Narnia

I have just been to see "The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe". I think that on the whole it was a very good adaptation of the wonderful story by C.S. Lewis. Given the strangeness of the world that the children found themselves in, complete with umbrella-carrying fauns, centaurs, talking beavers, and Father Christmas (not to mention the lion Aslan) it could so easily have collapsed into a ridiculous pantomime-like Christmas show, all the sublimity of Aslan's costly victory over Jadis and the coronation of the four sons and daughters of Adam and Eve being completely lost. But the casting (and acting) was so good and the special effects so compelling, that this did not happen.

What I wonder though is how many people in audiences around the world will really grasp what a serious business myth-making of this kind (and of the kind that we have in Lord of the Rings) really is. For most people the story will come and go just as another "fairy-tale", to be dismissed to the realm of entertaining (or not so entertaining) fantasy, consigned to the periphery of life while the real business of living has to be got on with. But that would be to miss the whole point. Lewis and Tolkien both believed that there was nothing more serious, and nothing more real, than the truths that lay at the heart of their fantasies. What we call the "business of living" is indeed, more often than not, the means whereby we are distracted by the enemy of our souls (the being embodied in the LWW by the White Witch) from truths which we neglect at our peril. The things that occupy and entertain us are the equivalent of the turkish delight which the White Witch offered Edmund. They keep us from really getting to grips with the big questions: Who are we? Why are we here? Where are we going? Who put us here and for what purpose? When the children were drawn into Narnia, there they were confronted with these questions.

What is it going to take for us to realise that if God exists, if Jesus Christ was who he said he was and had come to do what he said he had come to do (and why shouldn't we face that possibility) , there is more to life than the "four walls" that surround us. Maybe there is a realm that we can barely conceive of now, but about which we occasionally hear the odd rumour or from which we occasionally see a light glimmering in the distance. Maybe we should follow these rumours to see where they lead. We might be in for a surprise!

Les Misérables

One of my favourite novels of all time is “Les Misérables” by Victor Hugo. Few writers (Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky would undoubtedly count among the few) have so brilliantly and movingly portrayed the misery and the grandeur of the human condition. After his release from prison Jean Valjean, though clearly more sinned against than sinning, is not someone that we would relish the idea of meeting on our way home on a dark night. He is the embodiment of brutalised strength, seething with hatred and resentment. The author tells us that a man like this, unless “providence” intervenes, is among the most dangerous and destructive forces that one can imagine.

With a main character who is described in these terms right at the start of a long novel the author’s choice of title seems more than fitting! What kind of story can we expect?

When the saintly old bishop at the hostel where Jean Valjean was given food and lodging leaves his door ajar, having let his guest know where the silver was kept, we know what’s going to happen. The only thing that is in doubt is whether the bishop himself will escape with his life intact.

However, it isn’t long before Valjean is caught, his bag bulging with the bishop’s silver cutlery. The rest of the story is already writing itself in our minds: Valjean will be thrown back into prison, where he will become more and more depraved, and Javert’s opinion of him will have been amply vindicated.

We are no less taken aback than Valjean himself is when the bishop, instead of reclaiming his silver, asks him why he hadn’t taken the candlesticks as well! The bishop’s gift had after all been ALL the silverware, not only the cutlery. After the policemen leave, the bishop “reminds” Valjean of his promise use this gift to become a good man.

This encounter with goodness is the turning point of the novel, occurring though it does right at the beginning of it. The rest of the story is essentially Valjean’s earnest commitment of himself, body and soul, to the fulfilment of this promise, running parallel with Javert’s equally earnest endeavour to nail the “fugitive” and throw him back in prison. Javert stands for the cold, relentless application of justice, which can punish but cannot restore. The bishop, by contrast, stands for not only forgiveness but grace. Not content to refrain from pressing charges and let the matter drop, he gives Valjean the silver that he had intended to steal, and more of it besides. In doing so, he gives him something to be grateful for, and someone to be grateful to. It is this gratitude which transforms Vealjean from an embittered, hate-driven bandit into a humble, love-driven human being. In this transformation Hugo makes us witnesses to a revolution that proves much deeper than the one that has just engulfed the country, leaving a wasteland in its wake.

These events remind me of the words of America’s best-loved hymn, written, interestingly, by a former English slave-trader at about the same time as the events desribed in the first pages of "Les Misérables". (If only we could see more of the theme of this hymn in America's dealings with Iraq)

Amazing grace! how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost but now am found,
was blind but now I see.'

Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
and grace my fears relieved;
how precious did that grace appear
the hour I first believed!

The Lord has promised good to me,
his word my hope secures;
he will my shield and portion be
as long as life endures.

Through many dangers, toils, and snares,
I have already come;
'tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
and grace will lead me home.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

The world shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun refuse to shine;
But God, who called me here below,
Shall be forever mine.


Mind you, Jean Valjean could have taken the silver and let it take possession of him. The bishop knew that he risked not only losing his silver, but losing Jean Valjean as well. In that case this grace would not have been effective. But he knew that the risk was worth taking. It was a similar risk that God took when He became a baby about 2 millenia ago.

homo incurvatus in se

Christmas is the time of the year when I am made most sharply aware of how narcisistic our society has become. The advertisements that bombard us, the charities that appeal to us for support, the films that are put on specially for the season all conspire to present us with an idealised image of ourselves, and we revel in it. It is the time when I realise how little difference there is between traditional religion (Christianity in the case of this country) and the secular faith that has, in most people's minds, replaced it. In the case of the former, it is assumed that we will fall in line with a series of "culturised" rituals. And fall we do, because it is only once a year, and, in any case, midnight mass and carols make us feel good about ourselves and about the world. As regards the latter, we merrily fall in line with the rituals of consumerism. Our self acceptance, and our acceptance of others, are bound up with the extent to which we and they are able to find a place within one or other of these sets of rituals, or both.

The problem with religions and their rituals, whether or not they are connected in some way with God, is that they require and reward unquestioning conformity. (Films like "Breaking the Waves" spring to mind). These rituals are sometimes represented as being liberating, but often they are actually deeply enslaving. At the time of Pope Leo X, celebrity friars drew huge crowds into churches, cathedrals and town squares to demand money in return for the "indulgences" which would secure the release of their loved ones from the torments of purgatory. Masters of marketing that they were, they blandished their symbols and chanted their jingles: "As soon as pennies in the money chest ring, the souls out of their Purgatory do spring." The upshot of it all was that people, even when they gave, never felt that they had given enough and so they were crippled both by guilt and by the prospect of having to endure these torments themselves. Martin Luther and others brought the truly liberating words and presence of Jesus Christ into this horrific scenario, and every effort was made to drive them out of the public square. Sadly however, the revolution they initiated later gave rise to the imposition of other sets of rituals. Many very religious "self-respecting" protestants still measure themselves against the degree to which they conform, and they are measured by others, often very subtly, by the same standard. And is this phenomenon not a characteristic feature of virtually all religious practice in every culture and society?: you are worth what you contribute, you exist in so far as you "toe the line". I suppose that this is one reason for the resurgence of oriental religion in western societies, and of neo-pagan practices. They seem like a breath of fresh air. They seem to provide the individual with more space to be themselves. But are the rituals that are associated with them actually any more liberating (or any less enslaving) than those that they are a reaction against?

Jesus was born into a deeply religious society. It is worth noting that many of his healing miracles were performed to liberate those for whom "religion" had done nothing. Take the story of the man lying at the pool recorded in John chapter 5. Contemporary religion had come up with this elaborate ritual whereby anyone who could find their way into the water when an angel came down and stirred it up would be healed of whatever problem they had. You had to be quick though, there would be plenty of others trying to get there ahead of you. This cripple had been there for 38 years hoping against hope that one day he would get to the water before anyone else. Needless to say, it never happened. Jesus came and, after asking him if he really did want to be healed (an important question - he might have been wallowing in self-pity) simply ordered him to get up and walk. That is liberation.