Proper Order for Narnian Books

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There is much broohaha about the new Netflix Narnia movie. I have thoughts. But there are plenty of thoughts roiling around in the churning waters. A few more will not clarify anything for anyone and will most likely just make the roiling more churny or the churning more roily or everything more Charny (see what I did there?).

Instead, I’ll take this moment to digress  and outline just a few of the reasons why I believe (know, if I may be so bold) that publication order is the one and only correct order for a person’s initial reading of the Chronicles. Most likely nothing that I’ve written here is new — many other wise and dedicated Narnians have laid out their own arguments for publication order being proper order. We are all drawing from the same source material (the seven books themselves) and secondary material (primarily Lewis’s letters). Also, no AI was used in the compilation of tidbits for this post. Written by a human for humans, a little detail I’m stubbornly committed to.

Let us begin with internal book evidence, something Lewis held in high esteem.

FIRST — Why THE MAGICIAN’S NEPHEW should absolutely not be read first (numbers in parentheses identify chapter and paragraph):

  1. (1/1) “[This] is a very important story because it shows how all the comings and goings between our own world and the land of Narnia first began.” If one doesn’t know what Narnia is, has never visited it on the printed page and in their imagination, and hasn’t fallen in love with it, this sentence is moot and provides absolutely no meaningful reason to read MN. After reading books 1–5, readers will see this opening sentence and experience a sense of joy and surprise, things Lewis loved to experience himself and provide for his readers. “Ahhh! I cannot wait to read how my beloved Narnia came to be!”
  2. (3/56) “Digory was the sort of person who wants to know everything, and when he grew up he became the famous Professor Kirke who comes into other books.” This is a major spoiler for those reading MN first, and meaningless information unless one already knows who Professor Kirke is and has a reason to care about his backstory. At this point, readers will start to put things together, and young readers will be excited to see origin story dots beginning to take shape in front of their very eyes. (There are many dots in MN including Digory’s observation that Jadis is “hardly human” which we know to be true from LWW; that evil will come to Narnia because of Digory’s carelessness but that Aslan will “see to it that the worst falls upon myself;” that Jadis’s face was “deadly white, white as salt” after she’d eaten one of the forbidden silver apples, an early glimpse at her frightening familiar visage in LWW; that the beloved lamppost of LWW came from a piece of London iron dragged into Narnia by Jadis … and let’s pause to acknowledge how lovely and redemptive it is that her wickedness eventually provided a light and landmark by which later earthly human heroes and heroines would enter a land they were destined to help restore and reign over.)
  3. (10/3) “Hail, Aslan. We hear and obey.” So say the newly created Narnians to a Lion who has never been introduced or named. Two chapters earlier (8) there was first just a Voice, then a Singer, and finally a Lion, “huge, shaggy, and bright.” For well-read Narnia lovers, this is the biggest dot of all. THERE HE IS!! For people who are reading MN as book one, this a big nothingburger moment, lacking joy and wonder. When the newly chosen talking animals call the Lion by name, new readers might be confused. Aslan? Who is that? How do these animals know his name? What did I miss? Readers must be introduced to Aslan in a thoughtful way for his glorious presence to carry its full weight. See point #2 in the next list of reasons for the antidote to this underwhelming introduction to Aslan.
  4. (15) SPOILER ALERTS. The last chapter of MN is — if read first — one big spoiler after another. We learn about Professor Kirke’s big house in the country, Lantern Waste, the magic wardrobe, and biggest, most spoily of all, that “hundreds of years later, another child from our world got into Narnia” through said magic wardrobe. This level of killjoyishness is as un-Lewisian as anything, for Lewis craved moments of unexpected joy and did all he could to provide them to his readers in the Chronicles. Read first, MN lacks delightful surprise and becomes merely, well, a joy-sucking backstory.

SECOND — why The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe should absolutely be read first:

  1. (Throughout) Spoilers galore if reading LWW second. The house in the country. The old professor. The wardrobe. The lamppost. All the wonder and mystery is flattened, erased, smooshed to nothingness. (See point 4 above.)
  2. (7/34–35) “‘They say Aslan is on the move — perhaps has already landed,'” said Mr. Beaver to the children. And then the narrator says this: “And now a very curious thing happened. None of the children knew who Aslan was any more than you do; but the moment the Beaver had spoken these words everyone felt quite different.” (Ital. added.) Really, this speaks for itself. From this point forward, Aslan is slowly revealed, introduced, and encountered. Nothing more is said of him until the after-dinner conversation in the next chapter (next point).
  3. (8/13+) “Tell us about Aslan!” say the four Pevensie children to the Beavers. “Who is Aslan?” Here is where readers are meant to first hear and learn who Aslan really is. They felt something in chapter 7. Here they learn things. He’s the King. The Lord of the whole wood. The son of the great Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea. He’s not a man. He’s a lion about whom is prophesied: “Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight / At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more / When he bares his teeth, winter meets it death / And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.” He’s not safe, but he is good, and most importantly, he is on the move. In effect, Mr. and Mrs. Beaver catechize the children into the truth of the one true Lord of Narnia (who is, in our world, the Lion of Judah.)
  4. (17/final) “And that is the very end of the adventures of the wardrobe. But if the Professor was right it was only the beginning of the adventures of Narnia.” Speaks for itself, doesn’t it? This story kicks off the entire cycle of Narnian adventures. It is the starting point, the portal into another world.

THIRD — why Prince Caspian: The Return to Narnia should absolutely be read second, after reading LWW first.

  1. Because the original complete title clearly denotes it as a sequel (and because Lewis intended it to be the sequel as shown in point two of reason list five).
  2. Because the entire first scene revisits and replays scenes fromLWW (Cair Paravel, the apple orchard, the gifts, etc.).
  3. Because the book as whole revisits and replays the overarching narrative of LWW, e.g. Aslan hasn’t been seen in some time, the Narnians are in desperate need of rescue (this time from a wicked man who claims to be king rather than a wicked witch who claims to be Queen), many Narnians have remained faithful through a long difficult season, there is a final showdown between good and evil, Lucy and Susan ride on Aslan’s back, the children leave through a doorway rather than enter through a doorway, and more.

FOURTH — why The Horse and His Boy should not be read immediately after LWW even though newfangled numbering says it should:

  1. Because HHB does not happen after LWW but instead happens during LWW. HHB  cannot be read chronologically. Forcing it into a series position that doesn’t exist is just silly, a sign of stubborn determination to override an author’s overarching plan.
  2. Because one of the unexpected joys of HHB occurs mid-story when readers discover they’ve been whisked back to The Golden Age of Narnia when the Pevensies reigned as adults, an epoch that is only briefly hinted at but completely missing from LWW.
  3. Because in the penultimate paragraph of chapter three of book four, The Silver Chair, Eustace and Jill are enjoying a royal banquet in the Narnian palace when this happens: “And when all the serious eating and drinking was over, a blind poet came forward and struck up a grand old tale of Prince Cor and Aravis and the horse Bree, which is called The Horse and His Boy and tells of an adventure that happened in Narnia and Calormen and the land between, in the Golden Age when Peter was High King in Cair Paravel. (I haven’t time to tell it now, though it is well worth hearing.)” And then (for original readers) one year later, lo and behold!, the “adventure well worth hearing” is suddenly available for them to enjoy firsthand. That parenthetical authorial comment is Lewis winking at his readers, teasing them, knowing full well that they will, in fact, get to hear for themselves the adventure known as The Horse and His Boy very soon. Note that HHB was clearly planned and titled and probably finished before SC went to press (see point 2 below).

FIFTH — one additional item worth mentioning and some thoughts about The Letter:

  1. The Chronicles were numbered in publication order as long as Lewis was alive. If he’d wanted that changed, he could have done so. This is so obvious as to not need stating … but apparently it needs stating. (NB: there is a narrative that goes something like this: “Before he died, Lewis told me the correct order should be chronological.” I call foul. Anyone can claim anything about someone’s end-of-life wishes when that somebody was the only person present.)
  2. The Letter often brandished as a silencing “Ha! So there!” defense of chronological reading was written in 1957 to Laurence Krieg, a young boy who’d read the full Narnian series already (important detail) and now wondered if reading in chronological order was proper. Lewis said yes BUT ALSO SAID THIS: “The series was not planned beforehand as [your mother] thinks. When I wrote the Lion I did not know I was going to write any more. Then I wrote P. Caspian as a sequel [IMPORTANT DETAIL] and still didn’t think there would be any more, and when I had done the Voyage I felt quite sure it would be the last. But I found I was wrong. So perhaps it does not matter very much in which order anyone reads them. I’m not even sure that all the others were written in the same order in which they were published. I never keep notes of that sort of thing and never remember dates.” (1) (Note that this letter is a primary reason why Gerwig chose to adapt MN first.)Let’s dissect, shall we? In this letter, Lewis starts with “yes, chronological” in response to someone who’d already read all seven books, then moves to “it does not matter very much,” and in between says things that are definitively, absolutely, one hundred percent inaccurate, which means that perhaps none of the definitive or semi-definitive statements about reading order stand up under scrutiny.Back in 1952, Lewis had written to a group of schoolboys who’d written to him about Prince Caspian, which they’d recently read and enjoyed. In his response, Lewis said this (among other things): “The new book is called The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.” Lucy and Edmund find Caspian (now King of course) on board ship sailing to the Eastern end of the Narnian world. There will be lots about Reepicheep. And there will be a Sea Serpent and a Dragon and lots of strange islands. I do hope you will all like it. I intend to have seven of these stories altogether – that is, four more after the next one. They will be called The Chronicles of Narnia. The fifth sixth book will go right back to the beginning and explain how there came to be that Magic Wardrobe in the Professor’s house – for of course you will have guessed that the old Professor must have known something about things like that himself or else he would never have believed what the children told him.” (Ital. added.)A few things: In this 1952 letter Lewis implies that after reading LWW children might wonder/guess why the Professor was so understanding. He does not imply that they should know, which they would if they’d already read MN. He also corrects his own ordering statement with a strikeout to clarify that the origin story will be the sixth book. And he clearly shows that the full series was planned in advance, contrary to what he wrote Laurence on April 21, 1957, exactly one month after his Christian marriage to Joy Davidman (March 21, 1957) while she was in a hospital bed after being diagnose with terminal bone cancer. Mayhap Lewis was a bit distracted while responding to young Laurence.

Once a person has read all the Chronicles in proper order — the order which carefully introduces the land of Narnia and the reigning Aslan with surprise, joy, wonder, and delight — reading order no longer matters. One might pick up VDT on a day one craves an episodic quest. Or HHB when one craves a coming-of-age story. Or LWW when one craves a traditional fairy tale. Or MN when one craves an origin story. Or PC when one craves an avenging sequel. Or SC when one craves a mysterious Arthurian quest (plus a Marshwiggle). Or LB when one wants an apocalyptic drama that will made one seethe, weep, and rejoice all at the same time.

It does not matter what order one re-reads the Chronicles, for one will have already fallen in love with Narnia, and most importantly with Aslan, who is the Lion of Judah (as Lewis wrote to Carol Jenkins on Jan. 22, 1952) (2), and who has another name in our world (as he himself told Lucy in VDT), and who gets bigger each year we get older (as he said to Lucy in PC).

(1) The Collected Letters of C. S. Lewis Vol. 3, HarperCollins, 2007, p. 847–48.

(2) Not to intentionally throw another wrench into things, but in the same letter, Lewis told young Carol, who’d asked how he’d named the Lion, “I found the name in the notes to Lane’s Arabian Nights: it is the Turkish for lion. I pronounce it Ass-lan myself.” I suspect most readers pronounce it AZ-lihn. Switching to the Turkish pronunciation takes some doing. But Lewis did very kindly add “myself” in his answer, which might mean, “However you pronounce it is fine.” [Edit: As an Irishman, Lewis likely said Ahss-lahn or Ah-slahn or Ah-slaan or however you want to break the syllables and note the pronunciation. In Turkish, the emphasis is ever so slightly on the second syllable. In Narnian, I suppose it could be on either.]

C. S. Lewis “An Easter Hymn”

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From a June 10, 1958 letter to Francis Turner (at which time Turner was President of Magdalene College, Cambridge), in which Lewis wrote: “A challenge is a challenge, so here comes my (Easter) hymn. It aims at little more than to be mouth-filling. If the numbers are unpleasing, the sentiments, since they are scriptural, must surely be just.”

Lords coëval with creation,
Seraph, Cherub, Throne and Power,
Princedom, Virtue, Domination,
Hail the long-awaited hour!
Bruised in head, with broken pinion,
Trembling for his old dominion,
See the ancient dragon cower!
    For the Prince of Heaven has risen,
    Victor, from his shattered prison.

Loudly roaring from the regions
Where no sunbeam e’er was shed,
Rise and dance, ye ransomed legions
Of the cold and countless dead!
Gates of adamant are broken,
Words of conquering power are spoken
Through the God who died and bled:
    Hell lies vacant, spoiled and cheated
    By the Lord of life defeated

Bear, behemoth, bustard, camel,
Warthog, wombat, kangaroo,
Insect, reptile, fish and mammal,
Tree, flower, grass, and lichen too,
Rise and romp and ramp, awakening,
For the age-old curse is breaking.
All things shall be made anew;
    Nature’s rich rejuvenation
    Follows on Man’s liberation.

Eve’s and Adam’s son and daughter,
Sinful, weary, twisted, mired,
Pale with terror, thinned with slaughter,
Robbed of all your hearts desired,
Look! Rejoice! One born of woman,
Flesh and blood and bones all human,
One who wept and could be tired,
    Risen from the vilest death, has given
    All who will the hope of Heaven.//

Lewisians will hear echoes of Narnia (and Malacandra and Perelandra) in this poem — especially in stanza 3 when all manner of animal and nature romp with joy at the onset of New Creation, and in stanza 4 when Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve are called to look and rejoice because one who wept and could be tired has risen and given the hope of Heaven to all who will receive it.

Lewis wrote other things about Easter, but this little poem, tucked away in a non-Eastertime letter, is not well known. Read it today and with all other Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve who feel weary, twisted, mired, pale with terror, thinned with slaughter, and robbed of all your hearts desired, Look! and Rejoice! For Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.

Palm Sunday (Holy Week Day 1)

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Today – Palm Sunday – begins what we today call Holy Week or Passion Week. It marks the days leading up to Jesus’ death and resurrection, allowing space and time to listen, focus, and remember what happened on these days almost 2000 years ago.

Just before this day, Jesus had been in Jericho. He’d met and spent time with Zacchaeus – a Jewish tax collector who worked for the Roman occupying government, doing a job which his family, neighbors, and fellow Jews despised and looked down on. And yet Jesus spent time with Zacchaeus and befriended him, giving a glimpse of how very upside-down the kingdom of God truly is. 

Shortly after that, Jesus met a blind man on the road, and in usual fashion, he stopped, listened, and healed him, giving physical sight to a specific man, giving a glimpse of what was to come — clear spiritual sight for any and all who ask.

From Jericho, Jesus headed to Jerusalem, the capital city, where faithful and devout religious people traveled regularly for feasts and other temple celebrations.

Like so many others, Jesus was going to Jerusalem for the coming Passover. But he was mostly going there for another reason: to not just celebrate the Passover but to be the Passover lamb and to die the Passover lamb’s death.

If you’ve ever been in church on Palm Sunday, you’ve likely experienced the joy and energy of young children walking the aisles, a chaotic mass of little bodies, smiling at parents, poking younger siblings, waving their palm branches wildly (like the children they are) or methodically (like the adults they may grow into), shouting at the top of their tiny young lungs, “Hosanna! Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”

They’re re-enacting what the people did when Jesus himself rode into Jerusalem. Riding on a donkey. Think about that for a moment: Jesus – the Creator of all, the King of all, the Savior of all, the long-awaited Messiah, God himself — riding into Jerusalem on a donkey. The Jewish people had long been living under the oppression of different occupying rulers, currently the Romans, and for hundreds of years, they’d been waiting for God to send them a conquering Messiah, someone who would overthrow their oppressors and set things right with a strong military reign. 

But Jesus came to set things right in a different way, at a deeper level: in our very souls.

And for that monumental task, he arrived on a donkey.

We might think of a donkey as nothing more than a work animal. In the ancient world, thought, donkeys were associated with kings, specifically with peaceful kings. A warrior king arrived on a horse, a peaceful king on a donkey. Already Jesus was making a statement about how his Kingdom worked. 

Long before Jesus was born, the prophet Zechariah had spoken about this very thing when he said, “Rejoice, O people of Zion! Shout in trumph, O people of Jerusalem! Look, your king is coming to you. He is righteous and victorious, yet he is humble, riding on a donkey — riding on a donkey’s colt.” (Zech 9:9) Over the years, people focused and clung to the first part of those words about victory and justice. The humility part, the donkey part, somehow got lost in the days and years and generations of waiting.

Today when we hear Hosanna, most people either have no idea what it means, or they think it means, “Praise him!” or “Honor him!” or “Worship him.” But Hosanna simply means either “God saves” — a statement of fact, or “God, save us” — a plea for rescue.

Jesus does in fact save. At that moment, people were hoping and expecting him to save them and their city in a very specific way. But the way he eventually saved was actually more amazing than anything they imagined, for he came to save everything — all of broken humanity, all of cursed creation.

Jesus saves. Hosanna. When he rode a donkey into Jerusalem that day, he rode into a crowd of branches and praise. But mostly what he rode to was betrayal, rejection, and death.

For you. For me. For the whole world. For all of creation.

Lewis misquoted for graduation

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(A 2023 graduation card)

It’s any day of any year, which means that somewhere C. S. Lewis is being misquoted in spades.

In this particular case, the misquote appears in a bad font on a trite graduation card distributed by Papyrus, which is perhaps the most trite font of all, but I digress.

Here’s the offending phrase:

There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind – C. S. Lewis

Item the first: This pseudo-quote lacks a full stop. How hard is to write a complete sentence? Not hard. Period.

Item the second: The words “far, far” are often added to this particular pseudo-quote in order to amplify the sentiment. Really and truly. Indeed and yes. For sure and certain.

Item the third: The artwork implies that what lies ahead is some kind of ethereal life journey in which a person will traverse meadows and scale heights and discover glorious delights all while enjoying the aroma of wildflowers and herbs and probably not doing any real life things such as grocery shopping, washing dishes, cleaning toilets, paying bills, folding laundry, and showing up for work each day.

Item the fourth: This pseudo-quote is so completely taken out of context on this graduation card that it’s hard not to wonder whether there are any editorial checks and balances in this world any more.

On June 17, 1963, Lewis responded to Mary Willis Shelburne (a regular correspondent of his as found in The Collected Letters and Letters to an American Woman). We don’t have the immediately previous letter she wrote to him, but we know the context: she was lying in a hospital with what she thought was a terminal illness. She was afraid of dying. Lewis wrote the following to her:

Dear Mary Willis,

This is terrible news. The doctor who refused to come wd., I think, be liable to criminal prosecution in this country.

Pain is terrible, but surely you need not have fear as well? Can you not see death as the friend and deliverer? It means stripping off that body which is tormenting you: like taking off a hair-shirt or getting out of a dungeon. What is there to be afraid of? You have long attempted (and none of us does more) a Christian life. Your sins are confessed and absolved. Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave it with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.

Remember, tho’ we struggle against things beause we are afraid of them, it is often the other way round – we get afraid because we struggle. Are you struggling, resisting? Don’t you think Our Lord says to you ‘Peace, child, peace. Relax. Let go. Underneath are the evelasting arms. Let go, I will catch you. Do you trust me so little?’

Of course, this may not be the end. Then make it a good rehearsal.

Yours (and like you a tired traveller near the journey’s end),

Jack

Try putting that on a graduation card. It’s really more of a post-get-well sentiment in which context the artwork on this card might serve (feebly) what with its thin attempt at heavenly landscape. “Further up and further in,” as Jewel the unicorn would say.

Turns out Mary’s health scare was indeed just a rehearsal. She lived another 12 years. Lewis, though, died just five months after writing this letter.

There are plenty of actual C. S. Lewis quotes that would be apropos for a graduation card. They wouldn’t coddle or coo, though; they would challenge and charge, in the best of ways.

As it stands, this card should have said:

There are better things ahead than any we leave behind. – C. S. Lewis, to a woman on her presumed deathbed

That might not sell well, but at least it would be honest.

Maundy Thursday thoughts

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(This blog post was originally published on April 17, 2014.)

During this Holy Week, I’ve thought quite a lot about Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. I’ve worked my way through some tricky Greek words, wrestled with the exasperating response of Peter (who can always be counted on for that kind of thing), and contemplated the gravity of the coming days.

But mostly, I’ve just thought about Jesus – the son of God, the Almighty incarnate- kneeling down in willing service to wash 24 dusty, dirty, calloused, cracked, leathery, worn, and smelly feet.

It was an insignificant and lowly job, that foot-washing thing, worthy of nobody beyond the lowest servant. It’s a task that doesn’t get noticed, an action that doesn’t get lauded, which is perhaps why the three earliest gospel writers don’t even record it: because it wasn’t something people paid attention to; because its significance was completely lost on those who were right there to see it and experience it.

That’s the thing about foot-washing. When done in the right spirit, for the right reasons, people aren’t likely to take notice. That’s because most foot-washing jobs are entirely inglorious. Entirely. They are not the stuff of headline news or award ceremonies or viral retweets.

They are the dusty, dirty, calloused, cracked, leathery, worn, and smelly jobs. The jobs that absolutely no one wants to do. Ever. Not even a tiny little bit.

Except Jesus – who consistently throws a wrench in the way humanity would choose to live were it left to its own devices.

Like many others in a ministry community, I have washed another person’s feet – one set, anyway, after a month of really hard work during which some of us didn’t perhaps love each other quite as well as we should have all the time, so, you know, we washed feet to make things right and to publicly express unity and grace, forgiveness and humility, which, though beautiful in its own way, isn’t really the point of that foot-washing thing.

What Jesus did when he washed those 24 feet – two of whom belonged to a traitorous friend – certainly embodied unity and grace, forgiveness and humility. But more importantly, it displayed an attitude that says:

  • I will do the task that no one else will do.
  • I will do the task that most others consider to be beneath them.
  • I will do the task that promises no rewards or accolades or notice.
  • I will do the task that goes unnoticed and unappreciated.
  • I will do the task that others overlook.
  • I will do the task that everyone else takes for granted.
  • I will do the task that leads to nothing bigger and better and grander.
  • I will do the task that is unpleasant and messy and sometimes even disgusting.
  • And I will do it quietly, discreetly, and humbly, to the best of my ability, with a gracious spirit.

As moving and beautiful and sincere as our actual foot-washing ceremonies may be – whether in the context of summer camp, large ministry communities, or intimate small groups – washing feet isn’t Jesus’ real challenge for us. Rather, it is to have a foot-washing attitude. In every situation. All the time.

We are all incapable of this on our own. Entirely. A foot-washing attitude cannot grow except in a soul overflowing with the Spirit’s love and grace and strength. A foot-washing attitude cannot thrive except in a life that is totally surrendered to the Lord’s sovereignty. Even more elemental, a foot-washing attitude cannot even be except in those who know their true identity in Christ, know their purpose, and have an eternal perspective – just as Jesus did.

Jesus knew that the Father had given him authority over everything, and that he had come from God, and would return to God. SO – he got up from the table, took off his robe, wrapped a towel around his waist, poured water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples’ feet.

During this Holy Week, when the cross proclaims his immeasurable love and the empty tomb proclaims his infinite power, that foot-washing thing that Jesus did proclaims his wholly servant-minded and humble attitude. We would do well to remember it and do likewise.

C. S. Lewis: “A Christmas Sermon for Pagans”

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In December of 1946, Strand Magazine published “A Christmas Sermon for Pagans” by C. S. Lewis. Anyone who has read Lewis extensively will recognize many of the themes within this short essay, primarily that the journey to Christianity for a post-Christian may quite possibly include a short passage through paganism (paganism as it really is, not as we sometimes foolishly imagine it). From the essay: “If the modern post-Christian view is wrong—and every day I find it harder to think it right—then there are three kinds of people in the world. (1) Those who are sick and don’t know it (the post-Christians). (2) Those who are sick and know it (Pagans). (3) Those who have found the cure. And if you start in the first class you must go through the second to reach the third. For (in a sense) all that Christianity adds to Paganism is the cure. It confirms the old belief that in this universe we are up against Living Power: that there is a real Right and that we have failed to obey it: that existence is beautiful and terrifying. It adds a wonder of which Paganism had not distinctly heard—that the Mighty One has come down to help us, to remove our guilt, to reconcile us”

To date, this piece has not been included in any published collection of Lewis essays. It was only discovered several years ago. I have a copy and thought all Lewisians would enjoy seeing the essay and reading a transcription (included below).

Merry Christmas to all. Thanks be to God that because of King Jesus, we need never lament that it is always winter and never Christmas. Rather, it is always Christmas, always Immanuel, always God-with-us, no matter what the weather.

“A Christmas Sermon for Pagans” by C. S. Lewis

Strand magazine, Vol. 112, Issue 672, December 1946 

Writing religion for sceptics has made C. S. Lewis a best-seller. His books on Christianity—chief among them “The Screwtape Letters”—sell better, and read more easily, than most crime stories. This sermon is a characteristic piece of writing by the Oxford don who has become the most entertaining missionary of our time.

//

When I was asked to write a Christmas sermon for Pagans I accepted the job lightheartedly enough: but now that I sit down to tackle it I discover a difficulty. Are there any Pagans in England for me to write to?

I know that people keep on telling us that this country is relapsing into Paganism. But they only mean it is ceasing to be Christian. And is that at all the same thing? Let us remember what a Pagan or Heathen (I use the words interchangeably) really was.

A “Heathen” meant a man who lived out on the heath, out in the wilds. A “Pagan” meant a man who lived in a Pagus or small village. Both words, in fact, meant a “rustic” or “yokel.” They date from the time when the larger towns of the Roman Empire were already Christianised, but the old Nature religions still lingered in the country. Pagans or Heathens were the backward people in the remote districts who had not yet been converted, who were still pre-Christian.

To say that modern people who have drifted away from Christianity are Pagans is to suggest that a post-Christian man is the same as a pre-Christian man. And that is like thinking that a woman who has lost her husband is the same sort of person as an unmarried girl: or that a street where the houses have been knocked down is the same as a field where no house has yet been built. The ruined street and the unbuilt field are alike in one respect: namely that neither will keep you dry if it rains. But they are different in every other respect. Rubble, dust, broken bottles, old bedsteads and stray cats are very different from grass, thyme, clover, buttercups and a lark singing overhead.

Now the real Pagan differed from the post-Christian in the following ways. Firstly, he was religious. From the Christian point of view he was indeed too religious by half. He was full of reverence. To him the earth was holy, the woods and waters were alive. His agriculture was a ritual as well as a technique. And secondly, he believed in what we now call an “Objective” Right or Wrong. That is, he thought the distinction between pious and impious acts was something which existed independently of human opinions: something like the multiplication table which Man had not invented but had found to be true and which (like the multiplication table) he had better take notice of. The gods would punish him if he did not.

To be sure, by Christian standards, his list of “Right” or “Wrong” acts was rather a muddled one. He thought (and the Christians agreed) that the gods would punish him for setting the dogs on a beggar who came to his door or for striking his father: but he also thought they would punish him for turning his face to the wrong point of the compass when he began ploughing. But though his code included some fantastic sins and duties, it got in most of the real ones.

And this leads us to the third great difference between a Pagan and a post-Christian man. Believing in a real Right and Wrong means finding out that you are not very good. The Pagan code may have been on some points a low one: but it was too high for the Pagan to live up to. Hence a Pagan, though in many ways merrier than a modern, had a deep sadness. When he asked himself what was wrong with the world he did not immediately reply, “the social system,” or “our allies,” or “education.” It occurred to him that he himself might be one of the things that was wrong with the world. He knew he had sinned. And the terrible thing was that he thought the gods made no difference between voluntary and involuntary sins. You might get into their bad books by mere accident, and once in, it was very hard to get out of them. And the Pagan dealt with this situation in a rather silly way. His religion was a mass of ceremonies (sacrifices, purifications, etc.) which were supposed to take away guilt. But they never quite succeeded. His conscience was not at ease.

Now the post-Christian view which is gradually coming into existence—it is complete already in some people and still incomplete in others—is quite different. According to it Nature is not a live thing to be reverenced: it is a kind of machine for us to exploit. There is no objective Right or Wrong: each race or class can invent its own code or “ideology” just as it pleases. And whatever may be amiss with the world, it is certainly not we, not the ordinary people; it is up to God (if, after all, He should happen to exist), or to Government or to Education, to give us what we want. They are the shop, we are the customers: and “the customer is always right.”

Now if the post-Christian view is the correct one, then we have indeed waked from a nightmare. The old fear, the old reverence, the old restraints—how delightful to have waked up into freedom, to be responsible to no one, to be utterly and absolutely our own masters! We have, of course, lost some fun. A universe of colourless electrons (which is presently going to run down and annihilate all organic life everywhere and forever) is, perhaps, a little dreary compared with the earth-mother and the sky-father, the wood nymphs and the water nymphs, chaste Diana riding the night sky and homely Vesta flickering on the hearth. But one can’t have everything, and there are always the flicks and the radio: if the new view is correct, it has very solid advantages. 

But is it? And if so, why are things not going better? What do you make of the present threat of world famine? We know now that it is not entirely due to the war. From country after country comes the same story of failing harvests: even the whales have less oil. Can it be that Nature (or something behind Nature) is not simply a machine that we can do what we like with?—that she is hitting back?

Waive that point. Suppose she is only a machine and that we are free to master her at our pleasure. Have you not begun to see that Man’s conquest of Nature is really Man’s conquest of Man? That every power wrested from Nature is used by some men over other men? Men are the victims, not the conquerors in this struggle: each new victory “over Nature” yields new means of propaganda to enslave them, new weapons to kill them, new power for the State and new weakness for the citizen, new contraceptives to keep men from being born at all.

As for the ideologies, the new invented Wrongs and Rights, does no one see the catch? If there is no real Wrong and Right, nothing good or bad in itself, none of these ideologies can be better or worse than another. For a better moral code can only mean one which comes nearer to some real or absolute code. One map of New York can be better than another only if there is a real New York for it to be truer to. If there is no objective standard, then our choice between one ideology and another becomes a matter of arbitrary taste. Our battle for democratic ideals against Nazi ideals has been a waste of time, because the one is no better than the other. Nor can there ever be any real improvement or deterioration: if there is no real goal you can’t get either nearer to it or farther from it. In fact, there is no real reason for doing anything at all.

It looks to me, neighbours, as though we shall have to set about becoming true Pagans if only as a preliminary to becoming Christians. I don’t mean that we should begin leaving little bits of bread under the tree at the end of the garden as an offering to the Dryad. I don’t mean that we should dance to Dionysus across Hampstead Heath (though perhaps a little more solemn or ecstatic gaiety and a little less commercialised “amusement” might make our holidays better than they now are). I don’t even mean (though I do very much wish) that we should recover that sympathy with nature, that religious attitude to the family, and that appetite for beauty which the better Pagans had. Perhaps what I do mean is best put like this.

If the modern post-Christian view is wrong—and every day I find it harder to think it right—then there are three kinds of people in the world. (1) Those who are sick and don’t know it (the post-Christians). (2) Those who are sick and know it (Pagans). (3) Those who have found the cure. And if you start in the first class you must go through the second to reach the third. For (in a sense) all that Christianity adds to Paganism is the cure. It confirms the old belief that in this universe we are up against Living Power: that there is a real Right and that we have failed to obey it: that existence is beautiful and terrifying. It adds a wonder of which Paganism had not distinctly heard—that the Mighty One has come down to help us, to remove our guilt, to reconcile us.

All of the world (even in Japan, even in Russia) men and women will meet on December 25th to do what is a very old-fashioned and, if you like, a very Pagan thing—to sing and feast because a God has been born. You are uncertain whether it is more than a myth. Well if it is, then our last hope is gone. But is the opposite explanation not worth trying?

Who knows but that here, and here alone, lies your way back not only to Heaven, but to Earth too, and to the great human family whose oldest hopes are confirmed by this story that does not die?

//

For more on “A Christmas Sermon for Pagans” and other things, please visit this post at “A Pilgrim in Narnia” where Brenton Dickieson writes delightful and meticulous posts about all manner of things related to Lewis, Tolkien, other Inklings, literature, and more.

The First Night of Christmas (signs of humble with-ness)

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‘Tis the first night of Christmas. The heavens proclaim:

  • Emmanuel.
  • God with us.
  • Deity made flesh.
  • Lord sent to earth.
  • Christ the Savior is born.

This story of Jesus’ birth (and all it portends) is foolish in all worldly ways. Collective humanity is far more wont to desire:

  • Myself.
  • Us as God.
  • Flesh made divine.
  • Earth bereft of Lordship.
  • Death of saving doctrines.

This list of worldly desires (and all it portends) is a fools’ game, leading to nothing but empty souls full of self.

Surely the arrival of humanity’s Savior indicates this, at the very least: humanity is in desperate need of saving.

Surely the Savior of humanity deserves this at his arrival, at the very least: a crown, a robe, a throne. These are signs worthy of God made flesh, Christ the Savior, Lord of all, Creator of heaven and earth.

As so often happens in the Real Story, things do not progress as one might expect, for the actual signs of Christ’s arrival are shockingly unspectacular and superlatively unpowerful.

And you will recognize him by this sign: You will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger.

No crown. No robe. No throne. Not a single thing that speaks of royalty or divinity in even the smallest degree.

Sign One: “You will find.”

The finding itself is a sign, for without a specific roadmap or address, how is one to find the Savior of the world, especially a Savior who on the first night of his life was hidden among the vast masses of lowly ordinary folk? Simply by looking. “Let us go and see this thing which the Lord has told us about.” It really is that simple.

Sign Two: “A baby, wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger.”

A baby. A baby.

This is the sign of Christ’s arrival? This is the proclaimed Savior and Lord of all? This is God among us?

“Sign” (sēmeion – σημειον) means this:

a mark, a token, by which a person or a thing is distinguished from others and is known; transcending the common course of nature.

The grown Jesus was often asked for miraculous signs that would prove his identity, that would distinguish him from others, that would transcend the common course of nature. As a general rule, he refused such requests. He knew that signs, spectacular as they may be, can be misused and finicky things.

Still, the grown Jesus, at the most inopportune and unexpected times, displayed sign after sign after sign – most often to the benefit of the vast lowly masses among whom he was born rather than for the morbid curiosity of those who would deny and disown him.

But the newborn Jesus did not display any signs that would qualify as signs, per se. There was no crown. There was no robe. There was no throne. There was no blinking neon sign splattering the peaceful night with its urgent message: MESSIAH ON TAP! OPEN!

The signs, rather than distinguishing Jesus from others, identified him with others. He arrived as a helpless babe, just as we all do.

The signs, rather than proclaiming Jesus as one who transcends the common course of nature, identified him as one who descends to the common course of nature. Humanity. Suffering. Rejection. Death.

If you expect God to give you a sign that Christ IS, perhaps you must do as the shepherds did:

Go and look for this thing that has happened, this Person who has arrived.

Look in the least likely of places, where worldly power is absent and heavenly humility reigns.

The shepherds hurried to the village and found it … the baby, lying in the manger. After seeing him, they told everyone what had happened and what the angel had said about the baby. Then they went back to work, praising and glorifying God.

“Do not dare not to dare.” (In which Lewis did write but did not mean what we probably thought he meant.)

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“Do not dare not to dare.”

This favorite Lewis quote shows up all over the worldwidespiderwebthatensnares.

Google search it and you will freely receive almost half-a-billion hits. If you can’t trust that, what can you trust?

But here’s the thing. If you read this quote as a self-standing phrase, you’ll likely get it wrong. By itself, it sounds like, “Whatever it is that you want to do, whatever adventure it is that you want to pursue, whatever big thing it is that is dangling in front of your eyes – perhaps surrounded by crowds and acclaim, fame and fortune – then for goodness sake just go do it. I dare you! I dare you to not do it! Do not dare not to dare! Or some such thing. Indeed

Glory be, this is Lewis at his how-we-like-and-imagine-him finest, encouraging us to be Amazing People Who Do Amazing Things (And Hopefully Probably Get Noticed In The Doing).

Or not.

This real quote is from The Horse and His Boy. The setting: Aravis (human), Shasta (human), Hwin (horse), and Bree (horse) had just recently arrived at the Hermit of the Southern March’s humble dwelling after a long and dangerous journey. Just prior to arriving, Shasta had done both the bravest and most frightening thing of his life. Like his companions, he looked forward to a long rest. But instead, he was immediately sent on another dangerous and difficult quest.

“Shasta’s heart fainted […] for he felt he had no strength left. And he writhed inside at what seemed the cruelty and unfairness of the demand. He had not yet learned that if you do one good deed your reward usually is to be set to do another and harder and better one.”

His new task? To go alone in pursuit of a King he’d never met, who lived in a place he’d never been, travelling through a land he’d never visited, to deliver a message he didn’t understand. And because of the urgent circumstances, he must run. Always run, and never walk. Woohoo. The stuff of fame and fortune.

Meanwhile, back at the Hermit’s habitat, Aravis, Hwin, and Bree rested from their exhausting journey. They began discussing Aslan – primarily who and what he is.

Aravis: Bree, why do you keep swearing By the Lion and By the Lion’s Mane? I thought you hated lions.

Bree: So I do. But when I speak of the Lion of course I mean Aslan, the great deliverer of Narnia who drove away the Witch and the Winter. All Narnions swear by him.

Aravis: But is he a lion?

Bree (in a shocked voice): No, no of course not.

Aravis: All the stories about him in Tashbban say he is. And if he isn’t a lion why do you call him a lion?

Bree (in a rather superior tone with his eyes half shut): Well, you’d hardly understand that at your age.

[And then a lion, the Lion, who is in fact 100% LION, approached from behind so that Aravis and Hwin saw him, but Bree did not.]

Bree (still in a rather superior tone with his eyes half shut): Even a little girl like you, Aravis, must see that it would be quite absurd to suppose he is a real lion. Indeed it would be disrespectful. It he was a lion he’d have to be a Beast just like the rest of us. Why! (and here Bree began to laugh) If he was a lion he’d have four paws, and a tail, and Whiskers!….Aie, ooh, hoo-hoo! Help!

You can guess what had happened. The Lion, the Only Lion, the One True Lion, approached the group, and the Lion’s very real whiskers brushed against Bree’s very real ear, and all of Bree’s puffed up worldly wisdom was shot to pieces as he shot like an arrow to the other side of the enclosure, unable to escape the horror behind him.

Hwin, who’d always been the wisest and bravest of them all, “though shaking all over, gave a strange little neigh and trotted across tO the Lion.”

Hwin: Please, you’re so beautiful. You may eat me if you like. I’d sooner be eaten by you than fed by anyone else.

Aslan (planting a lion’s kiss on her twitching, velvet nose): Dearest daughter. I knew you would not be long in coming to me. Joy shall be yours.

And then Aslan said this – and pay close attention because here comes the Dashing Adventurous Big Amazing quote.

Aslan (in a louder voice): Now, Bree, you poor, proud, frightened Horse, draw near. Nearer still, my son. Do not dare not to dare. Touch me. Smell me. Here are my paws, here is my tail, these are my whiskers. I am a true Beast.

Bree (in a shaken voice): Aslan, I’m afraid I must be rather a fool.

Aslan: Happy the Horse who knows that while he is still young.

Did you catch that? Did you see what Lewis did there? He flipped “do not dare not to dare” on its everloving self-focused big-and-amazing-things head.

Do not dare not to dare:

  • to draw near to Christ
  • to see him as he truly is – the True King incarnate
  • to shed one’s foolish fears
  • to shed one’s foolish pride
  • to cast aside one’s foolish notions that are based on rubbishy blather
  • to deny oneself so that the Creator can refashion you into your true self
  • to be undone by the Lord’s almighty presence
  • to be embraced by the Lord’s patient and faithful love.

There is nothing “me” about this quote. There is nothing particularly “dashing and daring” about this quote.

Mostly, there is repentance, surrender, humility, trust, and obedience.

Which makes it, in fact, quite a stunning truth for all to consider.

Isn’t it interesting how even when we quote Lewis correctly, we are quick to make it mean what we want it to mean? Human nature is so very predictable that way.

“I can’t breathe” (in which I reflect on many things, including death, murder, Pentecost, and the breath of God)

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On December 6th, 2019, my mother breathed her final breath.

After four years of living with Stage Four breast cancer, her body betrayed her over the course of four weeks.

During the final four days, her organs shut down one by one. In the last four hours, family arrived to gather around her bedside. In the last four minutes, her lungs methodically continued their appointed task of breathing in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out. In the last four seconds, she breathed in-out a final time, and most assuredly her eternal spirit was wrapped up in the arms of her Lord and joyfully carried into her new home.

Though my mother did not necessarily breathe her last breath on her own terms, she did indeed breathe her last breath of her own volition, surrounded by loved ones, in a safe place, without any outside external constraint – which is how everyone’s final breath most certainly and surely ought to be breathed.

Breath is a grace, freely given by an All Powerful and Loving Creator who in the beginning breathed his own breath into mere dust of the ground, and behold – humanity came alive, made in the image of God to fellowship with him, to work alongside him, to worship and adore him, to be his representative in the earthly realm.

In the beginning, humanity (undeservedly and miraculously) breathed the Spirit of Yahweh, in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, just as the Lord himself designed.

Until they didn’t.

Much too soon, the created rejected the Creator, vomited up the Spirit, spewed out the Breath, and proudly declared they would breathe only their own spirit, would determine their own fellowship, would work for their own ends, would worship their own desires, and would represent their own image. They said, “We won’t breathe You.” And the Creator’s intended image was shattered.

“We won’t breathe” (spoken to God) sowed seeds of “you won’t breathe” (spoken to a brother, then countless others) which led to “I can’t breathe” (gasped by a brother, then countless others) that have infiltrated and infected every corner of God’s good creation. What started as a single bite of blame and shame (“But it…”, “But he…,” But she..”) quickly seeped into the soil and the souls, growing into poisoned jealousy, jealous hatred, and hate-filled murder.

Humanity’s path was remapped by humanity itself – from loving light and life into defiled darkness and death.

Until it wasn’t.

Much sooner than we deserved, the incarnated True God-Man arrived, born into earth’s air, breathing with human lungs, revealing with shocking clarity the true Image of God. He lived, he loved, he healed, he taught, he preached.

Until he didn’t.

Until he breathed his last breath.

… for all of creation (which against its will was subjected to sin’s curse).

… for all of humanity (which by its own volition is subject to sin’s utter destruction).

Christ breathed his last – so we could be forgiven. (Oh Lord, we need your forgiveness.) [Romans 4:25]

Christ breathed again – so we could be made right with God. (Oh Lord, we need to be reconciled to you.) [Romans 4:25]

Christ breathed his Spirit on his few frightened followers – so they could be comforted and at peace. (Oh Lord, we need your comfort. Oh Lord, we need your peace.) [John 20:19-20]

Christ poured out his Spirit on his many gathered people – so they could be re-created into the image of God, as he had planned from the beginning. (Oh Lord, we need to be recreated into people who both breathe your Spirit and love others … all others.) [Acts 2]

It is Pentecost Sunday. Today we remember and celebrate God’s Spirit-Breath in a world where people too often breathe their last breath from disease, from hatred, from suffering, from murder – all because humanity still vomits up and spews out the Breath of Life.

Oh Lord: heal us.

Oh Lord: forgive us.

Oh Lord: comfort us.

Oh Lord: correct us.

Oh Lord: guide us.

Oh Lord: gather us.

Oh Lord: we need your Breath to fill our souls, to soften our hearts, to shape our thoughts, to heal our relationships, to reconcile your children one to another.

Oh Lord. Oh Lord ….

EEBO treasures

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NB: the following news will be of interest only to fellow bibliophile bookish nerds.

While searching for something on EEBO (Early English Books Online – the drug of choice for historians, medievalists, and similar personality types), I stumbled upon this:

Title page for “The Epistles and Gospelles…” (c. 1540) by Richard Taverner

Note the handwriting across the top:

Tho: Hervey

(plus a fancy flourish in the style of JRR Tolkien, which is twice reproduced in the center white space)

Note the handwriting across the bottom:

Tho: & Isabella Hervey

Thomas & Isabella Hervey had an extensive library that has been written about in various places. They lived in the 17th Century, at which point this book was already over 100 years old. Bless you, Herveys, for affirming the joy of book collecting so long ago.

Just a few pages in, I found this:

folio 7v. / 8r.

Note the stern warning on the left side (folio 7 verso) about reprinting books within seven years of the original printing “upon pain of forfeiting the same.”

For those who enjoy decoding,
“u” is often “v”
accented vowels (i.e. ū and ā) indicate a missing “n” (so: Fraūce=France)
“ſ” is a long ess, so ſhal=shal(l), ſpace=space, &c.
“y” is often our “i”

But especially note the handwritten blurb at the bottom:

1540:
In H- :30: year of Henrie the 8th.

Note that “the” looks suspicially like a “y” plus a superscript e. From this do we get such nonsense as “Ye Olde Coffee Shoppe” which is a naive misreading of what in fact is the letter thorn (sound = th, orthography resembles a “y”). It should in fact be “The Olde Coffee Shoppe” because, well, a coffee shop is a thing that deserves a definite article, it is not a person that we address as “You Old Coffee Shop.”

Here’s the real point: almost 500 years ago, someone picked up a quill pen, dipped it into handmade ink (recipes for which I have, indeed, found on EEBO), and wrote the words and numbers you are looking at now.

If that’s not worth celebrating, I don’t know what is.