becoming undragoned
I came across this very good article on Boundless Webzine today. It talks about one of my favorite parts in the entire Chronicles of Narnia. Read it and enjoy!
Becoming Undragoned
by Jenny Schroedel
There was a boy named Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it. His parents called him Eustace Clarence and his masters called him Scrubb. I cannot tell you how his friends spoke to him for he had none. So begins one of the most delightful books in C.S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, featuring the unforgettably appalling Eustace, who liked animals — most especially when they were dead and pinned on cards.
I love Eustace, because as horrible as he is — pouting all the time, self-centered, delighting in tormenting his Pevensie cousins — he me chuckle because I can see a little bit of myself (and almost everyone I know) in him. He is funny because he is so utterly recognizable.
The richest part of his story is his conversion, which occurs in a moment is worked out slowly over the rest of his life. Like Eustace, my own conversion hasn't been quite as linear as I might have hoped — instead, it has been a fitful journey with steps forward and back, moments of grace and stumbling, courage and weakness.
Eustace's conversion involved a remarkable transformation — from beastly boy to dragon and then back to boy — only of an ultimately less beastly sort. For most people, conversion does not involve becoming a dragon first, but then again, most of us don't have an opportunity to sleep in a dragon's lair.
Eustace became a dragon after a sudden downpour forced him to take refuge in a cavern. While there, his thoughts followed their typical dragonish trajectory. He fell asleep and then woke with rough and bumpy scales all over himself. At first he tried to look on the bright side, imagining that his fierce new image would provoke fear in others and give him power. He liked the idea of being a Force To Be Reckoned With.
But he quickly realized that power is a poor compensation for friendship. Why is it that so often in life we're forced to chose between these things? Eustace reminds me of one of my childhood acquaintances. I've worried about him for years — he's even been popping up in my dreams — because he was so cruel. A few weeks ago, I ran into his aunt and asked how he was. She told me that he was doing really well as an attorney. But that wasn't what I was asking about. I didn't want to know about his career. I wanted to hear if he had become more human.
For Eustace — and for most of us — he had to face the ugly truth about himself before he could become more human:
He realized that he was a monster cut off from the whole human race. An appalling loneliness came over him. He began to see that the others had not really been his friends at all. He began to wonder if he himself had been such a nice person as he had always supposed.
As a dragon, Eustace began to see how difficult he had been. Compelled by his desire for companionship and understanding, he lugged himself back to the camp where his cousins and the other sailors were. After they realized that under all those layers of dragon skin he was actually Eustace, they begin to genuinely enjoy him, perhaps for the first time ever.
It was however, clear to everyone that Eustace's character had been rather improved by becoming a dragon ... after it became chilly as it sometimes did after the heavy rains, he was a comfort to everyone, for the whole party would come and sit with their backs against his sides to get well warmed and dried; and one puff of his fiery breath would light the most obstinate fire.
Eustace began to experience what it is really like to love and to be loved by others. He began to devote himself to concrete acts of kindness. As he poured his energy into caring for his friends, he forgot to think about himself constantly. A loving community does help balance out the pain of authentic self-knowledge. Perhaps this is this part of why 12 Step Programs tend to be successful. The awakening occurs in the context of a loving, transparent and supportive community.
These relationships protected Eustace from the despair that is never to far away, because it is, after all, "a dreary thing to be a dragon," just as it is a quite dreary thing to own up to our own weaknesses. It was so bad for Eustace that he could barely tolerate his own reflection in the mountain lake, and he needed to sneak off by himself to eat, because he was so ashamed of his rough ways.
But God does not inspire an awaking just so that we can see who we are — the knowledge is given to inspire transformation. God is light, but he doesn't shine his searing rays into our life just to expose our ugliness and sin. His light, like the sun coaxing new life out of seeds, seeks change. And this is what happened to Eustace the Dragon, whose awakening preceded encounter.
That night, a lion came to him and told him to undress. Eustace began to scratch at his skin, and it slipped off like a banana peel. As sweet as it was to be free of that scaly skin, he quickly discovered that beneath the top layer, there were more and more layers.
Anyone who has begun to try to break free of sinful patterns knows how discouraging this process can be. I often feel like I've conquered a vice in one area of my life only to see a fresh manifestation of that same vice in another. Like Eustace, I can begin to peel away layers but I cannot "undress myself" completely.
Here's Eustace, describing his encounter with the lion:
Then the lion said — but I don't know if it spoke — "You will have to let me undress you." I was afraid of his claws, but I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.... That very first tear he made was so deep that thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I'd ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peeled off.
Part of conversion is recognizing our own powerlessness to change ourselves. We must surrender. The change begins in a moment but we choose it again and again for the rest of our lives. Our ongoing surrender to grace is a slow walk — more turtle than hare. We are nudged along this difficult and discouraging path by hope, just like Eustace, who was always just "beginning to change."
It would be nice and fairly nearly true to say that "from that time forth Eustace was a different boy." To be strictly accurate, he began to be a different boy. He had relapses. There were still many days when he could be very tiresome. But most of those I shall not notice. The cure had begun.
Copyright © 2007 Jenny Schroedel. All rights reserved. International copyright secured.
Labels: articles, books, dragon, narnia, salvation, sin
the beauty of holiness
by Arthur W. Pink"Worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness" (Psa. 29:2). Holiness is the antithesis of sin, and the beauty of holiness is in direct contrast from the ugliness of sin. Sin is a deformity, a monstrosity. Sin is repulsive, repellent to the infinitely pure God: that is why He selected leprosy, the most loathsome and horrible of all diseases, to be its emblem. When the Prophet was Divinely inspired to depict the condition of degenerate Israel it was in these words, "From the sole of the foot even unto the head there is no soundness in it; but wounds, and bruises, and putrifying sores" (Isa. 1:6). O that sin were sickening and hateful to us: not merely its grosser forms, but sin itself. At the opposite extreme from the hideousness of sin is "the beauty of holiness." Holiness is lovely in the sight of God: necessarily so. It is the reflection of His own nature, for He is "glorious in holiness" (Exo. 15:11). O that it may be increasingly attractive to and earnestly sought after by us. Perhaps the simplest way of bringing out the beauty of holiness will be to contrast it from the beauties of time and sense.
First, the beauty of holiness is imperceptible to the natural man, and therein it differs radically from the beauties of mere nature. He can behold and admire a lovely glen, the softly flowing river, the mountain pines, the rushing waterfall; but for the excellence of spiritual graces he has no eyes. He regards one who (by grace) meekly submits to sore trials as a milksop. He looks upon one who denies self for Christ's sake as a fool. He considers the man who adheres strictly to the narrow way as one who misses the best of this life. The natural man is totally incapable of discerning the excellence of that which is of great price in the sight of God. Do some think we are stating this too strongly? Then let them be reminded of the solemn fact that when the Holy One tabernacled here upon earth the unregenerate saw in Him "no beauty" that they should desire Him (Isa. 53:2); and it is the same today. God must remove the scales from the eyes of our heart before we can perceive that holiness is beautiful.
Second, the beauty of holiness is real and genuine, and therein it differs radically from much of the beauty which is seen in this world. How much that appeals to the gaze of the natural man is artificial and fictitious. How much human beauty is made up, the product of the artifices of the salon. Even when physical beauty is natural, how rarely it is accompanied by moral virtues. No wonder our forefathers were accustomed to say, "Beauty is but skin deep." Not so the beauty of holiness: it is rooted in the inner man, and sheds its purifying influence over the entire being. "Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain" (Prov. 31:30). But holiness disappoints not its possessor, for its beauty is spiritual and Divine. True, it has many counterfeits in the religious world, yet the genuine article has a ring to it which the godly cannot mistake.
Third, the beauty of holiness is abiding, and therein it differs radically from all the beauty of earth. The wooded glen, whose varied tints are so pleasing in the summer sunlight, is leafless and drab when winter comes. The glorious sunset which human skill can neither produce nor adequately reproduce disappears within a few minutes. The fairest human countenance quickly withers: "all her beauty is departed" (Lam. 1:6). Even when it is preserved to the end of a short life, "their beauty shall consume in the grave" (Psa. 49:14). Yes, change and decay in all we see. The only beauty which is unfading and everlasting is the beauty of holiness. The fruit of the Spirit will never lose its bloom: spiritual graces shall endure after this poor world has all gone up in smoke. How fervently, then, should we pray, "Let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us" (Psa. 90:17).
Fourth, the beauty of holiness is satisfying, and herein it differs radically from the beauty of the things of time and sense. Sooner or alter they either pall on one or else leave an aching void. Take the globe-trotter who journeys east and west, north and south, seeking fresh scenes. How soon he tires, discovering that the loveliest landscape cannot supply contentment of mind and peace of heart. Man is more than a material creature, and therefore it requires something else than material things -- no matter how beautiful -- too meet his needs. It is the things of the Spirit which alone afford satisfaction. "Godliness with contentment is great gain" (1 Tim. 6:6). True, the Christian is never satisfied with his own holiness: rather does he continue to hunger and thirst after righteousness to the end of his wilderness journey. Nevertheless, the holier we are -- the closer we walk with God -- the more real rest of soul shall we enjoy. And the blessed sequel will demonstrate the contrast still more plainly: instead of discovering that we have only chased the shadows, the Christian has the assurance: "I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with Thy likeness" (Psa. 17:15).
Fifth, the beauty of holiness is glorifying to God, and therein it differs radically from much of human beauty. To glorify his Maker is the bounden duty of man, and nothing honours Him so much as our walking in separation from all that is displeasing to Him. But alas, physical charms and spiritual graces are rarely found in the same persons. A notable example of this is seen in the case of Absalom, of whom it is recorded, "In all Israel there was none to be so much praised as Absalom for his beauty: from the sole of his foot even to the crown of his head there was no blemish in him" (2 Sam. 14:25); yet he feared not God and perished in his sins. How many a woman has used her personal attractions to entice men rather than magnify God. How many a well-proportioned and handsome man has employed his gifts for self-glorification rather than the praise of God. But the beauty of holiness ever redounds to the honour of its Author.
"O worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness." This is the only kind of beauty which the Lord cares for in our devotions. "Godliness is to the soul as the light is to the world, to illustrate and adorn it. It is not greatness which sets us off before God, but goodness" (Thomas Watson). Ornate architecture and expensive apparel God delights not in. It is the loveliness of inward purity and outward sanctity that pleases the thrice Holy One. Sincerity of heart, fervour of spirit, reverence of demeanour, the exercise of faith, the outgoings of love, are some of the elements which comprise the "beauty of holiness" in our worship.
Labels: articles, holiness, pink, scripture verses, sin, the bible
of confession and forgiveness
by C. H. Spurgeon"Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, Thou God of my salvation; and my tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness." -Psalm 51:14
In this solemn confession, it is pleasing to observe that David plainly names his sin. He does not call it manslaughter, nor speak of it as an imprudence by which an unfortunate accident occured to a worthy man, but he calls it by its true name, bloodguiltiness. He did not actually kill the husband of Bathsheba; but still it was planned in David's heart that Uriah should be slain, and he was before the Lord his murderer.
Learn in confession to be honest with God. Do not give fair names to foul sins; call them what you will, they will smell no sweeter. What God sees them to be, that do you labour to feel them to be; and with all openness of heart acknowledge their real character. Observe, that David was evidently oppressed with the heinousness of his sin. It is easy to use words, but it is difficult to feel their meaning. The fifty-first Psalm is the photograph of a contrite spirit. Let us seek after the like brokenness of heart; for however excellent our words may be, if our heart is not conscious of the hell-deservingness of sin, we cannot expect to find forgiveness.
Our text has in it an earnest prayer - it is addressed to the God of salvation. It is His prerogative to forgive; it is His very name and office to save those who seek His face. Better still, the text calls Him the God of my salvation. Yes, blessed be His name, while I am yet going to Him though Jesus' blood, I can rejoice in the God of my salvation.
The psalmist ends with a commendable vow: if God will deliver him he will sing - nay, more, he will "sing aloud." Who can sing in any other style of such a mercy as this! But note the subject of the song - "Thy righteousness." We must sing of the finished work of a precious Savior, and he who knows most of forgiving love will sing the loudest.
from Morning and Evening by C. H. Spurgeon
Labels: articles, books, quotes, repentance, scripture verses, sin, spurgeon, the bible
