20 posts tagged “faith”
So, all exaggeration aside, I am in fact excited.
There’s some pretty cool stuff going on at TOJ, such as a book coming out next month. New stuff over at the journal is an interview with Jim Wallis, and another with John Milbank. The current issue's focus is atheism.
You should check it out for yourself here: The Other Journal
As I continue doing these music posts, there will undoubtedly be artists that have been particularly important to me in various ways who will inevitably end up making appearances multiple times. One example of this would be Tom Waits, who was the subject of the first ever official untitled music posts, and will certainly show up again from time to time.
I bring this up because this week’s band will be towards the very top of the list when it comes to repeat offenders. The band of which I’m speaking being U2.
This week’s song is actually three songs, taken from the recording of a live performance in Boston, Massachusetts. The clip was included on the band’s Electrical Storm single back in 2002, and the concert audio is from the band’s Elevation Tour.
Many who have seen U2 live refer to their experience there as ‘religious,’ and those who know much about U2 recognize that this is no accident. U2 has an uncanny ability to turn a stadium into a sanctuary, to turn an entire arena into an altar, all the while without the false religious theatrics and buzz words that officially “Christian market” bands often utilize. This three song medley of sorts is a prime example of U2 at the top of their game, and while I know that 12 minutes and 28 seconds is a long audio clip, I urge you friends to listen to the whole thing. Do it for me if for no other reason. The songs that make up this 12:28 are “Bad”, a brief piece of “40”, followed by “Where The Streets Have No Name”. Maybe you can open up another window and listen to the song while you read the text, that would probably save considerable time, and I imagine it would enhance whatever you might get out of the post.
As an aside, if it weren’t for Bono’s continued articulations of his faith, this clip alone would be enough to convince me that at the very least he was the unwitting instrument of the hand of God.
/if i could, you know i would/if i could i would let it go/surrender/dislocate/
/if i could/through myself/set your spirit free/i’d lead your heart astray/just to see you break/break away/into the light/
The clip begins with "Bad", which just so happens to be one of my favorite U2 songs (which for those who know me is saying a lot). When it comes to U2 songs, you can't pin them down to mean only one thing, even the most straightforward songs have taken on new meaning when the band performs them in new contexts. Yet, among other things, Bad is a song about addiction, brokenness and sin. It’s about being trapped in a cycle of self-abuse and destruction and being unable to free yourself. And it is also about being unable to free the one you love from their addiction, about finding ourselves ill-equipped to give someone else the strength and courage they need to break out of the darkness and into the light. The song doesn’t end with much hope aside from the reality that we are facing the darkness, we are aware of the deadliness and power of our addictions. We understand our powerlessness, and also how destructive our sin is to ourselves and those who love us. /I’m wide awake/I’m not sleeping/
Then, without hesitation, Bono’s cry of finally being wide awake moves into “40”, taken mostly from Psalm 40, as he leads the audience which has now become the congregation in a desperate plea to know how long we have to sing this song of brokenness and sin. And yet while the chorus they sing from “40” is a desire to know /how long to sing this song?/, the Psalm on which the song is based is a remembrance of God’s faithfulness. There is a shift from the hopelessness of our broken hearts toward a remembrance that God hears our cries and will deliver us from the darkness into new life.
Then Bono’s voice breaks off as the crowd, whether they realize the significance of their words or not, continues to cry out both in desperation, and in remembrance of God’s faithfulness. And they continue to sing, and at first, they are unaware of what is stirring in the background. The music is shifting behind their prayer of remembrance with a shift from “40” to “Where The Streets Have No Name,” a song about the Kingdom of God. “Where The Streets Have No Name” slowly starts to break in, much like the Kingdom it points to. It is subtle at first, and then it begins to take shape, its form taking on greater and greater complexity as it grows. And then the congregation realizes what’s happening. Seemingly as one, the crowd recognizes the song and begins to cheer its arrival. They do the only thing one truly can do in response to the Kingdom, they celebrate. And as the song continues to take its shape the celebration grows in pitch and intensity, until, over their voices, Bono begins to pray.
He prays from Psalm 116, closely referencing the way it appears in Eugene Peterson’s The Message: “What can I give back to God for the blessings he’s poured out on me? I’ll lift high the cup of salvation - a toast to God! I’ll pray in the name of God; I’ll complete what I promised God I’d do, and I’ll do it together with his people.” And by the end of this prayer, the song is in full swing, and the only thing left to do is join the party.
/i want to tear down the walls that hold me tonight/i want to reach out and touch the flame/where the streets have no name/i want to feel sunlight on my face/i see the dust cloud disappear without a trace/
/i’ll show you a place/with no sorrow and there’s no shame/where the streets have no name/
I’m not sure what else to say to articulate the way this moves me. When I listen to this final transition my eyes fill with tears, my heart welling up with a sense of joy it doesn’t normally know. So, in my lack of words I’ll simply point to how Bono closes out the song: “This is all we can do.” Because this is all we can do. All we can do in this world in which we are constantly exposed to darkness, is to celebrate those areas where we see light. All we can do in this valley where the shadow of death threatens to overwhelm, is to throw a party whenever the rays of new life touch our faces, dreaming of the day when finally the dust cloud will disappear and we will see clearly for the first time.
If nothing else, U2 reminds me that we can never forget the power of evil in this world, we can never close our eyes to the pain and suffering and darkness that fills our world. And yet they remind me that sometimes the best way to combat the evil in this world is to get together in as large a number as possible, dance like our lives depend on it (because they do), and sing at the top of our lungs about a day when our tears of sorrow will forever disappear, and shame will be a distant memory.
This is all we can do. Amen.
Kristen already included this on her blog today, so all credit goes to her for the idea, but it inspired me to change my mind about this week's clip.
So, in case anyone was wondering who I want as our next President, or to use more accurate language, who I hope, pray and dream will be the next President. Here you go:
People keep knocking him for offering hope without concrete results, but that fails to remember that hope is a concrete result (it also fails to notice the results seen in landslide victories throughout the country). Hope is tangible, and as Barack says here, there's nothing false about it. Hopefully his opponents will continue to belittle the hope he offers, because when they do they are inadvertently belittling all who have experienced that hope.
For me, it was love at first sight when I encountered Barack. That was when he gave a speech at the DNC that took many by storm. Then, soon afterward he gave a speech for Sojo about the meeting place of faith and politics. After that I knew I'd found the very first politician of my lifetime who inspired me, a man who continues to remind so many that we can change the world if we all stand as one, or as Muse would put it, /together we're invincible/. All the way back then, with The Audacity of Hope released soon afterward and Oprah beginning her campaign to get him to run, hope started to rise in my heart that someday this man might be President. That hope continues to grow. Amen.
"A story to make you believe in the soul-sustaining power of fiction." -Los Angeles Times Book Review
I know by posting so often about things I love I run the risk of seeming like I've lost all selectivity in my taste, but I can't help it. Lately I have been in another streak where I come across some fantastic work, especially in the realm of story.
I have finished book number three for the year, moving me closer to my desired 50, or at least toward beating last year's 26. Book #3 was Life of Pi, by Yann Martel. As usual, I won't go into tremendous detail so as not to ruin it for anyone who decides to read it themselves, but if anyone who's read it is interested in talking about it in more detail I'd love to!
Suffice it to say that it is instantly one of my favorite books. It is a beautiful illustration of the redemptive power of story, the importance of myth, the necessity and more importantly the limits of reason, and the importance of faith. Martel creates a story that, among many, many other things, should be a part of any curriculum attempting to deal with the interplay of faith, doubt, religion, reason, story and myth; or in addition any curriculum attempting to take seriously the post-modern warning against forgetting that all life is interpretation, and of the futility and absurdity of the myth of absolute objectivity.
Most importantly is just the reality that Life of Pi is a beautiful story and everyone should read it. The last line of the book is one of my favorite ever. If you get the chance, check it out!
Soon, I will go out for my interview at Mars Hill Graduate School. Emily and I will look at various houses and apartments while we are there. We are packing all our belongings starting, for the moment, with things we won't need over the next few months. We are continuing to plan our whirlwind tour of the country this summer. The Brewers tickets came in the mail, bringing the total of in-hand tickets to 3 games. I recently found out I will most probably be able to go see The Police this summer with my uncle, who amazingly got me a ticket.
Yes, things are looking up in the world of Scott Small. Of all these awesome things that are happening, the greatest of all is the reality that I have recently felt the rumblings of purpose rising up inside me again. It has been a while. There have been a number of things that have happened over the last six years or so that have led me to seriously question my ability to do any good in this world. I have trouble discerning any gifts in myself a lot of the time, I have trouble believing I could have the grace and patience needed to love people the way I should, my selfishness often overwhelms me and it leaves me wondering what on earth I can do to be a part of the solution for a hurting world rather than continue to be a part of the problem. The lack of purpose and vision leaves me empty.
There is a half finished movie theater out near my wife's old house. The half completed shell of a building sits in the middle of town, no purpose, just an eyesore. Ground was broken with great excitement, the project made headway, but then money ran out, or perhaps it was discovered the location was no longer suitable, and now the project has sat in arrested development for years and will continue in that state indefinitely until finally someone decides it is time to demolish it altogether. At times I feel like I have a lot in common with that ridiculous Quasimodo that was meant to have a purpose. I was going somewhere, my plan was in place, someone had created me for a purpose and I was moving towards it, but then it all went to hell and I was left alone, unfinished and ridiculous. I couldn't go back to where I had been before, ground had been broken, foundation had been laid, a shell of what was to come had already been erected, and yet for some reason I also lost hope of moving forward. Now the empty shell did nothing but mockingly point to what could have been.
Yet lately, just as we've been able to notice the faint smell of spring on the breeze, I have noticed a faintly discernible trace of purpose in the air. I feel like my time in suspended animation is ending, I am moving forward again, I'm going somewhere. I haven't even been accepted yet, and still this strange pull I have felt to Seattle, and to Mars Hill, has reminded me that there is more for me. Passion stirs within me. I feel a tug on my heart that I have been lazy and apathetic and that the time has come for me to awaken from my hibernation and remember that it is time to lay down myself and my life and move into the mystery of tomorrow, which is both terrifyingly beautiful and beautifully terrifying (there is also a good portion of good old fashioned terrifyingly terrifying mixed in there as well.)
I've been sleeping for too long. I've allowed myself to retreat further into the warmth and safety of my covers, hoping my slumber would fend off my feelings of fear and self-doubt. It didn't, it just dulled them a bit. I finally feel moved to wake up, to face the daylight. And I'm not saying the last few years have been all twilight. There are always glorious moments where I sense God and His love for us in a way so real it brings tears to my eyes. It's just that the sense of purpose that I've noticed recently, in very faint traces, has been the type that I haven't felt in a long time. I feel like I am moving out of the wilderness, like the windows have been shut for too long and once opened the breeze is quickly replacing the musty warm air with gloriously cool and refreshing fresh air.
I don't know, perhaps this rambling stream of consciousness doesn't make very much sense. I just feel new movement in a place that has long been still. My hope is that by attempting to articulate it, even if I do so at 11:19 with no time for much correction or improvement, I might help someone else who shares my sense of stifled purpose. It isn't the purpose that has left us, it is our ability to notice it. Purpose is all around us, meaning permeates our existence. Every encounter, every relationship, every moment, it is all full of the Sacred. I just hope someday I might no longer be foolish enough to miss it so often. I pray that each of us would have eyes to see, ears to hear, and an uncanny sense of wonder at how beautiful this life really is. Maybe that is all our purpose is anyway, to notice the beauty, the sacred, the meaning all around us, to point it out to everyone who will listen, and to try and love ourselves and the world closer toward what we've noticed.
Eh, I don't know. What I do know is that my 12:00 deadline is approaching, as is the sound of my alarm clock in the morning. So, for now, these thoughts will have to wait to be pondered another day.
There are times after being away from something we love for a long time that we wonder, "Why the hell have I stayed away so long?!?" Perhaps in our time away from this love we even forget just how beautiful and remarkable and rapturous our absent love can be. Upon our reunion we are overwhelmed with the loveliness of this object and also with a puzzlement as to how on earth we might have decided to stay away from it.
This is the experience I had today as I read A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. To come face to face again with his uncanny genius was the highlight of my day. I would highly recommend this book to anyone, and for those of you who don't like to read I would point out that it is terribly short and can be read in a single sitting.
The reality that Lewis was overcome by grief for much of the writing of this short volume leaves one dumbfounded that his game is so sharp even at its dullest. His desperate mental flailing comes onto the page as profound and articulate truth. It gives anyone who has ever tried to write pause by reminding us that to read an author like Lewis is to be a mere mortal in the presence of something somehow greater. Lewis certainly isn't alone in this category, but in some beautiful way he is able to see with eyes that perceive more clearly than the rest of us. Even in the areas I disagree with him (and clearly in these areas there is a remarkably good chance that I am horribly mistaken) his writing is thought provoking and insightful and leads to irresistible fits of reflection and meditation on the greater truths of our existence. To me the writings of Lewis are sacred and redemptive in every sense that can be imagined of written word.
Yes, to read C.S. Lewis is always to feel like less of a writer. And yet, as Brian McLaren says about Frederick Buechner in the forward of Buechner's book of sermons Secrets in the Dark, to read Lewis is to feel like less of a writer and thinker and theologian, and yet in some profound way to feel like more of a man, more of a child of God. It also creates in one, or at least creates in me, the desire to strive to be more that what I currently am. I for one will take the tradeoff any day.
I still haven't watched Crash again yet, but I promise it is still coming.
I don't really have a traditional Sacred Sundays post to make today but instead I just wanted to add my voice to the chorus of people praising Rob Bell's first book Velvet Elvis.
For a long time now I'd been hearing quite a few good things about Mr. Bell, and now that I'm a little more than half way through the book I certainly understand why. I'd heard a few of his sermons before and really enjoyed him as a preacher, and his book is more of the same. In Velvet Elvis, as in his sermons, he has an uncanny knack to be able to lay stuff out in a way that is accessible but not shallow. He never talks over anyone's head, but he also doesn't resort to dumbed down nonsense to do so.
I'd say the reason that it has been sacred to me over the last few days is because of the connection it makes with me. Once in a while I'll read someone's stuff and it will just feel like we are on the same wave length. It feels like we sat down and talked things out before they wrote the book, and this is one of those times. He says some things and it is stuff that's been rattling around in my brain for years, and then other stuff I may have never thought of before and reading it for the first time is like a breath of fresh air.
His desire to strip things down to their essential elements, to live out the Kingdom without getting into all the extra garbage that so often gets in the way, it is all just beautiful to me. Most of all because of the fact that it is working in his particular setting. I have been questioning my call to be a pastor for a long time, and if it does ever reignite to the way it was in times past I think this little book Rob Bell has written may just have a part in my restored hope in the possibility that church can be done in a way that isn't detrimental to what we are trying to do in the first place.
His desire to be honest, to be himself, and to follow where God is leading has me excited to read the rest of the book and to (once I have the funds available) pick up his second book Sex God to give that one a read as well.
Well, I still plan to write a Sacred Sundays post about Crash, the winner of the Sacred Multiple Choice, however it has been harder than I expected to get my hands on a copy so I promise to write it as soon as I see it again and refresh my memory. This Sunday I will write about the runner-up, Ben Folds.
Ben Folds has been a pretty huge part of my music listening life, and thus my life in general, over the last 6 years or so. His an uncanny knack for combining sarcasm and compassion, humor and sadness, has been a large part of why he is firmly entrenched among my all-time favorite musicians and song-writers. From his amazing live shows that feel like a secret party in your friend's living room, to his ability, both live and recorded, to make his listeners feel like they are in on some sort of wonderful inside joke, Ben always seems to deliver the goods; from his days with his original trio, Ben Folds Five, with Darren Jessee (Drums) and Robert Sledge (Bass), to his solo CD "Rockin' The Suburbs" and finally to his more recent work teaming up with a new drummer, Lindsay Jamieson, and bassist, Jared Reynolds, still released under his solo moniker. He can move seamlessly from melancholy or peaceful to hyped up and energetic, at times within the same song. While he often uses story-telling to keep his self-revelation from becoming heavy-handed or self-gratifying, the rare times he does sing about himself directly he does so with an honesty that is both disarming and endearing.
It is this storytelling I just mentioned that is, in my opinion, Ben's greatest strength. If you listen to Folds for long, or even just glance thru his catalogue, you will quickly notice his tendency to have names in his titles: Carrying Cathy, Losing Lisa, Zak and Sara, Kate, Jane, The Ascent of Stan, Alice Childress, Eddie Walker, Gracie, and Fred Jones Pt. 2 just to name a few. His songs are full of characters, some real and many imaginary. Even when the title itself lacks a proper noun, there are more times than not still various characters in the song. I heard him talking about this tendency once, about his attempts to write songs that weren't about people, but he admits that while he tries a particular person or story he encounters will capture his imagination and sure enough he has another song with a name in the title. Even when Ben isn't telling a story, we as listeners will still get a sense of the context and circumstance of his lyrics, we can tell we are at the cross-section of a story.
It is Ben Folds' ability to tell a story that inspires in me the audacity to call his music Sacred. It is certainly a lofty claim when he himself would probably laugh at the idea, and yet I make the claim with the utmost confidence. There is nothing more Sacred than Story. Our lives are stories, Scripture is a series of stories that represent a larger story we all find ourselves in, and so much more can be said and shared thru story than thru proposition or doctrine or lecture. Our lives are stories, we all play a part in how all the stories that surround us turn out, and of course how the greater narrative unfolds as well.
Whether Ben is telling a story about an imaginary character, or telling us his own story like we see in songs like 'Brick' about an abortion he and his girlfriend got in high school, or 'Gracie' and 'Still Fighting It' which are songs about his two children, we see a tremendous care and compassion for the subjects of his stories. In 'Too Late' we find a lament about the suicide of fellow singer/songwriter Elliott Smith. In 'Cigarette' and 'Fred Jones Pt. 2' we find a character that started in a run-on sentence with no punctuation Ben came across in a newspaper one random day and ended up with a compassionately told tale of what must be one of the most tragic characters in all of music. He tells stories about people who are frail and beautiful, tragic and humorous, broken and triumphant. In these characters we see a window into Ben's own heart and mind, and also into our own condition as people. Sometimes life sucks and the best defense is sarcastic wit, sometimes vulnerability and openness is required, and thru it all the story moves forward.
If we listen, I think Ben's music has the ability to remind us that everyone has a story. The angry old bastard on the bus has a story, he may have watched everything he loved die or fall apart, perhaps life passed him by without his permission and he's angry at the reality that he is forgotten by the world before he's even dead. The shell of a man who appears alone after a trauma may have a bus load of people on their way just to celebrate his life. If we can remember how important our stories are we might find just a little extra grace for those we encounter throughout our day, and for ourselves as well. Our victories and failures, our strength and our brokenness, the times we reached the finish line and the times we've helplessly watched our dreams slip away, they are all earth-shatteringly important, if only to ourselves. We've all been surprised by love, we've all been blinded by the tears of rejection, and as author Henri Nouwen reminded us, that which is most intimate is also most universal.
Ben's stories remind me of these truths, at times in profound ways. We would be wise to listen carefully to the stories he has to tell, if only to remind us of our own stories, and to remind us that there is nothing more important, nothing more Sacred, than a good story, and nothing more beautiful than a good storyteller.
However, in my desire to share something I find sacred with you every Sunday, I offer this song off the newest Jars of Clay album Good Monsters (an album which will also make an appearance in Tuesdays props blog). I think that even if I were to try, my words would only cheapen the songs lyrics, make them smaller somehow. So here is the song and the lyrics to speak for themselves. As is often the case, this song speaks for the deeper places in my heart better than my limited word-crafting abilities.
If you do listen to the song be sure to listen to it all the way through, as with most of Jars of Clay's best work the pay-off at the end makes the whole song, and the way the song ends somewhat abruptly speaks to the reality that many of our deepest questions and longings oft times seem to go unanswered.
Oh my God, look around this place,
Your fingers reach around the bone,
You set the break and set the tone
Flights of Grace, and future falls
In present pain, all fools say, "Oh my God"
Oh my God, why are we so afraid
We make it worse when we don't bleed,
There is no cure for our disease
Turn a phrase and rise again,
Or fake your death and only tell Your closest friends
Oh my God, can i complain?
You take away my firm belief
You graft my soul upon your grief,
Weddings, boats, and alibis
All drift away when a mother cries
Liars and Fools, Sons and Failures
Thieves will always say;
Lost and Found, Ailing Wanderers
Healers always say;
Whores and Angels, Men with problems
Leavers always say;
Broken-hearted, Separated
Orphans always say;
War Creators, Racial Haters
Preachers always say;
Distant Fathers, Fallen Warriors
Givers always say;
Pilgrim Saints, Lonely Widows
Users always say;
Fearful mothers, Watchful Doubters
Saviors always say;
Sometimes i cannot forgive
And these days Mercy cuts so deep
If the world was how it should be
Maybe i could get some sleep
While i lay, i dream we're better
Scales were gone and faces lighter
When we wake, we hate our brother
We still move to hurt each other
Sometimes i can close my eyes
And all the fear that keeps me silent
Falls below my heavy breathing
What makes me so badly bent?
We all have a chance to murder
We all feel the need for wonder
We still want to be reminded
That the pain is worth the thunder
Sometimes when i lose my grip
I wonder what to make of heaven
All the times i thought to reach up
All the times i had to give
Babies underneath their beds
Hospitals that cannot treat
All the wounds that money causes
All the comforts of cathedrals
All the cries of thirsty children
This is our inheritance
All the rage of watching mothers
This is our greatest offense
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
"Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good."
-Mr. Beaver The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
I’ve been following Jesus for a long time. I trip and fall down as often as I am able to put two or three consecutive steps together, but by His grace and mercy I get back up and keep following, and I will continue to do so as long as He’ll have me. I mention this only because even after all this time, the Bible is just now becoming something I can relate to consistently in any meaningful way. Thanks in no small part to N.T. Wright and Eugene Peterson, the fog of Scripture is finally lifting, although I have a feeling it will still rear its head as often as not.
Don’t get me wrong, the times I have preached on Scripture has been from a real desire to get behind the text and point out the life in it for the people I had the privilege of preaching to, but often in my own personal study I found much of the text cryptic, puzzling and at times troubling. However, regardless of how hard I have tried at times, I have been unable to deny the very real encounters I have had with God and with Jesus Christ. In Leaving Church Barbara Brown Taylor talks about the reality that she knew God was there, but had trouble finding a church whose language about God was big enough to describe both her encounter and the God she was encountering. In a similar way, I looked to find a description big enough to resonate with the character of Christ I had brushed past in my encounters with Him. Oddly enough, the place I have probably learned the most about Jesus, where I find a description that lines up the closest with what I have seen in those times that I’ve been near enough to get a glimpse of Him, is in a series “children’s books.”
The reality that I have fallen in love with the person of Jesus Christ is thanks in part, and no small part at that, to C.S. Lewis’ allegory in The Chronicles of Narnia, through Aslan, the Great Lion, King of the fictional, fantastic realm Lewis cooked up somewhere in that legendary genius of his.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not intending to imply that the allegory is by any means perfect, such a thing is impossible. I’m not saying that at all, what I am saying is that in some strange, mysterious, beautiful way the character of Aslan, to use the language of Wesley, left my heart feeling strangely warmed.
Each of the seven books has something wonderful and profound to offer my understanding of God, and while The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe may be the most direct and blatant in its allegory, that doesn’t mean it is the richest or deepest of the lot. The character of Aslan consistently delivers the goods when it comes to meaning and symbolism, pointing to the reasons behind Lewis’ own affection for the King.
There is so much about the character of Christ that cannot be described in simple descriptions. Definition simply cheapens the divine truth into something no longer recognizable; but in story, in allegory, in symbol, we can interact with the Truth in a way that is profoundly transformative.
The Chronicles are so full of rich imagery that I could write an entire book on the character of Aslan and the responses the characters of the stories have to him, but many have already attempted that, often in the name of ‘easy money.’ Today, I only have a single post, a post I try to keep shorter rather than longer because if anyone reads this to begin with, I doubt I’m engaging for more than 1,000 words. Normally I attempt to stay well shy of that mark, but believe me… I could go on for much longer than that (proper thanks for not doing so can be sent in the form of monetary donations, directly to me).
So, being that I simply don’t have the time to go into any great detail on the moments of the story I felt were particularly moving, I’ll simply point you in the direction of the books, hoping that if you haven’t already, you’ll read through them with an eye on the beauty just beneath the surface.
I’d encourage you to interact with the allegory of Aslan, who is both gentle and fierce. His breath turns stone back into flesh. His anger is terrible but his forgiveness is final. Sometimes his ways are scary and hard to take, but they are always good, always full of love. Being in his presence means feeling boldness and courage coursing through you like never before, yet also feeling the sweaty palms and knocking knees that come from being so close to one so terrifyingly powerful. His kiss is full of grace and love, his bite and claws are full of pain, but also redemption.
I think that in a time where the person of Christ has been hi-jacked by those who would make him a toothless kitten or else a rabid monster, the reminder Lewis offers in Aslan is timely and important. As always, be careful in discarding or ignoring what at first appears childish or frivolous, in such things we might find our redemption.
