I bought this jacket just over a month ago six hours ahead, then brought it back in time with me. Today, the weather justifies it, the cold, crisp air reminding me of London, as the tweed turns my thoughts to Lewis, Oxford, and a good pipe, and I long to return six hours ahead.
We stood alone in Holy Trinity Church and soaked in the silence. There was something special, holy even, about that quiet moment, not least of which was the fact that it was so vastly different than moments we’d shared earlier that day.
Public transportation can be tricky business. My wife and I were in London for our honeymoon, and we’d planned to get around using various forms of public transport for the week. In London, the tube system is extensive, and while it took some getting used to, we quickly began to feel comfortable using it to explore the city. Anytime we needed to get from one place to the next, I’d search the next location on Google Maps, and I’d be given directions to the nearest underground station along with the line we needed to take. The details were impressive, down to the specific platform and train needed to get us where we wanted to go. With the tube, there were designated routes, fairly consistent schedules, and clearly communicated stops so we always knew where we were and how long we had until our next stop.
Not every public transport service operates the same way, though. On Saturday, we hopped on a train to Oxford, expecting the same sort of system. To be fair, the train operated much like the tube, with set stops and a clear schedule. I couldn’t find a list of the stops, though, so when the train stopped and I saw Oxford Park on the sign outside, I led us off the train, thinking we’d arrived a bit early. Seeing no sign of the city, we walked into the station and were kindly told that we’d gotten off one stop too early and would need to take the next train into the city proper. This mistake cost us about 30 minutes and led me to panic at the strain on our schedule, but we eventually got to Oxford.
Then came breakfast. We’d planned to eat and wander around a bit before our first tour of the day. After losing 30 minutes from the train mistake, we felt more urgency to find a quick meal, which was heightened by the fact that the restaurant we’d chosen took longer to find than expected. But we ate and finished with a few minutes to spare, giving us just enough margin to get to the location of our tour and struggle to find the entrance. We eventually got there, but only barely.
At this point, we felt a bit frazzled, as we’d arrived late or nearly late to every event we’d planned so far. When it came time to leave for our next tour, we managed to find our bus stop easily enough, and after some confusion about how to get a ticket, we were on board and on our way.
I was quite excited at this point. Our next tour was of C. S. Lewis’s house. Lewis has been a major influence on my life and writing, and I was so looking forward to visiting the house where he lived and worked along with the church where he worshipped and was buried. But I was also nervous, as I couldn’t get my maps app to show me the route for the bus we were on. We’d told the driver where we were going and were sold tickets, so we felt confident that we’d be dropped off at the right place. I was hopeful that things would go smoothly. Then I noticed that none of the stops we were passing looked familiar, and our GPS dot on the map began to leave the town and head further and further into the country. We began to panic. By the time we realized we’d missed our stop and would need to get off, the bus had entered a highway with no stop in site. What’s more, we couldn’t figure out how to stop the bus short of actually talking to the driver.
When we finally stepped off the bus, we were far from where we were supposed to be with the tour starting shortly. We hopped on a bus going back the way we’d come and missed our stop a second time because we still couldn’t figure out how to signal for a stop. Thankfully, we caught the next stop after the bus driver pointed to a button in front of us that we’d both missed. We exited, flustered and stressed and a bit embarrassed, and walked quickly through a light mist, knowing we were over 20 minutes late but hoping to be let in.
As we arrived at the Kilns, though, we were soon calmed. Despite being so late, we were welcomed in and told we could join the tour in progress. We caught up with the group as they were moving into their next room, and we felt something that had been absent all week: community. Sure, we’d been surrounded by people everywhere we went, and we’d just toured the Bodleian Libraries with a small group. But here, something was different. Rather than just meeting friendly faces, we were met with hospitality. We walked past a bowl of cough drops with a sign to please take one (a welcome gift after a long walk through the cold, damp air). Our guide, Esther, asked us where we were from and helped to settle us after we joined the group late. The stories she told of Jack, Warnie, and those who frequented the house felt more like family memories than mere history. After the tour, she spent a few extra minutes with us in the sitting room to catch us up on what we’d missed, going above and beyond in kindness and generosity. We felt a warmth there we didn’t realize we were missing, in part because for the first time on our trip, we knew we were around other believers. We felt at home there in a way we hadn’t elsewhere in England, and that made all the difference in our day. We entered the house flustered, cold, and discouraged. We left humbled and encouraged and thankful.
After the tour ended, we took a short walk to Holy Trinity Church, where Lewis is buried. To get there, you have to walk through the neighborhood, past quaint houses and narrow lanes, until you reach a gate opening to trees. The church isn’t large at all, and the churchyard isn’t flashy or pronounced. It’s simply there, as it’s been for years, quietly tucked away in this corner of the world. After finding Lewis’s grave, we entered the church itself, where a few others who’d toured the Kilns with us were just leaving. Then we were alone in the old church building.
There in the quiet, after the craziness of the day, we both enjoyed a moment of peace. And there was a sense of rest in that stillness as well. I wonder if that moment would have been as special if it wasn’t for the stress that had preceded it. Similarly, I wonder if the tour, and the intentionality of the hosts, would have meant as much if we hadn’t been so late.
Life is interesting. On one hand, we don’t desire setbacks or sufferings. We try to avoid them if at all possible. Yet some of God’s greatest gifts come on the heels of such experiences, sometimes even because of them. Our reason for being in Oxford in the first place is another example of this, as it was our honeymoon, a celebration of marriage following years of struggle and silence. Those years were filled with bitterness and suffering, as my wife and I were both working through some of the hardest seasons we’ve ever faced. And yet God was at work in and that time, leading us through it to each other. All things really do work together for good, as Paul wrote in Romans 8. And though we often forget it, God proves the point over and over again in our lives. That day in Oxford is a sweet reminder that God is good and that he is generous and kind even in the midst of frantic circumstances.
I recently read C. S. Lewis’s sermon “A Slip of the Tongue.” There, Lewis considers the human tendency to be wary of close proximity with God. While we may desire to know the Lord and to serve him well, we nonetheless approach him with caution, fearful of what he may require of us if we get too close. Lewis recognizes that we would much rather play at religion than embrace it fully, for we know that true religion, while being our only way to know true life, is costly.
I’ve been reading through Job lately, and I think a similar theme is at play in that story. There, Job expresses confusion at his circumstances, and he desires an audience with the Almighty. “Oh, that I knew where I might find him,” Job says, “that I might come even to his seat! I would lay my case before him and fill my mouth with arguments. I would know what he would answer me and understand what he would say to me” (Job 23:3-5). And despite the mistaken diagnoses of Job’s friends, Job maintains his cause. He wants to lay his case before God and receive answers.
Then God answers. The Lord speaks out of a whirlwind not with answers to Job’s concerns but with a series of questions about the details of creation (Job 38:1 and following). After chapters filled with speeches and arguments from Job and his friends, speeches presuming to speak of God’s character and ways in the world, God himself speaks, and all fall silent before him. The men understood their place when God answered.
Do we want God to answer us when we cry to him? Do we want to hear him speak? Do we want to enter his presence? In one sense, I’m not so sure we do. When God speaks, our misconceptions and misunderstandings about him and his ways tend to crumble. And while this is a good thing, it’s uncomfortable. The voice of God humbles and corrects us, revealing our arrogance and error and presumptions. We cannot remain as we are when the Lord speaks. We dare not.
But in another sense, we do want God to speak. Misconceptions and misunderstandings tend to be comfortable, but they’re also unhealthy. They reflect hearts and minds that aren’t as surrendered to the Lord or as conformed to the image of Christ as we might assume. If life and salvation are found in God alone, then we must recognize, as Lewis recognized, that to avoid surrender is to shrink back from life itself. If we would live, we must live on the Lord’s terms and not our own. Therefore, we must learn to know him and love him as he is and not as we wish him to be. He requires our all, and we do well to let him have it.
Lewis highlighted a common hesitancy, and his point is confirmed by the story of Job. Close encounters with the Lord change us in deep and profound ways, and those ways are not necessarily comfortable. But as Peter so insightfully said all those years ago when Jesus asked the disciples if they wanted to leave him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:68-69). There is no other Savior, no other King, no other God than the LORD. There is no other life or love or happiness than what he offers. So we seek him while he may be found, knowing that we will tremble and be changed when we find him. But we seek him anyway, for he is worth the effects of the finding.
C. S. Lewis once wrote of the way stories might be able to convey truth and foster emotion more effectively than commands and imperatives could (see his essay “Sometimes Fairy Stories May Say Best What’s To Be Said” in the book On Stories). He understood the way we often let our guard down when enjoying stories and are thus more open to consider ideas than when they’re presented to us as teachings requiring our affirmation.
We can likely think of good examples of such an approach if we consider our favorite shows from childhood. Sesame Street, The Magic School Bus, Mister Rogers Neighborhood, and Schoolhouse Rock each demonstrate creative ways to teach kids important information. By attaching a lesson to a song or a game, the creators of these shows managed to make learning fun for students. And the lessons stuck. We likely can still hum certain songs or can recall certain facts picked up from these shows. Of course, we can all likely think of bad examples as well. Sometimes the lesson gets lost in the story. Sometimes the story suffers because the lesson is too strongly introduced. Lewis understood the importance of a healthy mix of the two. Still, Lewis’s point stands: a story may be able to reach you with an idea you might never consider otherwise.
I think this truth is one reason stories are so important. While stories entertain, I’m not convinced that’s their only function. They also introduce us to new ideas, different perspectives, and opposing worldviews. They lead us to question our assumptions, to pursue further understanding, and to grow in knowledge. And these are good things. But we need to consider how we engage stories. Whether you read novels or comic books, watch tv shows or movies, or play tabletop games or video games, you’re engaging in stories at every turn. How are you engaging?
Some may recommend avoiding stories that don’t fit your worldview, but I’m not sure that’s wise. Part of Jesus’s commission to his followers is to go into all the world, to engage all peoples with the gospel message. That’s going to involve interacting with people from a multitude of worldviews, perspectives, assumptions, biases, and ethical frameworks. While we dare not uncritically embrace every differing position we encounter (we dare not uncritically embrace every one of our own assumptions either), neither should we enter the world ignorant. Paul seems to embrace such an approach in his description of becoming “all things to all people, that by all means I might save some” (1 Corinthians 9:22). He doesn’t trade his faith or morality in his pursuit of kingdom work, but neither does he allow his own cultural preferences or comforts to keep him from engaging someone who needs Jesus. He focuses on the most important thing and adjusts to the context of his audience in order to convey better the most important of stories.
I suggest engaging stories with wisdom. Doing so means we’ll want a healthy dose of perspective, seeking out voices that differ from and disagree with our own. But doing so doesn’t mean we’ll accept every message wholesale. Rather, we will listen to stories to learn and to understand. We’ll listen for the hurts and the hopes of the storyteller, for the ideals and the desires of their hearts. And we’ll consider their stories in light of the gospel, looking for where they ring true and where they fall short. As we do, we will not only better understand the world we’re called to reach, but we’ll better know how to lead them to Jesus. We’ll see how Christ offers hope to the hopeless, life to the dead, purpose to the purposeless, comfort for the sorrowful, and rest for the weary. As we hear the stories told around the world, we’ll hear expressions of great need, and we’ll know that our needs are ultimately met in Christ.
As we grow in our relationship with Christ, we can better determine what is of him and what isn’t, allowing us to engage the stories of this world with an ear for the echoes of the greatest story. And as we hear its echoes and whispers in the stories surrounding us, we can find ways to highlight those themes and to point to their source in the story of God. After all, we’re all following more stories these days anyway, right? Whether it’s the newest season of The Mandalorian or an early season of The Office, we’re joining the current of culture as we follow these stories, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. So this week, as you watch a show or read a book or listen to a podcast, consider the worldviews, the assumptions, and the arguments being conveyed. Seek to understand the storyteller’s perspective. Consider the stories in light of the story of God. Then pray for opportunities to tell his story.
When I consider pain in relation to theology, my mind often runs to James 1:2-4. There, James calls Christians to “count it all joy” when tests of faith arise, for such tests produce steadfastness leading to maturity. Closely related to James’s words there are Paul’s words in Romans 5:3-5, where Paul traces the process from suffering to endurance to character to hope. In short, God works all things for good, even difficult things (Romans 8:28).
Until recently, my understanding of this process has been somewhat simplistic. Pain arises, faith is tested, and we respond, either passing the test and growing in maturity or failing the test and remaining where we are. In theory, the process shouldn’t take too long.
But what do we do when the season doesn’t end? What happens when uncertainty or sadness or pain last longer than anticipated? What might God be doing in extended periods of difficulty?
I don’t claim to hold every answer to such questions. The answers may well vary based on the specifics of each situation. But I think I’m starting to see a piece of God’s purpose for ongoing seasons of difficulty and discomfort. I think God, in part, uses such times to redirect our hopes.
I’ve noticed, for example, that distress drives me to seek comfort somewhere, often in a person or a place or a thing that makes me feel safe. At times, however, God removes such sources of comfort from my life and, in their absence, leaves me with only my pain and with himself. Then, and perhaps only then, I begin to understand the sufficiency of his grace, his provision, his comfort. By removing my earthly securities, he reveals my over-reliance on them, disciplining me as he leads me to rest in him alone. He lovingly tests my faith to show my faith’s weakness. Then he begins to strengthen it. But the process takes time. As James highlights steadfastness, so Paul highlights endurance, both emphasizing the ongoing nature of the lessons.
It isn’t just that God knows what is best and has a better plan for us than any we can conceive, though those statements are true; it’s that God himself is best. When the Lord’s work includes the death of a dream, the loss of a hope, or the absence of a security, his goal isn’t merely to shift our gaze from a good earthly thing to a better earthly thing; his goal is to get us to shift our gaze to himself. He is the best thing, the source of every good and perfect gift (James 1:16-17), the God of all comfort (2 Corinthians 1:3). Our needs and our desires ultimately find their true fulfillment in him. And our hearts may not learn this lesson quickly. So he makes us wait, working through the suffering and the waiting to produce character and hope. “And hope,” Paul writes, “does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (Romans 5:5).
C. S. Lewis wrote of the way the Lord uses pain to show us our weakness as well as to show us the insufficiency of any earthly thing to satisfy us (see his books The Problem of Pain and A Grief Observed). Furthermore, because God is good, he will not stop until his work is finished. Though painful, the work will result in healing. Though extended, the suffering will be proven worthwhile. Through the testing of our faith, the Lord makes us more like Christ and draws us closer to himself, doing us a greater good by far than if he simply granted our wishes or met our demands. His is a work of love, deeper and truer than we may presently understand. So hope in him. Trust in him. And find comfort in him.
Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!
Lost within the witch’s woods,
The darkened woods, the wicked woods,
Lost within the witch’s woods
Where few shall follow after.
Somber are the witch’s woods,
The vilest woods, corrupted woods.
Somber are the witch’s woods.
I fear the sound of laughter.
Save me from the witch’s woods,
The stony woods, the dying woods.
Save me from the witch’s woods
And all who follow after.
Set me free to Aslan’s woods,
To living woods and thriving woods.
Set me free to Aslan’s woods,
And change these woods hereafter.
We want but are not satisfied in gain,
And so we gain new wants to add to old.
This futile journey is an old refrain
Of wants too weak to trust the Story told.
“Our hearts are restless till they rest in thee,”
The saint once wrote, and still his words resound.
They ring from Africa across the sea,
True both on foreign and familiar ground.
For we were wrought to reckon with our ends,
To know the purpose t’ward which passion points:
Temp’ral desires call for that which transcends;
What leads to life divides marrow and joints.
O LORD, align our wanting with your will,
And turn our hearts to you and so fulfill.
My friend Atley and I watched Brightburn on Saturday (warning: spoilers ahead). We both enjoyed the movie, but we noticed that the movie left us feeling a bit gross. Granted, that’s not uncommon for horror movies, especially in an age when the horror genre seems to lean heavily on gratuitous violence or sexual content to capture attention. I typically don’t enjoy (or view) such movies. But Brightburn was different. While Atley and I pointed to a few instances of unnecessary gore in the movie, Brightburn left us uncomfortable not because of what it included but because of what it lacked.
James encourages Christians to “be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger” (James 1:19). A brief scroll through the average believer’s social media feed may suggest that we as Christ followers struggle to apply James’s teaching. We can be quick to anger when we read something disagreeable, quick to speak our mind on the matter, and slow to truly hear any alternate or opposing position. Our passions appear to be very much at war within the body (James 4:1), and the casualties of war extend beyond the church to the lost world watching us fight.
as i learn to walk 