“All the dizzy and colossal things conceded depend upon one small thing withheld.  All the wild and whirling things that are let loose depend upon one things that is forbidden … the true citizen of fairyland is obeying something that he does not understand at all.  In the fairy tale an incomprehensible happiness rests upon an incomprehensible condition.  A box is opened, and all evils fly out.  A word is forgotten, and cities perish.  A lamp is lit, and love flies away.  A flower is plucked, and human lives are forfeited.  An apple is eaten, and hope of God is gone.”
-G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

I wish I had time to write my thoughts about this; they are many and shining.  But I must write elsewhere of other things, for now.  And so your own thoughts will have to suffice. 

“My shoes are very squeaky; I’m sorry.” 

I realized her shoes were indeed “very squeaky” as she walked past the place where I sat with my journal.  They were white and looked rather mushed, too.  But as their rubber squeak receded down the sidewalk, I was not at all sorry to have heard it.  Rather, I felt greatly glad that squeaky shoes existed in the world. 

No doubt it is a trial to walk with squeaking footfall on brick sidewalks past serene girls who write with silver pens.  No doubt it is a trial to have one’s feet announce their arrival before one can speak.  But there is equally little doubt that it is a delight to live in a world wherein strangers apologize, quite out of the blue, for their shoes.  I am delighted.

what i read tonight

“The Christian optimism is based on the fact that we do not fit in to the world.  I had tried to be happy by telling myself that man is an animal, like any other which sought its meat from God.  But now I really was happy, for I had learnt that man is a monstrosity.  I had been right in feeling all things as odd, for I myself was at once worse and better than all things.  The optimist’s pleasure was prosaic, for it dwelt on the naturalness of everything; the Christian pleasure was poetic, for it dwelt on the unnaturalness of everything in light of the supernatural.  The modern philosopher had told me again and again that I was in the right place, and I had still felt depressed even in acquiescence.  But I had heard that I was in the wrong place, and my soul sang for joy, like a bird in spring.  The knowledge found out and illuminated forgotten chambers in the dark house of infancy.  I knew now why grass had always seemed to me as queer as the green beard of a giant, and why I could feel homesick at home.” -G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

Which ties in nicely with what I read this morning:

“These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.   For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland.  If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return.  But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one.  Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.”  -Hebrews 11:13-15

“Lord, he whom you love is ill.” -John 11:3

“Lazarus had died, and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe.” -John 11:14,15  (“That people may know, from the rising of the sun and from the west, that there is none besides Me; I am the LORD, and there is no other.” -Isaiah 45:6)

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.  But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.” -John 3:21,22

“I form light and create darkness, I make well-being and create calamity, I am the LORD, who does all these things … Woe to him who strives him who formed him, a pot among earthen pots! Does the clay say to the potter, ‘What are you making?’ or ‘Your work has no handles’?” -Isaiah 45:7, 9

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” -John 11:32 (Your work has no handles.  What are you making?)

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.  Do you believe this?” -John 11:25,26

“I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” – John 11:24 (“I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.” -Job 42:2)

“Shower, O heavens, from above, and let the clouds rain down righteousness; let the earth open, that salvation and righteousness may bear fruit, let the earth cause them both to sprout; I the LORD have created it.” -Isaiah 45:8
“Do you believe this?”

“Lord, he whom you love is ill.”  (“I believe, help my unbelief.’ – Mark 9:24)

Lazarus, come out.

We are having Honors Colloquium on G. K. Chesterton this semester.  I was skeptical at first, then I began reading Chesterton.  In Honors, we read texts, discuss them for two hours, and write a response to the reading and discussion each week.  The following is what I wrote this week.  All of the quotations, by the way, come from Chapter 14 of Chesterton’s Heretics.

            “But in order that life should be a story or romance to us, it is necessary that a great part of it, at any rate, should be settled for us without our permission.”  This says G. K. Chesterton.  I like the idea of life being a story or romance to me.  I do not like the idea of having it settled without my permission.  Or, if I am not allowed to give permission, at least I want an explanation of things.  My readers will have enough life experience to realize that events do not arrive with tags attached to explain them. Bother.

            I am not fond of having my life come at me in sudden, unexpected bursts; yet, were I shown a chart of my life and given time to study it, I would be either bored or in the throes of overwhelming terror constantly.  The nicest things in life seem to come in those sudden, unexpected bursts.  Friendship catches me unawares; when I am feeling gloomy someone breaks in upon my solitude to make me feel immensely loved.  I sit in the cafeteria with the sole purpose of selling pancakes to passers-by, and I leave with a grand assurance of the kindness of people whom I would not have stopped to see ordinarily.  If I had a schedule of complements and kindnesses to be bestowed upon me, they could not delight me so. 

The lovely thing about the fairy tales is that, when the princess is held captive in the tower, she does not know that the prince is, at that moment, riding to her rescue. If she knew, she would not feel the terror of her impending doom, nor would she feel the joy of her rescue when it came.  It would be only what was expected.  We, who read the fairy tale, are almost delighted with her fear, because we know that the prince is astride his horse and coming, lance in hand, to her aid.  We know that the prince belongs to a kingdom that certainly wins, and we know her fears will all be at an end soon.

            When Cinderella sits crying in the ashes, she does not know that the fairy godmother is about to appear and to dress her in a lovely gown.  But again, we are delighted to see her tears, because we know that the godmother is coming to change her mourning into dancing.  Her dancing is wonderful, because she did not think she would be allowed to dance. 

            Chesterton says, “The thing which keeps life romantic and full of fiery possibilities is the existence of these great plain limitations which force all of us to meet the things we do not like or do not expect.”  Suppose Cinderella had not been subjected to a cruel step-mother?  Suppose she had liberty and money, and had run away from her stepmother, bought herself a gown, rented a limousine, and attended the ball all without the fairy godmother?  Well, perhaps the prince would still have danced with her, but she likely would not have looked as lovely in an ordinary gown as in her magical one.  Ah, you say, but she would not have had to run away at the stroke of twelve.  I reply that, if she had not, she could never have had the joy knowing she was sought all over the land because the prince loved her.  There might still have been “happily ever after” at the end, but it would not have been the same sort of intense joy at an event that almost did not happen. 

            But I have been speaking of fairy tales.  What about real life?  There is an irony here, to be sure.  As a Christian, my life just as certainly has “happily ever after” at its end as any fairy tale does.  When I am locked in towers, there is quite certainly a Prince-who-must-win coming to my aid.  When I sit weeping in the ashes, there is quite certainly a glorious gown being prepared for me.  I also have been sought and found because of a great love.  And yet, quite nonsensically, I beat my fists on the tower walls; I cry my heart out in the ashes; I complain that the glass slippers pinch, or that the Prince holds me too tightly.  The happiness prepared for me, then, is all the more wonderful.  Without a shadow of deserving it, I am to enter bliss.  That is more romantic, perhaps, than even the fairy tales.

 

 

 

 

 

” … to make a man comfortable is to make him the opposite of sociable.  Sociability, like all good things, is full of discomforts, dangers, and renunciations.”  -G. K. Chesterton, Heretics

And good, not comfort, is the goal.  One cannot be always social, to be sure, but neither can one be always comfortable.