C.S. Lewis | All is Well

Toska

September 26, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

I came across a word a few nights ago that I believe will find itself into my list of cherished words.

(Yes, I have an actual list.)

It will join the likes of grace, joy, sovereignty, expanse, sehnsucht, perspicuity, forgiveness, still, steadfast, family, advent, imputation, prayer, sola gratia………..shall I go on? My list is long….

Anyway, I stumbled across Toska a few days ago, and I am quite taken with it.

Partly, it strikes me because I am reading a new (to me) book by C.S. Lewis (my adopted uncle, though he does not know that–yet). Titled Studies in Words, it is exactly what it sounds like. Lewis takes 9 words, and thoroughly examines them. Only a true logophile would enjoy it, probably. And, I guess I qualify as a logophile, because I collect words like others collect baseball cards. So, to get to read my favorite author tear apart words and get to their true meaning, with much wit? Yes. Bring it.

So reading that has caused me to be more aware of words, in general, over the past couple of days.

But the other reason Toska has me is also related to my Uncle Lewis, because the definition of “Toska” reminds me so much of his story. And mine.

Toska is a Russian word that, quite simply, does not translate well. Or, does not translate, at all. No one has successfully been able to move it to the English–or any other–language, without losing its true essence.

As a noun, an attempt at a definition is this: “a dull ache of the soul; a spiritual anguish”.

But, it is so, so much more than that.

Vladimir Nabokov had this to say about “Troska”:

“No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”

It is a word, as Nabokov aptly describes, with many shades to it. It can be deep, with intense aching. It can be a dull yearning. It could even be restlessness, with no real awareness as to why one was restless.

I think my soul–and mind–are familiar with Troska.

But isn’t it interesting that Nabokov, and the formal definition, for that matter, both indicate that–in the case of troska–there is often the absence of awareness of what specifically is causing the ache; of what is causing the soul to miss–something.

And that, too is where my Uncle Lewis can step back into the picture.

Lewis is the one who introduced me to the word “sehnsucht”.

C.S. Lewis spoke often about “longing”–that yearning for something, but not quite being able to capture what that “something” is. We’ve all known that sensation at the very depth of our souls. And minds. For Lewis, sehnsucht embodied “the inconsolable longing in the heart for we know not what.”

He wrote much about this longing in reference to “Home”—our true home, for those of us who are Christ-followers. Home, eternal. Home, where there are no more tears. Home, whatever it may look like, where we will actually, finally, truly feel “at home”.

We ache for this, as humans, because we were created to be with our creator. There will be a day.

Or, as Lewis wrote: “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”

But Lewis also talked about longing for Joy.

Joy, to Lewis, was something far beyond happiness. It was deeper, longer, wider, more encompassing. And it did–something–to a person. Something far beyond what merely having a good day, or getting good news, or enjoying a nice dinner with friends does.

It points toward something. The object of its source.

Joy always points toward God.

Lewis wrote: “All Joy reminds. It is never a possession, always a desire for something longer ago or further away or still ‘about to be’.”

Joy reminds us–reminds me–of the only source of joy–my Lord and my God.

And, God alone is the only one able to satisfy the troska of our souls. He is the only one who can satisfy the sehnsuct of our souls. And He is the only one who joy points to.

There is none other.

And while we have glimpses, most certainly, of joy here and now, and while troska most certainly is soothed to a degree by our worship, our prayer, our loving others, and our recognition of who God is, it will never be completely eradicated or satisfied until our sehnsucht is also fulfilled. Until we see Him, face to face.

So, yes, here in the last two verses of our canon of scripture, we find this:

²⁰He who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming soon.” Amen.Come, Lord Jesus!

²¹The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all. Amen.

Amen, indeed.

White

April 27, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

I have never been a fan of allegory. Or symbolism. I like my stories straight-forward. Many people deeply love The Pilgrim’s Progress. I struggled to get through it. And, while I love my “uncle” C.S. Lewis’s writings (not really my uncle, but I like to claim him as such), I still, to this day, don’t see what others see in The Chronicles of Narnia. There are a few sections that I understand deeply–such as when Eustace has his dragon skin peeled off–but, for the most part, I don’t see it.

Revelation is like that for me.

I listened to a sermon on Revelation 4 this morning. Such an odd book. And I don’t really know enough about it to be able to classify it as allegory or symbolism, or both. Or is it reality? Gosh, if it is, it is strange stuff. Odd creatures, dazzling colors, the number “7” everywhere you look, lampstands and burning coals……and elders wearing white robes.

Who are these elders, in their whiter than white robes, and golden crowns? Three of four different theological frameworks that I examined on this point to these 24 white-robed elders as being symbolic of all of the redeemed. Of Christ-followers.

Of you, if you are a Christ-follower.

Of me.

That is hard to grasp.

Part of me wants one of those white robes….badly. Because what I am wearing now is filthy rags. The sin of pride. The sin of hurting those I love deeply. The sin of laziness. Of being judgmental. Of lack of compassion—so often. Most early mornings, I approach God with my confessions. I know He forgives me, though I often do not “feel” forgiven–mainly because by noon, I’ve usually messed up again. I’m like the kid who, within 15 minutes of being dressed in their Easter outfit, reaches for the melted chocolate bunny and chows down. Disaster.

I know this verse full well:

We have all become like one who is unclean,
and all our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment.
We all fade like a leaf,
and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away. (Isaiah 64:6)

So, my desire for a white robe that is permanent–a robe of brilliant whiteness that reflects God’s presence—and that is ironclad, never again to be marred by my foolishness–goodness, I want that. So badly. To be able to stand before God unashamed, instead of the red-faced shame that I so often wear before Him. Permanent.

I long for, ache for, desire for home.

Home, where the redeemed (me?) will fall to their knees and proclaim “Worthy are you, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created” as they cast their crowns before God’s thrones (though, I wonder, do they just pick up the crowns, put them back on their heads, and then throw them down all over again? See, symbolism does not work well in this literal mind of mine.)

But here’s the thing—here is what has me thinking deeply on this incredibly difficult and challenging Sunday afternoon: I can never, ever earn this shocking white robe. It is a robe of grace, a robe given out of grace. A robe given out of grace and faith, and born out of the sacrifice of God’s son for the forgiveness of my sins. There is nothing I can do to earn it.

And that bothers me.

I want to scrub my ugliness, bleach my rags, earn enough community service points (can you tell I have high schoolers in the house?), share Jesus enough, pay enough penance for my many, many sins, in order to earn that robe.

That, right there, is sin, in and of itself. Sin of pride. Always, pride, always. Always my demise.

But, right behind the pride, is the overwhelming deep-seated “knowing”, the knowing that I do not deserve God’s love. I do not deserve His forgiveness. I do not deserve that robe. And there is nothing I will ever do, that will put me in a place to deserve it.

It is beyond me.

And that is both the most helpless, free-falling, out-of-control feeling, and yet also a tremendous relief. A dichotomy of sorts. Polar opposites.

I must–every single day–return to confession. To those list of verses I pour over in confession. Until the day that I go home. But there is also a sense in which we must recognize that our forgiveness can not be earned, though try as we might. And even though my clothes become tattered each and every day before noon, what God sees ultimately is that brilliant white robe reflecting the glory of His face.

The robe that He grace-iously gives us…out of His work done on the cross, and not ours.

I long for that white robe.

And for the now and the not yet.

I long for home.

***Off topic: Nepal. Good grief. For years and years and years, since I was young, I have been fascinated with the country of Nepal. Mainly because of Mt. Everest and the incredible expanse of blue sky that encapsulates that majestic peak. I have read many books about Mt. Everest and about the people of the country. But I have never been.

But I have often said I want to go. And not just visit…to dwell there. Alone. I’ve even gone so far as to start a Nepal plan spreadsheet (Yemen is on there, too. Yemen and Nepal)–a few years ago, I contacted missionary friends there, just to inquire cost of living and what one would do to actually make such a move.

So, seeing the devastation in Khathmandu, well, my mind is there. My soul is there, with people I don’t even know. Have never even met. My friends are safe, having just returned to the U.S. earlier this week. A YWAM missionary that I am friends with from Hawaii days is also safe-he was in India at the time. But they are aching for their country. And I am, too, for a country that I’ve only visited on paper and in my writing.

So please pray for the people of Nepal. Pray that aid arrives quickly, with little to no red tape. Pray that basic needs will be met, that the grieving will be comforted, and that the people of God will respond with compassion. If you can give, please do so. Below is the link to the SBC International Missions Baptist Global Response fund. Any money given to this fund, will go directly to those in most dire needs–and right now, that is Nepal:

BGR—Baptist Global Response Fund

Savoring the Good Gifts: A Book Review

February 4, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

I understand Christian hedonism. I mostly certainly do not always apply it to my life or implement a true recognition of joy the way that scripture points me to, but intellectually, it makes sense to me.

And, as always, C.S. Lewis’ words resonate:

If there lurks in most modern minds the notion that to desire our own good and to earnestly hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I suggest that this notion has crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling around with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

I want to enjoy God above all else. I understand the concept of His glory being the chief aim of my life, even though I certainly do not bear that out as I should. But it does leave me wondering about the things of this world and their place.

On the other hand, I can easily slide into both legalism and embrace a complete detachment from this world and all that is in it. I find that just one 1/2 step off the path of my existence, and can just as easily go down that trail as the one I am on. I can slip into a preachy attitude, judging all that this world offers (except my books, somehow those always escape my wrathful eyes) as unnecessary–a new car, new clothes, an “upgrade” of any sort. I’m particularly prone to dismiss things of leisure–a vacation, or an afternoon wandering a trail in a park, or spending an hour listening to quality music.

There is, after all, work to be done.

When I first had a conversation with someone at Crossway Publishing about reviewing Joe Rigney’s The Things of the Earth, I was struck by her comment to me–that reading this book had, literally, made her enjoy more the honey in her tea.

I understand her words better now.

Rigney has done a great service to Christ-follower thought by providing a balance of some sort to the body of work that encompasses the idea of Christian hedonism, first coined by John Piper in his 1986 book: Desiring God. Piper’s words and exposition of scripture there have helped foster a much-needed view of the primacy of joy–joy that is placed solely in God.

But what do we do with the “stuff” that makes up our days? With the sky, a slice of cheesecake, a good work of fiction? With a well-earned paycheck, and a beach-scented candle, and the beach itself? What do we do with the gifts that are our children, our neighbors, our church family? How about an uninterrupted night’s sleep? Surely these come from God as well as the core things such as salvation and forgiveness and justification and sanctification. Is there no place for these “things” in our life?

Rigney says that there is, and that God intends for us to enjoy these things–to savor them, appreciate them, relish in them, with a perspective that wraps these gifts in James 1:17:

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change

And, the wonder that is contained in Luke 11, immediately following the Lord’s Prayer. The Father gives good gifts. My Father gives good gifts.

But, what happens when those gifts are taken away? What happens when the good gift of a spouse, or house, or job, or child, or health, is taken?Rigney addresses this, too, in ways that I hadn’t considered before. And he reminds us as he wraps up his thoughts in the last chapter, that all we have is Christ.

All you have is Christ,

whether you have him in all the good gifts that he lavishes on you;
or whether you have him in all the gifts that you gladly receive and then freely give away in the cause of love
or whether you only have him in the loss of everything else that is precious to you.

(emphasis and underlining mine)

JOE RIGNEY. The Things of Earth: Treasuring God by Enjoying His Gifts. Crossway.

I am grateful to have received a review copy of this book from Crossway Publishers

A Book Review: Fierce Convictions

February 1, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

Two weeks ago, I didn’t know who Hannah More was.

Now I feel like she and I could have been best friends.

Most of the rapid development of our kinship is due to Hannah More’s convictions, passions and ways of thinking. But some of that also has to do with the author Karen Swallow Prior’s skills in producing engaging words that seem to create not a 2-dimensional rendering of the subject of her book Fierce Convictions, but almost a 3-dimensional hologram. At times, I felt like Hannah More and I were sitting on the couch before the fire, discussing not only past and current historical events, but also incorporating a theological discussion woven into and among those events.

Hannah More is delightful.

But her delightful-ness is not that of what can be caricatured as the “typical lady” of her era (she died in 1833). No, rather it seems that she was willing and had the fortitude to both live out her fierce convictions as well as share them through her writings. I think she probably could agree with something I have said so many times in my life: “I can not, not write. I must write.” And write, she did.

Literature is a passion of mine, so I was surprised to find that Hannah was such a prominent figure in the literary world. How have I not known this? Her writings were not just influential–they moved heaven and earth in terms of advancing genres of publishing and in giving women a credible voice in the realm of social and theological literature.

But, Hannah was not flawless. And I think that this is why I am so drawn to her. Prior does not shy away from sharing some of Hannah’s flaws with her audience, and I think that is one of the many, many things that make this book so readable and welcoming. Hannah was real. And that brings me much comfort.

I also thoroughly enjoyed reading of her friendships with such giants as John Newton, William Wilberforce and William Cowper, just to name a few. Their encouragement of her was encouraging to me. And their work together for such things as the Sunday School (not our present-day Sunday School) movement, social reform and the abolition of slavery left me in awe. Well-thought out exegesis of scripture, coupled with bravery, obedience and willingness to work hard, and the powerful tool that words are, can and does create change.

There are a few people who I’d love to sit down and have a chat with. Of course, many from the Bible: Thomas, Joseph, various recipients of miracles, Job, David–so many. But others, too, mostly writers, such as C.S. Lewis. Good gracious, what a treasure it would be to have one hour of his time–the questions I would ask! John Stott and Philip Yancey are two of many others.

I would dare say, though, that Hannah More has made that list as well. Thank you, Karen Swallow Prior, for introducing us.