Aesthetically Exciting

“We had had what we had chosen; not business success or scholarly acclaim, but a great love.”

With some reluctance, I finished A Severe Mercy. Never before have I read such a beautiful story of love (pagan, as he calls it), the journey to faith, loss, and the adventures of life. A home in the country, a home on a sailboat, a home in England. The seasons of life that Van & Davy traveled through were both sweet and mundane. There are so many small things in life that we overlook when we only desire the great things. And that is precisely why I found myself quite smitten with these two. Their adoration for poetry, for beauty in nature and the arts, for dogs and long walks, for a simple life with love to sustain them. In the beginning, neither of them wanted religion. I thought that was so odd, considering their passions and unique outlook on life. I forget that many people have yet to know how wonderfully fun and romantic, in a sense, a religious life can be. In the author’s words, “No longer did the Church appear only a disreputable congeries of quarreling sects: now we saw the Church as splendid and terrible, sweeping down the centuries with anthems and shining crosses and steady-eyed saints. No longer was the faith something for children: intelligent people held it strongly, and they walked to a secret singing we could not hear. Or did we hear something, high and clear and unbearably sweet?”

I cried when Davy, finally overcome by her realization of sin, “walked across the room” and “committed [her] ways to God in Christ.” Not having a so-called memorable salvation experience, I am purely overjoyed when I learn of someone else’s, especially when I have gotten to know them well (in the context of a book, for instance). Reading of their small, Oxford apartment, with the door always open, tea always made, and friends always coming and going, is a picture I do long for in my life (apart from living in Oxford, though it sounds really beautiful). And the many long conversations that always seem to lead to the mysteries of God; the doubts and the struggles and the love despite all. I very much empathize with Van as he writes, “How could Earth’s religion, one of Earth’s religions, be true for the whole galaxy-- millions of planets maybe? It’s-- it’s too little!” Thankfully for him, he made one of the best friends I could imagine him making-- C.S. Lewis. Obviously, it didn’t take Van long at all to come to his knees. I’m not a person who needs proof for belief, but it does make it better, doesn’t it? I really like what Lewis replied to one of his letters: “If you are really a product of a materialistic universe, how is it that you don’t feel at home there? … Notice how we are perpetually surprised at time. Why? Unless, indeed, there is something in us which is not temporal.” Brilliant!

I could really write on and on about this book (more like their autobiography). I don’t want to spoil all of it in case some of you would like to read it. But I must talk about the very point of this story: that love, real Love, is stronger than death. And it is death that has been a revelation to me. I almost always cry when someone dies, but it’s not necessarily a depressing cry. On most occasions, I am deeply touched by the person who has died. It’s a mixture of joy for them, if I know where they are going, jealousy because a part of me longs to go there too, and grief because this world would have been better with them here, so I usually assume. In the book, Davy is very ill and expected to die. A wonderful person, full of love and life, making a difference in her world. Here is where the revelation came: “A year before her death she offered up her life for me, for the fulfillment of my soul. If I could cease to be jealous of God only through her death, if the love we both loved could only be saved through her death, if I would turn my eyes toward the Eternal Fountain only through her death, is it unlikely that her offering up was accepted?”

Now, I am not claiming to know the mystery of His sovereignty or why certain things happen, but this really got me thinking: Is this what Jesus meant when he said “greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends,”? Is it possible that by His sovereignty He allows those who have set their hearts on things above and who have resolved to let His will be done no matter what, be taken? I wouldn’t call this my belief, but it is a sort of comfort. Van thought the same, in struggling with the death of his wife and closest friend. God’s ways are truly higher than our ways. We think of physical death as such an enemy when really it is our greatest victory.

I have been thinking about eternity lately. Well, trying to think about eternity. Try it sometime, it’s quite difficult. Yet it is our infallible hope. I agree with Van, “Heaven itself would be-- must be-- a coming home.” This place, or existence, that we cannot begin to comprehend is the force behind everything we do, isn’t it? It’s not merely a destination, but more like a lifestyle lived so that others will desire it too. I think about it when I stare at the clouds. Today they were so big and all different shades, and there was this massive opening in the middle. I used to think that was like God peering down on us, when in all reality He was not so much in those clouds as He is in my very soul. It really changes your life when you start taking the time to reflect on things of heaven. It has been one of the most joyous parts of this time in my life. That & plenty of books to read J

So I’m left with a smile and a few tears, a little more understanding of all those rigid intellectuals (who ironically are probably feeling sorry for us rigid Christians), and a lot more in love with Him, the Chaser of hearts.

From eternity to eternity, He is God. And in every season, we have a reason to worship.

“This darling love shall deepen year by year,

And deeper shall we grow who are so dear.”