Spitting Out the Bones: A C.S. Lewis Series

If you've been around a group of Christians for any period of time, you've heard or read a C.S. Lewis quote. Doesn't matter the denomination or tribe: Baptist, Roman Catholic, Presbyterian, Orthodox, Anglican (of course), Methodist, Lutheran, non-denominational, conservative, liberal - everyone can find something in Lewis.

That is, until you actually read Lewis. Then you realize it's not so simple.

For one thing, Lewis had an odd twist on Christianity. His friend Tolkein converted him by way of myth: by teaching that Christianity was the true Myth, the end of Lewis' search for the elusive Joy. Lewis was not just classically trained in the usual British schoolboy way; he was obsessed with story, myth, and especially with "the North" of Nordic mythology. This mythological flavor is responsible for Narnia, but it's also responsible for a way of thinking about theology and God that permeates everything he wrote.

For another, Lewis was, as we all are, a particular person living in a particular time and place. During my husband's ordination to the diaconate this morning, the bishop preached on God's "particularity" of love, such as the particularity of a young girl in Palestine in the Roman empire who said "Be it unto me." When we say God is love we forget that God also loves, as a verb, all the quirky and wacky people in the world in their specific times and places. I'm aware of the wackiness that is the 21st century Deep South, and I love it because it's my family, my home, my own brand of crazy. Lewis belonged to a different brand, and it's important to remember that. For anglophiles like myself it's important to remember the deeply dysfunctional side of his culture, and to take certain cultural observations with a grain of salt. At the same time, it would behoove us to remember that we too have a brand of wacky, and there's no guarantee that ours is better.

These thought percolated as I reread The Four Loves. More than most of his books, this one sends me from one passion to the other, from underlining his words and wanting to share them with the world, to throwing down the book and pacing, wondering why this idiot was ever published. And yet, I know that there is enough meat in the book that is healthy and succulent, even if I have to do some serious bone-picking.

That's what this series will be about. What in Lewis, starting with The Four Loves, is helpful and what is not. Much of this is highly individual, but for what it's worth here's what I get out of it, and here's why some folks will want to take an aspirin before reading.

Savannah Puts the Gothic in Southern

Before long I will get my own pictures up. For now, here are google images that match my perceptions. Savannah isn't just a town: it's a mood.

7 Quick Takes Made in Haste

1

We are moving in one week. The panic is starting to hit. 

2

Part of the hard part of moving is that there is no definite "ending." There are all these little endings: the last day at work when my computer and desk are finally cleaned out (HOW did I have so much paper in those drawers?!); the last meeting with my beloved Bible study group at church; the little meetings I have scattered out with individual people for coffee or drinks; the last Sunday at church; the last party at our apartment which will be EPIC; the last time I do laundry in the apartment complex and gripe about that woman who washes her dog's nasty blankets and doesn't clean it up. OK, so some lasts are nice. 

3

Actually there are some awesome lasts to experience. My last D.C. traffic jam! My last squeeze onto a metro train! My last encounter with the Crickets of Doom that invade the laundry room and leap on unsuspecting victims. (These are not ordinary crickets. They have evolved spines to discourage birds from eating them. They look like a cockroach and an enormous jumping spider had a baby.) 

4

Also, there will be a real coffee pot and microwave where we're going. Can't wait.

5

On the other hand, the Creepy Crickets will be replaced with Palmetto bugs, those fiendish roaches that fly and have no fear of humans. 

6

I'm looking forward to live oak trees, Spanish moss, the nature of my home. 

7

But I'm really going to miss ethnic restaurants that are open until 3 in the morning. 

The tension of being in-between

As much as I make fun of Episcopalians who invoke via media in solemn tones, sometimes it's apt. However, I think that often times modern Episcopalians - with the exception of the very low church evangelicals - are often between Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholics, especially when it comes to spirituality and worship practices. I know I feel that way.

This was brought home to me this Sunday at the altar rail. I was kneeling beside a couple and their delightful toddler son who is the cutest, happiest baby in the universe. (He also loves church because his parents have been wonderful in that regard - I watched them lighting candles at the Virgin icon as he climbed onto the kneeler and gestured towards the icon and flowers. He especially loves the music). The priest asked if the child was receiving the Eucharist or a blessing, and in this case it was a blessing. I have also seen babies and toddlers receive a drop of wine from the priest's finger after baptism. The official stance is that all baptized Christians are welcome to partake, but that it's up to the parents as to whether their babies should partake. In some parishes, like the one my husband is called to, the children wait until they are about 7 to do a Western-style first communion in white dresses etc (though I rarely see this). In this case, it seems that some parents feel an Eastern tug towards the idea that babies in a family are seated at the table and eat with the family, and so should infants in Christ. Others feel the Western tug towards having at least a cursory intellectual understanding of the Eucharist before partaking. There's no animosity on this issue, but there's no standard approach either.

Our liturgical calendar matches the West, as do most of our Lenten practices (I get woozy just looking at the Orthodox fasting schedule. They're made of sterner stuff for sure). This makes sense - we split off the Western church, not the Eastern one. However, more and more I see theological and spiritual practices that look more Eastern. Moreover, the Episcopal attitude towards sacraments is much more Eastern - they are "mysteries," and while one can say many things, perhaps the best response is simply participation and wonder. Most Episcopal theologians these days hearken to the pre-Augustinian theology of atonement: that is, they are discovering that not all Christians believe in the theology of satisfaction atonement that Protestants - and to some degree Western Catholics - believe. This enormous paradigm shift was one of the greatest turning points in my own faith journey, and if I had been forced to believe in Augustinian atonement theology I'm not sure I could even be a Christian.

This really came home to me when I was doing a fun and intellectually thrilling exercise of writing up a daily prayer liturgy based loosely on the Liturgy of Hours. What I say next may sound offensive, but I truly don't mean it to be: the Eastern Orthodox version captured the beauty of prayer in a way which the Catholic one simply did not. I also found more of a kinship, a similarity in language, style, even cadence with the Book of Common Prayer; it seemed like an old friend but in grander, deeper style. When reading the Roman Catholic Liturgy of the House I felt like an outsider looking in, saying another's words; when reading the Eastern liturgy, it felt like home.

At the same time, we do technically have more kinship with the Roman Catholic church simply because of our history (though perhaps more latent animosity as well, which I pray will get better in my life-time). Culturally, we share the same Christmas and Easter, the same Ash Wednesday, the same All Saints' Day. We both stop saying Alleluia and offer Stations of the Cross on Fridays during Lent; we both consider all Sundays a feast day and let our penances lapse. And yet, when I need to pray silently on the Metro I find myself thinking Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner....

Seven Quick Takes: So that it's now showing up on the right date

1

On May 22, we are moving to Savannah, Georgia. I am super excited and super freaked out at the same time, because so much has to happen between now and then. So any thoughts I have on the subject happen while I'm stuck in DC traffic, and today while pushing my way between cars on the K St. service road, I thought about the things I learned during my sojourn. 

2

Get familiar with local radio stations. You'll get the traffic report, the weather report, and deals for free tickets to concerts. My husband has DC 101's number in his cell for this purpose, and he's got it down to a science.

3

It's easier to change lanes in bumper to bumper traffic than it is when it's crowded but allows for 55 mph speeds. Just stick your nose right out there. Be all that you can be.

4

Maryland is littered with traffic cameras, but you won't know it until you get a ticket in the mail for driving with the flow of traffic 10 miles above the speed limit.

5

If you want to avoid "bros", avoid Ballston and Adam's Morgan. If you want to avoid hipsters, avoid Dupont Circle and Columbia Heights. If you want to avoid yuppies who want the best summer schools to teach their children Latin, stay out of Fairfax and Arlington counties. If you want to avoid pedestrians who dart in front of cars, you're out of luck.

6

Fireworks in DC look like fireworks at home. The only difference is the suffocating mob at L'Enfant metro station.

7

Don't talk to people on public transit: let us read our Metro News Daily in peace.

Public Life, "Private" Life

One of my favorite bloggers (hell, writers) Betty Duffy wrote a marvelous piece about the public life of the family. She remembers the early days of their marriage in which she and her husband graciously accepted relatives who needed a place to stay. She reminisces about the conversations and good times on the porch, but she's blunt about the inconveniences.

I'm re-reading this post as I contemplate our move to Savannah, Georgia (yes, God heard my prayer and we won't be building snowmen in October). The diocese has graciously provided us with housing and utilities since my husband's second job will be supervising a group home of young adult interns for the diocese. We will be living on the top floor of a big, rambling 3 story built in the 20s when wrap-around porches and high-ceilings still existed in the South. We stayed there this past weekend while he had final interviews with the diocesan committee to approve his ordination - and yes, we're ready to roll! It already feels like home. I grew up in an old neighborhood completely shaded by ancient live oaks draped in Spanish moss; my apartment in grad school was a second-story with wood floors, art deco bathroom tile, and questionable plumbing. The cynic in me was checking ceilings and door frames for the tell-tale signs of decay, but I was too giddy to give it a good once-over.

We will be sharing the house with an unknown number of single adults working internships for the Episcopal Church. In this case, "sharing" means participating in morning and evening prayer (at least so far as my work schedule will allow), frequently sharing meals, participating in a Tuesday night Bible study that's open to the community, and knowing that on Friday afternoons a group from the church across the street will be running a backpack food service for underprivileged children out the back door. We share a kitchen, dining room, and living room with the interns, but we have our own bathroom, bedroom, spare bedroom, and study upstairs. It's an adventure in full-time hospitality.

I'd be lying if I denied any hesitations and worries.

This is one of those "absolutely the best thing that could happen to us" moments while also being a "really God? Why?" moments. I know that financially, it's an answered prayer. Socially, it will help us meet people more quickly (not that that would be an issue - we're in the heart of Savannah and surrounded by Episcopalians). It's a great opportunity for my husband to practice the kind of ministry he most wants to do - radical hospitality and welcoming of outsiders. The location is excellent, right in downtown. What am I afraid of?

Inconvenience. Vulnerability.

I like to shut my door on the world, throw on some cookie pants and flop on the couch. I like dashing naked from the bathroom when I remember that my shampoo is still in my travel bag. I like leaving dishes in the sink when I'm tired, having a grocery bag with pads on the living room floor that I'll put away "later."

I like hiding from the world when I'm depressed, avoiding the questions and concern, withdrawing from social events because I don't know when the next panic attack will strike.

When I told my husband I was OK with him pursuing the priesthood, I knew about the price. I knew about the loss of privacy, the loss of control, the loss of anonymity. I also knew that my besetting sins are bound up in those words: fear of loosing a tight grip on reality, paranoia about what other people think, craving to be alone whenever I feel like it regardless of the needs of others. And I know that God knows what He's doing.

But damn, I'm going to miss eating ice cream out of the carton in the living room.

People Aren't Projects or Object Lessons

I'm sure you've heard of the judge who sentenced a rapist to "community service" at a rape crisis center.

Nope, not making that up. 

There is so much wrong in this picture that it's hard to know where to start. First of all, rape is a serious violent crime. For serious violent crimes, we try to keep perpetrators away from the rest of society for our safety. We use "creative sentencing" for things like graffiti, defecating in public, and smoking weed (wait, no that's considered a serious felony, my bad). However, any crime in which the perpetrator committed a violent act against another person warrants something more than "creative sentencing" or community service. We don't lock people up for their health - we do it because there's a threat to public safety. Rape is assault, not graffiti. Community service as a penalty lessens the seriousness of the crime. 

Second, if you insist on creative sentencing for a violent assault, you could not pick a worse option. If you're a parent, how would you feel if a child molester was "creatively sentenced" to tutor children after school? That rage and sickness you feel is what should be felt by every reasonable human being at the idea of a rapist serving community service hours helping rape survivors. I don't think this needs elaboration. 

The third point, however, deserves more thought. This is not the sole action of an idiot judge: this is the logical continuation of a larger problem. We frequently treat the oppressed - rape survivors, homeless, children in third world countries, domestic violence survivors - as objects rather than subjects. We say "My church's youth group is working at a soup kitchen to feed the hungry." The nameless, generic "hungry" are the object, not the subject, of that sentence. Taken one more step, charity is often used as a way to teach compassion, or fill up community service hours for college, or just to "feel good." How many churches send groups on short-term mission trips? Short-term trips are wasteful and inefficient, and Christians in poor countries often urge Western churches to cease and desist. With the money it takes to fly a bunch of kids to Bolivia, you could raise an enormous sum for the Red Cross. So why do we send amateurs who get in the way? We do it for the people going - because it builds their social consciences. 

Chew on this: what's more important, for a 15-year-old to learn compassion, or a village to avoid dehydration through the building of a well? What's more important, building self-reliance and resources for people in less privileged circumstances, or giving ourselves warm fuzzies? 

The poor are not there to teach empathy. Rape survivors didn't undergo a horrendous assault to teach rapists how to play nice. These are individual people with just as much worth as you and me, yet we consistently put our wants above their needs. 

Seven Quick Takes: Things I Learned in DC

1

On May 22, we are moving to Savannah, Georgia. I am super excited and super freaked out at the same time, because so much has to happen between now and then. So any thoughts I have on the subject happen while I'm stuck in DC traffic, and today while pushing my way between cars on the K St. service road, I thought about the things I learned during my sojourn. 

2

Get familiar with local radio stations. You'll get the traffic report, the weather report, and deals for free tickets to concerts. My husband has DC 101's number in his cell for this purpose, and he's got it down to a science.

3

It's easier to change lanes in bumper to bumper traffic than it is when it's crowded but allows for 55 mph speeds. Just stick your nose right out there. Be all that you can be.

4

Maryland is littered with traffic cameras, but you won't know it until you get a ticket in the mail for driving with the flow of traffic 10 miles above the speed limit.

5

If you want to avoid "bros", avoid Ballston and Adam's Morgan. If you want to avoid hipsters, avoid Dupont Circle and Columbia Heights. If you want to avoid yuppies who want the best summer schools to teach their children Latin, stay out of Fairfax and Arlington counties. If you want to avoid pedestrians who dart in front of cars, you're out of luck.

6

Fireworks in DC look like fireworks at home. The only difference is the suffocating mob at L'Enfant metro station.

7

Don't talk to people on public transit: let us read our Metro News Daily in peace.