|
HOW DOES DAD FEEL?
#4
DRAGGED INTO HEAVEN KICKING AND SCREAMING
There's a line from a Christian hymn that I want to
share with you — and then a great story. But first, maybe you'll remember
this line from the song, "The Love of God." It goes like this:
"O love of God, how rich and pure; How measureless and strong. It
shall forevermore endure; The saints' and angels' song."
I think we accept in theory that the love God shows
toward us is both rich (compared to ours) and pure (also compared to ours.)
We all know what it is to be either the recipient or the offer-er of love
that isn't very rich. The bank account runs out halfway through the relationship.
Or maybe it continues, but with a very thin and fragile feel to it. And
certainly we all can nod and blush to remember how our love for each other
is not always pure; it's stained with so many messy motives, isn't it?
But what about the strong love of God? How strong is it anyway? We've
always said here on this radio broadcast that God honors the free will
of man; He's committed to not forcing you to serve Him. But today as we
continue with our series, HOW DOES DAD FEEL?, I have to share a wonderful
story that takes us up almost to the boundaries of that commitment. No,
God doesn't force us. But sometimes His love is so strong, so compelling,
that even the most determined resister is pulled into the kingdom.
If you're one of our regular listeners, you've heard us share anecdotes
and excerpts many times from the wonderful writer, C. S. Lewis. Especially
from books like Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters, his fine
scholarly mind and devoted Christian intellect have blessed us more than
we can comprehend.
But did you know that C. S. Lewis, or Jack, was not always a believer?
In fact, until he was 31, he was not just an atheist, but a very well-reasoned
one. He was a brilliant intellect, a scholar, a published author and teacher
of literature who had been mentored by some of the finest minds in England.
He excelled at Oxford, and became a fellow of Magdalen in the year 1925.
And through it all, as he read the world's great books and listened to
the great teachers, he held on to his belief that there was no God. Unfortunate
experiences in his childhood had started him down this unhappy road, and
now he clung to his lonely conviction: we're all alone down here. Above
us there's only sky.
And yet, every now and then he would encounter an argument for the other
side. His fine mind would explore all the angles, looking for the flaw.
Sometimes he'd find one and sometimes he wouldn't. But with increasing
regularity these bumps would be there in his road. And he'd have to stop
and wrestle with a new thought, a faint suggestion.
Despite misgivings, he read clear through a book entitled Everlasting
Man, by an author he truly admired: G. K. Chesterton. He'd always said
to himself that "(quote) Chesterton was the most sensible man alive
‘apart from his Christianity.'" But now, this entire book, this plot
for the Christian faith, seemed to hold together, to have logic that would
even stand up to the harshest rays of critical thought from he, the great
Clive Staples Lewis. And in his autobiography, Surprised By Joy, he has
a chapter near the end entitled very simply: "Checkmate." "My
Adversary began to make His final moves."
Bear in mind that Jack Lewis absolutely did not want to believe in a God.
He'd formulated his own picture of the universe; he believed it to be
consistent and complete . . . with no God in it. He'd finally repressed,
he thought, some of those childhood demons and bad experiences. Plus he
detested things like hymns and church. There were bad memories there as
well.
And yet, everywhere he turned now, every mental alleyway he explored,
every new book he read — it seemed to all be pointing now in a frightening
direction. Was there really perhaps this Being out there? Could he have
been wrong?
It got to be toward the end of this spiritual chess game. Lewis could
see now that he was losing. He was surrounded by more and more evidences
that there was such a thing as God after all. He writes, almost tongue-in-cheek
many years later:
"Really, a young Atheist cannot guard his
faith too carefully. Dangers lie in wait for him on every side."
In another book, he remarks: "There are traps everywhere."
And it seems that Jack Lewis' foe was determined to
catch him in one of those traps.
Then at the end, two things happened. Something caused Lewis to really
look at himself in the mirror. He examined his heart, his soul — and was
appalled. What was there?
"A zoo of lusts," he writes; "a
bedlam of ambitions, a nursery of fears, a harem of fondled hatreds. My
name was legion."
In other words, he felt like he was inhabited by a
hundred demons. He was evil. This is where he had ended up with no God,
he realized to his horror.
But still he didn't want it. No! He didn't want any God in his life. He
wanted to be left alone, to write, to top his fellow professors with tight
arguments and sharp sarcasm. To show students his superior intellect,
to win every debate down at the Lamb and Flag, the local pub.
But there was still Truth behind the door where he dared not to look.
Even he, the great Jack Lewis, could see from all sides now the reality
that he had been wrong, that there was indeed a God.
Let me share with you how he describes his own surrender.
"You must picture me alone in that room
in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even
for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom
I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at
last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted
that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most
dejected and reluctant convert in all England."
That's not exactly the most joy-filled conversion story
we've ever shared, is it? Here was a man becoming a Christian and hating
every single minute of it. He was overcome, not by the love of God, but
simply by a realization that God existed and that He was the ruler of
the universe. He owed God allegiance simply because God was God, the great
"I AM." But there was no joy in it for him.
He then goes on to ask: "What kind of God would accept that kind
of conversion? How could God put up with it? With me?" Here's the
rest of the story:
"I did not then see what is now the most
shining and obvious thing: the Divine humility which will accept a convert
even on such terms. The Prodigal Son at least walked home on his own feet.
But who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal
who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes
in every direction for a chance of escape?"
That's the kind of new believer Dr. C. S. Lewis was.
"I want out of here!" he was almost screaming as the heavenly
guards dragged him in through the pearly gates. "No fair! I didn't
want to come to this party! Somebody help me!" And he asks: "What
kind of God would take a rebel like me into His kingdom?"
And the story reminds him — and us — of a Bible parable by Jesus in Luke
14 where a king sent out an invitation to a great feast, and none of his
invited guests came. So he sent his guards out into every street and alleyway
to bring in the common people. "Compel them to come in," he
almost says, meaning the order in a generous way. "Don't take ‘no'
for an answer." Well, here's the conclusion to Lewis' story:
"The words compelle intrare, compel them
to come in, have been so abused by wicked men that we shudder at them;
but, properly understood, they plumb the depth of the Divine mercy. The
hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion
is our liberation."
Listen, friend. It's true that God doesn't force us;
He can't make you be saved. But I'm telling you this: if you get a glimpse
of the intensity of God's love for you, how incredibly strong it is, how
the thought of you being lost tears at His heart with a love that human
beings can't even picture . . . that love is going to bring you in.
You may be praying today for a child who hasn't accepted Jesus Christ.
Let me encourage you: keep praying. Because the love of God is strong;
it's overpowering. The time may not be right today, but in God's own timetable,
He intends to overwhelm that son, that daughter, with a love so intense
they'll be compelled to walk through those gates into heaven.
"O love of God, how rich and pure." And it is. There's nothing
illegal or improper or ungodly about the way God exercises His love in
your life. But if you've been putting Him off, dodging His phone calls,
avoiding checking your mailbox and voicemail, staying away from the places
where you know you might meet Him, here's a fair warning. It's almost
time for Checkmate. The love of God is rich and pure, but it's also measureless
and strong. It washed over C. S. Lewis and swept him into the kingdom
where he found at last his lifelong search for happiness. He was, as his
book title confesses, Surprised By Joy. And if you're hiding in the wilderness
here on June 17, 1999, you might just be next.
|
