The Discipline of Dismay

"There is an aspect of Jesus that chills the heart of a disciple to the core and makes the whole spiritual life gasp for breath. . . Jesus Christ had to fathom every sin and every sorrow man could experience, and that is what makes Him seem strange" -- Oswald.

I question whether I've ever been in danger of being overly familiar with Jesus. I was born in 1960, but the most significant church memories of my childhood are Southern Baptist, and we were in no danger from the flower-child Jesus movement. I was afraid of God, afraid of hell, afraid of the rapture. Jesus did seem a kindly face in the midst of all that fear, but I never saw him as my buddy. My attitude toward all three Persons of the Godhead has always been one of respect, reverence . . . and distance.

The danger of which Oswald writes -- retreating back to a little fire of our own and kindling enthusiasm there -- is the danger for me. Again, I am reminded of Jill's fear of Aslan in The Silver Chair. She is desperately thirsty, but the Lion sits between her and the stream. She wants some assurance that he won't eat her, but he gives none. She suggests that she will go look for another stream, and he replies there is no other stream. I have been Jill, afraid of the Lion, afraid to approach, but I have gone off looking for other streams. I have tried to become good enough to approach.

"'The multitude of your sacrifices -- what are they to me?' says the Lord. 'I have more than enough of burnt offerings, of rams and the fat of fattened animals,'" Isaiah 1:11. And he has more than enough of my good deeds. He wants me.