How is it that when I read the Bible, I occasionally will catch a moment in which things are totally illuminated, and I learn and grow, but it seems every time I read C.S. Lewis, I end up blubbering my prayers? And this may be an exaggeration, but today, it was most certainly true.
I've been reading a lot. I'm pretty sure I've read at least 15 books this year--probably more. When I was in school, the majority of my books were christian theology books because, well, I was studying christian theology. Even when I got out of school, I didn't seem to tire of reading them (the good and interesting ones at least). Then, I rediscovered the joys of reading books like Harry Potter, and Tolkien, and girl books like Confessions of a Shopaholic and somehow my enjoyment of the other books went away. Or so I thought. That in fact was not the process, the process was that somehow along the way, the passion of learning and growing in my faith somehow gave way to me just holding on to the things I knew.
And that doesn't mean that I haven't learned or grown in my faith over the past couple of years, but sometimes I think that I have recycled the same things over and over again so much that they are yes, engrained, but in some senses, don't mean as much to me as they meant when I first learned them. There are so many things that God has shown me through people, blogs, MUSIC, regular books, nature, and just life over the years, but sometimes you need a little C.S. Lewis to bust you over your head and remind you of the basics. Right? Right.
And in his ever loving and simple way, Lewis showed me how self centered I am. But let me back up and say that he also reminded me of a desire in my heart, so simple, so innocent, so, almost boring that I forget that I have it--it's a desire to be known. It's a desire to be known, acknowledged, accepted, and let in. It's a desire to be seen and appreciated for who I am. It's a desire to be welcomed. And he talked about how that is a part of the perks of the faith--glory, being known and acknowledged by God.
In a particular part of the reading he's talking about how scripture supports the idea of glory as being known by God. He talks about how in Corinthians a promise is that we will be known by God, and that in other parts of scripture, the other part, the opposite is God saying "I never knew you. Depart from me." He talks about that deep longing within each of us, and the unspeakable fear that many of us have.
"We can be left utterly and absolutely outside-repelled, exiled, estranged, finally and unspeakably ignored. On the other hand, we can be called in, welcomed, received, acknowledged. We walk every day on the razor edge between these two incredible possibilities. Apparently, then, our lifelong nostalgia, our longing to be reunited with something in the universe from which we now feel cut off, to be on the inside of some door which we have always seen from the outside, is no more a neurotic fancy, but the truest index of our real situation. And to be at last summoned inside would be both glory and honour beyond all our merits and also the healing of that old ache." pg.42
To be known, is an ache in my soul. I want to not only be known and seen by God, but also by the people around me. Lewis says that it's very possible for us to focus too much on our own glory, but that it's pretty impossible to think too much of our neighbor's glory. He talks about how everyday we are helping each other become creatures of beauty, or creatures of horror, and that instead of treating each other with flippancy, and judgment, and worst as all--as if that other person doesn't even exist, we should be treating each other with such care, such love, such goodness, that it's encouraging each other towards the goodness and beauty rather than the horrors. I don't know if I'm even describing this right, but in his words:
"There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilisations--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendours. This does not mean we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously--no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be a real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner--no mere tolerance, or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment. Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses." pg 46
Which brings me back to my self centeredness. I've come to realize that I don't treat people as I should. And maybe it's fear of rejection, but I tend to hold people at arms length, and not really take the time to know them, let alone see them. If I see them, I might see them as someone who has something I want (like that woman with the cutest purse), or I might see them as someone who can get me somewhere. For the majority of strangers in my life, I see them as faces, not people who have the same desire to be known and seen. And I find that disheartening, and sad, and incredibly enlightening.
I am at a point in my life where I can choose to continue to pass by, live in fear of rejection, and not engage people in a real way, or I can choose to see people. I can choose to step out of my own self centeredness and appreciate, love, acknowledge and not prejudge people. It's so hard for me to not defend myself--because I want to say all the good things that I do, and how much I love the people who I know and how I volunteer and buy real change and blah blah blah. Fuck that. Seriously. It's not enough to love only those you KNOW. It's not enough to do good to those who do good to you. It's not enough to smile at someone who's homeless and hand them a dollar or buy them food. EVERYONE needs to be loved. Everyone needs to be seen, and I need to take a step out of my own world and begin to see people, and treat them as I truly want to treated. To know them as I want to be known. As Lewis says, "There are no ordinary people."
"Now I see you, til kingdom come you're the one I want, to see me for all the stupid shit I've done. Soil and six feet under, killed just like we were, before you knew you'd know me, and you know me. Blooming up from the ground, 3 rounds and a sound, like whispering you know me, and you know me." Blind Pilot, 3 Rounds and a Sound
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