I've been doing some thinking. ("Really?" My dad would say to that, grinning. "You?") For the umpteenth time, I'm reading A Severe Mercy. I'm trying to figure out why I like it. The obvious reasons - the beautiful love story, portraits of Oxford life and England, the relationship and correspondence with C.S. Lewis, the writing style itself - are, well, obvious. I adore these things - but the aspect I think I relate to the most, is their pre-Christian "pagan" life. I honestly think that, if I had not become a Christian at a very early age, I would have also worshiped and "adored the mysteries of beauty and love." Eventually, in the same way, I'm pretty sure I would have ended up a Christian. No bias at all - I think that's the truth. (Now that I really think on it - the Narnia books probably would have pulled me in pretty quickly. I'm not the sort - like the authoress of The Magician's Book - who would have felt betrayed when I learned about the themes behind the Narnia stories. I loved Aslan so much - recognizing the parallels would almost certainly have led me to Christ. I can imagine myself thinking, "well, if that Jesus is anything like Aslan, he's worth looking in to.")
C.S. Lewis talks about feeling the pull of the occult in Surprised By Joy - for me, I think beauty will always have a pull. When I say beauty, I don't mean physical, human beauty or attractiveness - I mean the pang of joy a line of poetry or a lovely view gives. Sudden agonizing, splendid stabs of longing. But, it's just that - an empty longing for something, not the something itself. It feels like you've just gotten a glimpse, or a half-picture of the real joy, but it's gone, before you can catch it, or even figure out exactly what it is. If that makes even one drop of sense.
Gee whiz, I sound like a stuffed-up prig. Erg. I can't explain it at all without talking like a self-satisfied fool. Forgive me, dear void, for senseless blogging.
Somewhere in A Severe Mercy, he explains it all a lot better than I ever could - the way, in the end, God was the thing he always longed for - but I can't find the quote.
I'm feeling like the worst walking representation of a wonderful God - and it's terribly convicting. (Though, does anyone ever not feel that way? I don't know. How could anyone feel any joy if they did? This is all very messy.)
I shouldn't post this - but I'm going to anyways. Writing helps me figure things out - and this certainly needs some figuring.