Surprised by Joy | All is Well

“….the Most Dejected and Reluctant Convert….” ~ a Conversation with C. S. Lewis

May 16, 2016 By Shelly Durkee

A couple of weeks ago, I had the gift of getting to attend a play by Max McLean. McLean is a Christ-follower actor, who has worked tirelessly to present some of the works of C.S. Lewis on-stage.

The one-act, one-man play that I watched was held in the historic Lansburgh theater in Washington, D.C. It’s charm is that it is small; I would even say that it is cozy. So, as we watched McLean personify C.S. Lewis sitting in his office–books on his desk, sherry and stout on the table, pictures of his family on the wall—one really did feel as if they were sitting down with Lewis, in his home, getting ready to take tea and debate with him.

I loved it.

The focus of the play was on two of Lewis’ works: Surprised by Joy and The Weight of Glory. I’ve only read The Weight of Glory once; however, I’ve read Surprised by Joy several times. Surprised by Joy is a key book in my process of coming to believe that there is a God, and subsequently coming to be a Christ-follower. The first time I read it, I started it upon wheels-up of a long flight to Honolulu. By the time we landed, I had read the book cover to cover, and I was not the same person. No, I wasn’t a Christ-follower yet, upon completion of the book. But I had found someone in Lewis who had found words about things that I had struggled to express, or understand, or had questioned, all my life.

So, as McLean spoke the words of his monologue that Saturday afternoon, I found many of them to be familiar. Recognizable. Comfortable–and comforting. I–along with much of the audience–chuckled at several points in the presentation. Lewis had such a way with words! It was delightful to hear them shared in that medium.

But at one point in the 70-minute-long act, while the rest of the audience chucked at what was being said, I found myself in tears. Oh, what Lewis (McLean) said at that point did conjure up a funny picture–the imagination of what Lewis was describing; however, they were not funny words to me, because I had lived them myself.

Here is what was said, taken straight from Surprised by Joy:

“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. 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?”

Oh, my soul. These were the words that caught me off guard that Saturday afternoon; in hearing them again–words I have read so many times before. I did not expect that they would stir my mind and soul, but hearing them intoned by McLean as Lewis, wrecked me a bit–in a good way……..because I deeply understand Lewis’ words here because I could have echoed them, or written them myself. I, too “gave in” and admitted God was God. I, too, was “the most dejected and reluctant covert” (in all of the United Statues; or so it seemed at the time). I was the prodigal brought into the gates, kicking, struggling, resentful and darting my eyes in every direction, looking for escape, and finding none.

And, yes, I “duly adore the Love: of God, which was “steady, unrelenting” in His approach.

It is grace. Amazing grace.

So, as the audience laughed at the image of Lewis practically being dragged into Christianity, I found my cheeks wet with uncharacteristic tears. Because I remembered.

And, because I am so grateful for His forgiving love, and tender mercy, even for the kicking, resentful prodigal daughter that I was–and that I still default to, at times.

I think Tim Keller does a great job of summing it up, with these words:

“God relentlessly offers his grace to people who do not deserve it, or seek it, or even appreciate it after they have been saved by it.”

Yes. This is truth. He did, to me. He does, to me, even today.

And He relentlessly offers it to you, too.

⁴“What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it? ⁵And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. ⁶And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and his neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’

Luke 15:4-6

My “Uncle”, C.S. Lewis; Thoughts on the Anniversary of his Death

November 23, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

On this date, in 1963, my friend C.S. Lewis stepped through the wardrobe and found himself at the feet of the God who had pursued and secured his soul.

No, I wasn’t born yet, when Lewis died, but he is a dear, dear friend to me. I even, often, refer to him as my “Uncle”. I have a lousy imagination–I never was much one for making up scenarios in my head–but on occasion, I have imagined what sitting down to chat (debate) with him would be like, in his sitting room, before a roaring fire. Possibly while he drank a glass of stout port wine and smoked a cigar.

I imagine, that we would have much to discuss.

God changed my soul through the study of scripture, no doubt. But he also changed it through the writings of this man. I should like to thank Lewis, some time, for his words.

I was very resistant to reading Lewis, when it was first suggested to me to do so. I found his fiction writing–namely, the Chronicles of Narnia, to be dreadfully tiresome. I don’t like allegory, and I definitely, at the time, had no desire to read allegory pertaining to something I didn’t actually believe in. And, besides, the tales seemed too childish to me. And, honestly, not all that well written.

So, I had no interest in reading his other, non-fiction, words.

But I found myself on a long flight from the East Coast, to Hawaii, and I needed something to read, so I packed his auto-biography “Surprised by Joy“, in my backpack. I grudgingly pulled it out as we took off, headed west.

And somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, I finished the book. And something, somewhere in the depths of my brain, was different.

I felt I had “met” someone who thought like me. Someone who asked the same questions that I did (I experienced a similar reaction to the writings of Philip Yancey). In fact, Lewis himself has the best words to describe how I came to view him as my friend. He wrote this, in the book The Four Loves:

“Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another: “What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . .””

Yep. That’s exactly how it was. I thought that no one but myself thought, reasoned, contemplated the things that I did or do. Yet here was this dead author, writing words that resonated with my brain.

I had met a friend.

And he has remained my friend, since that first trans-Pacific flight. Rarely do I return to books in general, but Lewis’ books are comforting friends. I keep his autobiography near my bed. Many times in the middle of the night, when I’ve been unable to sleep, I’ve read the words I’ve highlighted and underlined in that book. The same goes for his books Mere Christianity, and The Problem of Pain, and The Weight of Glory. A Grief Observed is on my shelf, but is too painful to return to very often. But these others–they are as comforting as my favorite blanket or worn sweatshirt.

I think I find a home in Lewis’ writings, because they are so honest. So real. So logical. So basic. So earnest. There is no flowery, emotion-laden words dripping with sentimentality or over-the-top expressions designed to manipulate the reader into “feeling” something about God. No, instead Lewis tackles things with–well–the best word I can come up with is authenticity. He is who he is. And, he is who he is, before God. And God is who God is; so Lewis describes him as such.

Authentic. Earnest. Honest. Real.

And such words wash over my soul and settle me.

So often. So often. So often.

So, when Lewis writes these words in Surprised by Joy, I find myself saying “Yes. YES. This I understand, because me too, my friend; my uncle! Me too!”:

“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. 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? The words “compelle intrare,” compel them to come in, have been so abused be 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.”

Yes. Because, you see, God’s compulsion was my liberation, too. I was that prodigal brought in kicking, struggling, resentful and darting my eyes, looking for an escape.

And I duly adore that Love–that God–My Lord and my God–who pursued me and captured my mind and soul, and accepted me with His Divine humility, even in my ridiculous state.

Lewis talked much about that day, when he would see God face-to-face. He spoke often of the “realness” of that home which awaits us. I long for that day; I ache for that day. I think my Uncle Lewis did, too. And on this cold, November day 7 years before I was born, he no longer longed for it, because he was home, and is home, and can say with a very realness, these words which he wrote in “The Last Battle“, from The Chronicles of Narnia:

“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now…Come further up, come further in!”

And, someday too, I will reach the land I have been looking for, all my life. I belong there. And my uncle Lewis belongs there, too.

And, maybe we will sit down together, and have a nice long chat.

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.