live. But, if I have such a clear idea of right and wrong (by this I mean the little day to day things...there are gray areas in life but if we gave most choices a little thought or sought a little counsel, the answer should become quite apparent) then why is it that I end up cursing myself, my own stupidity? I know what it is that I desire and yet I let a thousand small desires pull me down. The fact that this frustration has happened every day of my existence is disheartening.
But of course, there are good times too. There are wonderful concerts, there are essays that seem to write themselves, the satisfaction of an early morning, and the thrill of helping an eager peer. There are also a thousand little successes that bring me joy and encouragement every day.
But there is something that seems irreconcilable here. How can I experience so much joy and success in my endeavours, and yet constantly be brought down by constant short comings, by desires that spring from within?
John Calvin points out that an unredeemed life keeps oscillating back and forth between pride and despair. I see where he is coming from. These two competing forces never reconcile, leaving me sometimes fully confident, sometimes convinced that I will never overcome myself. This oscillation is very wearying.
But Plantinga points out that God’s redemption, correctly viewed, should give us security. If we surrender our life to God, accepting His inevitable, unstoppable redemptive plan for his world, we can take solace that the right wins. If I can see the triumphant conclusion that God is working, I am given reason to peel myself off the floor after failing yet again.
The beautiful thing about redemption is that by surrendering our will to God’s redemptive power, we also surrender any credit, any pride that we could take in our successes. Our successes become God’s successes. Our failures and successes absolutely disappear when we surrender them to the working of God’s will for his world. Because that is one mission we can be sure will not fail.
The Inner Ring
C. S. Lewis suggests that an inner circle, by itself, is a neutral concept. It is something that occurs quite naturally. It is formed because of limits of time, space, interest, and a myriad of other factors. An inner ring is something that occurs when people have any commonality and build bonds over these similarities.
But an inner ring is easily corrupted. “The Inner Ring,” says Lewis, “is most skilful in making a man who is not yet a very bad man do very bad things.” You see, the inner ring wields a certain power. It is a great influencer and encourager. I think it quite unlikely that people can escape being changed by the inner circle that they are a part of. An inner ring that has any hope of longevity is one that shares a common purpose. If one is to remain in such a ring, eventually one must make tiny steps towards the mission of the group.
That is precisely what the Church is, of course. It is a loose conglomeration of people whose shared desire to follow in the footsteps of their saviour binds them together. These are people who share a mission. They form a ring because they have a certain understanding, a belief in how the world is supposed to be. They support, encourage, and admonish each other. By staying as a tight community, this body performs a sort of symbiosis. None remain in this Church very long without being challenged, perhaps “over a drink, or a cup of coffee, disguised as triviality, and sandwiched between two jokes” to do something out of the ordinary, for the purpose of the organization. It could be a subtle hint to help out in the nursery. “And then, if you are drawn in, next week it will be something a little further from the rules...”
This gradual change gathers force, and is unstoppable if one is truly devoted to the Inner Ring’s mission. For how can one deny the will of a body that seeks the same goals that you do? Of course, if you realize the Church’s mission wasn’t quite for you, then the constant challenge that the Church holds itself to may not be your thing. You may find that, in following their goal, the inner ring has moved quite away from where you were content to stay. You will probably find that you don’t mind and go searching for a more comfortable inner ring.
But this particular inner ring is always in danger of exclusion. It has very high expectations of itself and its members. It expects its mission to be not a part of the member’s life, but the member’s very reason to be. Because of high expectations, there is a danger that this Inner Ring will require total devotion to the mission before a person may join. It may set up walls, casting a judging eye on those who have only a small interest in following Christ’s mission. It may attempt to preserve a purity in its members.
Fortunately, such exclusion is ridiculous when we consider the Church. For its members, who follow Christ, are keenly aware that they have done nothing to deserve entrance into the Church. They too, came to the Church because of the joy they saw inside. Instead they will reach out with compassion to anyone, even the very ugliest, understanding that it is only in the Inner Ring of the Church that a person can join them in their slow but steady steps towards Christ’s Kingdom.
In short, the Church should be easy to get into, but challenging to keep up with.
But an inner ring is easily corrupted. “The Inner Ring,” says Lewis, “is most skilful in making a man who is not yet a very bad man do very bad things.” You see, the inner ring wields a certain power. It is a great influencer and encourager. I think it quite unlikely that people can escape being changed by the inner circle that they are a part of. An inner ring that has any hope of longevity is one that shares a common purpose. If one is to remain in such a ring, eventually one must make tiny steps towards the mission of the group.
That is precisely what the Church is, of course. It is a loose conglomeration of people whose shared desire to follow in the footsteps of their saviour binds them together. These are people who share a mission. They form a ring because they have a certain understanding, a belief in how the world is supposed to be. They support, encourage, and admonish each other. By staying as a tight community, this body performs a sort of symbiosis. None remain in this Church very long without being challenged, perhaps “over a drink, or a cup of coffee, disguised as triviality, and sandwiched between two jokes” to do something out of the ordinary, for the purpose of the organization. It could be a subtle hint to help out in the nursery. “And then, if you are drawn in, next week it will be something a little further from the rules...”
This gradual change gathers force, and is unstoppable if one is truly devoted to the Inner Ring’s mission. For how can one deny the will of a body that seeks the same goals that you do? Of course, if you realize the Church’s mission wasn’t quite for you, then the constant challenge that the Church holds itself to may not be your thing. You may find that, in following their goal, the inner ring has moved quite away from where you were content to stay. You will probably find that you don’t mind and go searching for a more comfortable inner ring.
But this particular inner ring is always in danger of exclusion. It has very high expectations of itself and its members. It expects its mission to be not a part of the member’s life, but the member’s very reason to be. Because of high expectations, there is a danger that this Inner Ring will require total devotion to the mission before a person may join. It may set up walls, casting a judging eye on those who have only a small interest in following Christ’s mission. It may attempt to preserve a purity in its members.
Fortunately, such exclusion is ridiculous when we consider the Church. For its members, who follow Christ, are keenly aware that they have done nothing to deserve entrance into the Church. They too, came to the Church because of the joy they saw inside. Instead they will reach out with compassion to anyone, even the very ugliest, understanding that it is only in the Inner Ring of the Church that a person can join them in their slow but steady steps towards Christ’s Kingdom.
In short, the Church should be easy to get into, but challenging to keep up with.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The Four Loves: Eros
My donkey Riley is one of the most indomitable creatures I know. She is horrendously ugly, her wispy hair provides scant covering for the bulges of fat that cover her flanks. She gives an asphyxiated hee-haw when I approach, and yet, on good days she is quite eager to see me and be brushed. On bad days, she just gallops away. It is impossible, as C.S.Lewis says, to either revere or hate a donkey. C.S. Lewis suggests that we look at Eros in much the same way. And with Riley as moniker for Eros, it will be difficult to deify this most treacherous of loves.
I really appreciated C.S. Lewis’s comparison of love to a garden. You see, I had become rather saddened that love was so much work. I still have this idea that marriage is kind of magical. It was self sustaining. Sure, there might be unpleasant weather, but the natural sun of Eros would clear everything up momentarily.
However, Lewis points out that Eros is not an attitude, but a fickle passion. When love first blooms, we are quite certain that the marriage relationship (which C.S. Lewis compares to a garden) will always be this way. But Lewis would tell us that this Eros is not really the natural state of a relationship in the same way that gardens are not in a state of perpetual bloom. We must learn to love the garden and to cultivate our Eros by fertilizing the soil. The true test of a good garden comes in that which we do not see. It is in the careful pruning and endless weeding. There are dry spells, spells of resentment, self-pity, suspicions, wounded vanities, and frustration. To the true gardener, the true lover, these dry spells may be trying, but they have the idea of a perfect bloom that keeps them going. And if they are quite mature, they see each bloom as a gift. Instead, what brings them joy is all the little things: the fresh green branch developing, the deadheading of a plant. And if they can see the benefits that these little acts give the garden with joy, then imagine the ecstasy experienced when a rose unfurls her maelstrom of colour.
By the time the gardener has spent some time among his plants, he has developed an interest in every little growth of the garden. In fact, if you will visit his garden with him, you will see him, as he points out the chrysanthemums, quite compulsively pulling a weed here and there. The care that his garden needs is no longer a means to the end product of beauty. Instead, it is a deep affection for these plants, a desire to serve them and see them flourish.
But I must bring Riley back in. Eros, as a donkey, is unpredictable. Sure I love her affectionate nuzzling, but it is hardly something I live for. Although a gardener loves a rose bloom, it is not sacred to him, and he will clip it and put it in a vase inside. He is content to admire it while it lasts, but will, without melancholy, put on his boots and go whistling out to pull weeds, content to be back tending his overgrown, unpredictable old friend.
I really appreciated C.S. Lewis’s comparison of love to a garden. You see, I had become rather saddened that love was so much work. I still have this idea that marriage is kind of magical. It was self sustaining. Sure, there might be unpleasant weather, but the natural sun of Eros would clear everything up momentarily.
However, Lewis points out that Eros is not an attitude, but a fickle passion. When love first blooms, we are quite certain that the marriage relationship (which C.S. Lewis compares to a garden) will always be this way. But Lewis would tell us that this Eros is not really the natural state of a relationship in the same way that gardens are not in a state of perpetual bloom. We must learn to love the garden and to cultivate our Eros by fertilizing the soil. The true test of a good garden comes in that which we do not see. It is in the careful pruning and endless weeding. There are dry spells, spells of resentment, self-pity, suspicions, wounded vanities, and frustration. To the true gardener, the true lover, these dry spells may be trying, but they have the idea of a perfect bloom that keeps them going. And if they are quite mature, they see each bloom as a gift. Instead, what brings them joy is all the little things: the fresh green branch developing, the deadheading of a plant. And if they can see the benefits that these little acts give the garden with joy, then imagine the ecstasy experienced when a rose unfurls her maelstrom of colour.
By the time the gardener has spent some time among his plants, he has developed an interest in every little growth of the garden. In fact, if you will visit his garden with him, you will see him, as he points out the chrysanthemums, quite compulsively pulling a weed here and there. The care that his garden needs is no longer a means to the end product of beauty. Instead, it is a deep affection for these plants, a desire to serve them and see them flourish.
But I must bring Riley back in. Eros, as a donkey, is unpredictable. Sure I love her affectionate nuzzling, but it is hardly something I live for. Although a gardener loves a rose bloom, it is not sacred to him, and he will clip it and put it in a vase inside. He is content to admire it while it lasts, but will, without melancholy, put on his boots and go whistling out to pull weeds, content to be back tending his overgrown, unpredictable old friend.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)