Two Excerpts from C.S. Lewis on the Subject of Heaven

Excerpt from C.S. Lewis, "The Weight of Glory," a sermon preached at Oxford on June 8, 1941:

"In speaking of this desire for our own far-off country... I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you--the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence; the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that when, in very intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves; the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell, though we desire to do both...
"Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that had settled the matter. Wordsworth's expedient was to identify it with certain moments in his own past. But all this is a cheat. If Wordsworth had gone back to those moments in the past, he would not have found the thing itself, but only the reminder of it; what he remembered would turn out to be itself a remembering. The books or the music in which we thought beauty was located will betray is if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things--the beauty, the memory of our own past--are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshipers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited... Here, then, is the desire, still wandering and uncertain of its object and still largely unable to see that object in the direction where it really lies...
"Heaven is, by definition, outside our experience, but all intelligible descriptions must be of things within our experience. The scriptural picture of heaven is therefore just as symbolical as the picture which our own desire, unaided, invents for itself..."

Excerpt from "Heaven" in Lewis' book, The Problem of Pain:

"There have been times when I think we do not desire heaven but more often I find myself wondering whether, in our heart of hearts, we have ever desired anything else.
"...the books you really love are bound together by a secret thread. You know very well what is the common quality that makes you love them, though you cannot put it into words; but most of your friends do not see it at all, and often wonder why, liking this, you should also like that. Again, you have stood before some landscape which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw--but at first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realize that this landscape means something totally different to him; that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which you are transported.
"Even in your hobbies, has there not always been some secret attraction which the others are curiously ignorant of--something not to be identified with, but always on the verge of breaking through, the smell of cut wood in the workshop or the clap-clap of water against the boat's side? Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment when at last you meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and uncertain even in the best) of that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for? You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it--tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest--if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself--you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say, "Here at last is the thing I was made for." We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want, the thing we shall always desire... While we are this is. If we lose this, we lose all...
"I am considering... why He makes each soul unique. If He had no use for all these differences, I do not see why He should have created more souls, than one... the ins and outs of your individuality are no mystery to Him; and one day they will no longer be a mystery to you.
"The mold in which a key is made would be a strange thing, if you had never seen a key; and the key itself a strange thing if you had never seen a lock. Your soul has a curious shape because it is a hollow made to fit a particular swelling in the infinite contours of the divine substance [God], or a key to unlock one of the doors in the house with many mansions.
"For it is not humanity that is to be saved, but you... Blessed and fortunate creature, your eyes shall behold Him and not another's. All that you are, sins apart, is destined, if you will let God have His good way, to utter satisfaction... God will look to every soul like its first love because He is its first love. Your place in Heaven will seem to be made for you and you alone, because you were made for it--made for it stitch by stitch as a glove is made for a hand...
"All your life an unattainable ecstasy has hovered just beyond the grasp of your consciousness. The day is coming when you will wake to find, beyond all hope, that you have attained it...
"The thing I am speaking of is not an experience. You have only experienced the want of it. The thing itself has never actually been embodied in any thought, image, or emotion. Always it has summoned you out of yourself...
"The desire--much more the satisfaction--has always refused to be fully present in any experience. Whatever you try to identify with it turns out to be not it but something else... if this opinion is not true, something better is. But "something better"--not this or that experience, but beyond it--is almost the definition of the thign I am trying to describe."

If I've told you once...

God doesn't tend to repeat Himself without a reason. So when something comes up again, it's an unmistakable signal to straighten up and fly right, no?

So, what command does He repeat most?

"Do not be afraid."

The reason?

"I am with you."

But friends, this is not a few sentences He left for us to needlepoint on pillows to give us warm fuzzy feelings whenever we look at them (though I have nothing against needlepoint, and neither does God).

No, this is a COMMAND. Not an option. Fear is actually sin. Thus, fear, as sin, must be resisted to the point of bloodshed.

In a very good book called Following Jesus by Bible scholar N.T. Wright, the author writes, "Fear is the air we breathe." And he's right. I can trace almost all my sin to either fear or pride, which I'm beginning to suspect are two sides of the same coin.

Don't say that. They'll laugh at you.

Don't try that. You might fail.

What if I get hurt? What if nobody cares? What if it is all for nothing?

Fear. Living in fear is like breathing carbon monoxide. We're not meant for it, but it's so pervasive we don't notice it. And after a while, it kills us.

But.

"I am with you."

He is, as Wright points out, "the God who raises the dead." THE GOD WHO RAISES THE DEAD!!! So, if we truly believe in the doctrine of the Resurrection, we know that it's all going to be alright. And unbelievably, He is with us!

Friends, there is nothing to be afraid of. NOTHING to be afraid of. It won't be easy. But it's sin to fear. Let's fight for pure air to fill our fear-poisoned lungs. Because the battle's won. This is all just a little mop-up skirmish. They can't touch us. It's all going to be alright.

Deep breath.
Ready?
Go.

As if I saw the homelights burning

Wow, do I miss Washington! All of a sudden, homesickness hit me so hard that I sympathize with Wile E. Coyote after the Road Runner drops the Acme anvil on him. I miss the green, friendly trees. There is nothing so thoroughly kindred-spiritly (no, that's not a word) as a forest.



I miss the ocean, in all her mystery and charm. I miss going down to visit with her (that is, the sea), sitting on the rough sea rocks and just listening.



Although the woods are not without their mystery, I seem to remember reading somewhere that, as lovely as the sea is, we flee to the woods to tell our secrets. With the sea we can only listen.

I miss just looking out at the sky (even when it's grey). I miss the glory of Pacific Northwest sunrises and sunsets, so rich I feel I could drink of them.



I miss driving home from work and seeing my mountain the whole way. In the spring and summer, my mountain stands out against the impossible blue of the Washington sky with sharp, jagged white edges. In the grey (which actually is a season in WA!), it sleeps wrapped in the clouds.


I even miss the smell of the air. Right before it rains. While it's raining. After it rains. :) Ok, it's true, I've got it bad. I am phenomenally blessed to live in such a truly gorgeous part of the world. Even if does insist on snowing randomly. It's still beautiful!



But that beautiful place would be nothing without the people there who fill it for me. Thank you all. Thank you for loving me, for laughing with me, for spurring me on to love and good works. I love you. Vive le Pacific Northwest! ;)

Patience: They say it's a virtue...

...but who are "they" anyway!?

This morning in church, the pastor said something in passing that sparked an explosion in my brain. And I sat there thinking, "I have something to write about in my blog!" Here goes:

As a follower of Christ, I am called to be a servant to all, to be humbly content to be useful, not noticed. It is easy to serve when people smile and thank you and exclaim over how kind and humble one is (though I doubt I'm still humble after I've been told I am!). But when I encounter someone who expects my service as their divine right, my heart rebels vehemently. When I've been quietly serving someone as my Lord has asked, and instead of taking notice of my sacrifice on their behalf, they childishly demand more, I'm inclined to make an impact on their lives with my fists instead of with open, serving hands.

In the service today, Pastor Miller mentioned the way the children of Israel had treated God. He heard their cries of deep distress and delivered them from Egypt, leading them by His very presence! They yelled, "Hey, what are You thinking? We're gonna die out here without water!" and He gave them water. They complained that they were hungry, and He sent them food from heaven! "Garcon! We're tired of this gross manna stuff. How bout some meat?" He sent quail. Oh, they needed water again. So they screech, "Hey! God! A little water?" And again, He gave it to them. I don't know about you, but by this time, I would have been a little tired of being treated so badly. Though the Eternal One has taken care of every need, no matter how small, the people continually complain and doubt. They begin to take His goodness for granted, and to mistrust that He will provide. They demand their due as petulant, hardhearted children, and He patiently and lovingly cares for them. Just sit and think about that for a minute. My words are weak to describe the incredible paradox therein.

Of course, I don't advocate an unhealthy attitude of allowing people to walk all over one. But often the things at which I take umbrage are nothing more than affronts to my vanity. A favorite (and loosely paraphrased) quote from Charles Swindoll is "The true test of a servant's heart is how you react when someone treats you as a servant." I think that is particularly difficult for us Americans. Anyway, I was pretty much knocked on my tuckus by that beautiful and blinding flash of the obvious. Praise the Lord! May it sink in deep and take root, and may we be better, humbler servants.

Update on classes and such

It's been a rough week. And it's been a good week. It's been hard to be back. I've been missing home and the people there very much, and loathing the necessity of plunging back into the Land of Stress and Sleeplessness. But ya know, those are choices, and by God's grace, I will choose to be neither stressed nor sleep-deprived this semester!

My classes look pretty good. Still a toss-up whether they'll be difficult or not. But the good news is, this is my fourth and last semester of Theory and Aural Skills! I also have Diction for Singers II (where I'll learn to pronounce French and German properly by learning the phonetic rules for the respective languages and using the symbols of IPA, the International Phonetic Alphabet; there's a separate class, which I'll take next fall for Italian and Latin); New Testament Literature; Introduction to Music Literature; Concert Chorale; Vocal Arts Ensemble; Opera Ensemble; and my private voice lessons.