The new book, C. S. Lewis and the Crisis of a Christian, is about to drop into the hands of the waiting world (I obviously say that tongue in cheek), and that occasion brought to mind one of the characteristics of Lewis's writings that make his books land--that make them speak to us. Here's an excerpt from chapter 7.
C. S. Lewis always maintained a healthy and sustained understanding of
life as it is lived by all human beings: marked by disappointment and
depression, suffering and trials, as well as the prospect of death, which we
can all see and which none of us will escape. I suspect his setting in life—his
teaching at two secular universities, Oxford and Cambridge—kept him mindful of
those that never walked inside Magdalen College’s chapel or read the pages of
the King James Bible as a devotional practice.
Here was a man who relished a good walk, a pint of beer with his
friends, and reading exceptional books. Here was a man who also described
personal crises not limited to believers in Christ, like sorrow over the death
of a friend in battle and disappointment over never achieving recognition as a
poet. Indeed, the Bible itself recognizes the destiny of all humankind and its
sorrows: “Yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward” (Job 5:7).
For this reason, I continue to turn to Lewis because, frankly, I’m not always
drawn to people that display their spirituality too boldly in their writing or
who seem to think that all of life consists of praying, reading Scripture, and
singing hymns. Writers who resonate with me acknowledge the mundane things of
life, like filling the car with gas; having keys copied at the hardware store;
and buying butter, flour, and orange juice at the grocery store. They also
acknowledge the hard things in life, like watching your children grow up,
realizing your time on earth is also passing, seeing parents age and die, or
grasping that dreams you once held will never come to pass.
