Roaring Like a Lion

My favorite part in 'The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe' movie is midway through the battle. Peter and Edmund are entrenched in a hopeless battle against Jadis, the White Witch. She has more soldiers on her side, she has the power to turn their soldiers into stone, and she's fearless. But they (and their "men") refuse to surrender. Peter knows that he could lose, that he probably should lose in terms of what seems most likely to happen, but he's going to continue to fight 'for Narnia and for Aslan!'. And then...just as the scales really tip in Jadis' favor, the music changes, and the point of view sweeps up the mountain to the top of the ridge. There stands Lucy, Susan, Mr.Tumnus, and of course, Aslan who announces his arrival with a mighty roar. (This is the part when I get chills and tears come to my eyes). Hope comes flooding down the mountain infusing Peter with new strength, and Jadis is drained of hers as she whispers "impossible", for she herself had killed him the night before. It is impossible, for everyone except the Son of the Emperor Across the Sea. For Him, nothing is impossible.

With God all things are possible.

--Matthew 19:26

The Newsboys have recently released a song entitled 'God's Not Dead (Like a Lion)'. For obvious reasons this song and this scene in that movie are related to me. Aslan was dead but defeated death and is now roaring to the rescue of the ones he loves and died for. Lewis didn't come up with this lion metaphor on his own; the Bible calls Jesus the Lion of Judah,  Judah being one the names for the Israelite people. In his life Jesus hardly came across as a lion. He was meek and mild when people wanted him to overthrow the Roman government. He took and endured abuse and slander with staggering humility. Those who believed in Him knew that He could put an end to it and was choosing not to; those who did not believe in Him mocked and challenged Him to come off the cross or call down angels. This does not seem lionish--any of it. But within Him he had the strength of the Lion, the strength of God, in fact. And that's what turned back death, defeating the deep magic, as Lewis puts it in his timeless stories.

"Oh, you're real, you're real! Oh, Aslan!" 

cried Lucy and both girls flung themselves upon him and covered him with kisses.

"But what does it all mean?" asked Susan 

when they were somewhat calmer.

"It means," said Aslan, "that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of Time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor's stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards."

Unlike in the Narnia stories, Jesus didn't come roaring back into the middle of a battle. He came quietly into a garden where a young woman had come to tend for His broken, lifeless body. But inwardly, I imagine, there was a battle inside Mary. A battle of unsettling doubt and confusion, of heart-breaking loss and emptiness. Like the Pevencey children, Jesus had saved Mary, had loved her and cared for her as He did all his dear friends. And without Him, the pain must have been unbearable, very much like a hopeless uphill battle. Within the tenderness of his speech, maybe there was a roar...a roar against the darkness surrounding Mary and the other disciples. A roar against all doubt, fear, worry, and regret. A roar that allowed doubting Thomas to believe, that reinstated Peter, and that finally turned John from a 'son of thunder' to an apostle of Love. A roar that allowed me, in the 21st century, to make a turning point and conquer my own demons. Now that's a mighty roar. 

My God's not deadHe's surely aliveHe's living on the insideRoaring like a lion

--God's Not Dead (Like a Lion), The Newsboys

It Should Always Rain

I was in college, I can't remember which year. I was walking past the B.A.building with my polka dot umbrella, it was raining. I remember side-stepping the large puddles that always formed there in front of the B.A. building and breathing in the clean wet air. I've always loved rain, but this rain felt special. This rain promised life. This was a Good Friday rain. As I considered the rain, I decided that it should always rain on Good Friday. I remember the next year it didn't rain and I felt indignant. It should always rain on Good Friday.

It is as if the world, the atmosphere, the earth is aware of what happened on this day, and mourns again. We humans, as intelligent as we are, forget and take for granted the sacrifice of Easter. We gloss over it or ignore it completely in favor of Chocolate bunnies and marshmallow chickens. But the earth cannot. It won't. When we don't acknowledge the great love of God expressed in this all encompassing sacrifice, the earth still does. This isn't personification, this is scriptural.We're told that the very rocks will cry out if we don't praise Him. The Earth sings and rejoices in praise for Him; wwouldn't it also cry out in mourning for His death?

At noon, darkness fell across the whole land until three o’clock. At about three o’clock, Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli,lema sabachthani?” which means “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
Some of the bystanders misunderstood and thought he was calling for the prophet Elijah. One of them ran and filled a sponge with sour wine, holding it up to him on a reed stick so he could drink. But the rest said, “Wait! Let’s see whether Elijah comes to save him.” 
Then Jesus shouted out again, and he released his spirit. At that moment the curtain in the sanctuary of the Temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, rocks split apart, and tombs opened. The bodies of many godly men and women who had died were raised from the dead. They left the cemetery after Jesus’ resurrection, went into the holy city of Jerusalem, and appeared to many people.
The Roman officer and the other soldiers at the crucifixion were terrified by the earthquake and all that had happened. They said, “This man truly was the Son of God!”

The gospels tell that on the day of His death the sky grew dark, the earth quaked. The earth was reacting to the death of Son of God. The One who had been there at its creation nailed to a cross, crying out in agony. The sky grew dark in the middle of the day, the earth shook violently. The people may have been mocking the death of the Lord, but the earth was trembling. This is how the mockers knew what they had done; that when they jeered Him as the King of the Jews they'd been wrong, because He was truly the King of Kings.

I've never been in a real earthquake, just the slight tremors we feel time to time here in Ohio. But once, in college, I saw the sky grow nearly dark as night in the middle of the day. I was leaving the Eppler Center with a friend of mine from class. The Eppler Center doesn't have windows in many of the classrooms so we had no idea the sky was growing midnight blue while we were inside arguing about American Literature. We came out from the class, expecting to squint from the sun but were met with darkness in the middle of the day. It felt ominous and foreboding, like what happens in the movies when it is the end of the world. Obviously, it only rained, I'm sure it stormed and the wind blew very badly because that's what happens out here. But I know how unsettling it is to experience near darkness in the middle of the day, and an inkling of how frightening the darkness experienced on that day must have been.

The scriptures indicate the darkness experienced on Good Friday was complete, that it was as night from noon to three. Could the stars and moon be seen? Were they visible witness to the atrocity happening on Earth? Did they watch what God could not?

Dark skies in the middle of the day, an earthquake violent enough to split open rocks and tombs. It seems to me that the Earth was mourning openly, perhaps because His followers mourned only in hiding, in fear. The Earth will do what we cannot, it is His creation, too. Not sentient, not by choice, but by reaction to the whole world being turned upside down. Sin was never supposed to enter our world, and the Son of God was never supposed to die. But because one did the other must also. And we need to mourn both deeply...the death of perfection twice; once bringing death; once bringing life.

Which is why we celebrate on Sunday. Life restored. An empty tomb, a resurrected Savior. The world in balance again. Did you ever stop to think that the before Mary ever reached the tomb, the Earth was already rejoicing in His life? Last year for Easter I sang a special which speaks to that very idea. Again, this isn't just romantic personification of the Earth, the Earth has no brain, no soul. I get that. But it is His, surely, it must know His touch and feel His presence. He told the sea to calm and it did. Wouldn't the Earth also obey the command to rejoice upon His resurrection?

Did the grass sing?

Did the Earth rejoice to feel you again?

Over and over like a trumpet underground,

Did the earth seem to pound 'He is Risen!'

Over and over in a never-ending round,

He is Risen! Alleluia! Alleluia!

('Was it a Morning Like This?' Sandi Patty)

For some reason this song conjures up images of Narnia. Maybe it's the talking animals or the dryads coming to life from trees, but when I think of a 'trumpet underground' I am reminded of Lewis' Narnia. I think of how spring came to Narnia, banishing winter and diminishing the power of the White Witch, as soon as Aslan arrived, even before the battle. I think of the faith of the Old Narnians in Prince Caspian. In Lewis' world the Earth and the creatures of the Earth knew their King, might it not also be so in our world?

If nothing else, the rain serves as a good reminder to reflect. Rainy days seem to always been good days for thinking. A rainy Good Friday turns the heart and the mind to Jesus. Perhaps that is why darkness fell that day, to turn the hearts and minds to Jesus so that their souls might be saved. Maybe I am just romantic and have spent a bit too much time in Narnia. Maybe I'm all wrong about the rain. But I do feel that it should always rain on Good Friday. And today is Good Friday, and in my little corner of the universe, it is raining.

Surrounded by love, who can worry?

I'm a chronic compulsive worrier. I can't help it, so I've always claimed. It runs in my family. Like a love for peanuts and games and music and big Christmases...worrying is a family tradition. And worriers tend to wear it as a badge of honor. It's a form of martyrdom. It's a way of life we defend with passion.
Concern and worry are different. Planning and worrying are different. Being prepared and worrying are different. But the line between them is so blurry for us worriers. Most of the time I have no idea that I've crossed that line until my finger nails have all been chewed off, my shoulders are immovable with tension, and I can't sleep for the thoughts racing in my mind. Then I realize....that line I can't see, I crossed it.

I married a man who is most definitely not a worrier. Generally he doesn't know what to do with my fretting and fussing. It's a language he doesn't speak, it's a lifestyle beyond his experience. But we've talked about my worrying. Always have. Even when we were dating, he'd offer up some Bible verses, crack a joke, and with his adorable crooked smile, I'd find a breath of air to suck in. Worrying feels like suffocating. Sometimes I wonder if I've been breathing at all.

This is where I was last night. Fretting. Anxious. Turning over and over and over again my fears for the coming day. So quietly with tears stinging my eyes, wanting peace desperate, I confessed to Curtis,

"I'm worried...but I don't want to be."

This is a huge step forward for me. Usually I'll admit that I'm worried but then rattle off all the reasons why I should be. How dare someone tell me that I shouldn't be worried! But it's been sinking in and coming at me from all sides that worrying is not healthy, constructive, or godly. Ouch. Worrying is a sin. I kept thinking about that last night in the darkness. I wanted to give it over to God but I didn't know how. Honestly, how do you take your worries to Jesus without getting all the more wound up by telling Him what your worries are?

Answer...let someone else do it. I confessed to Curtis my worrying and he knew instantly what was on my mind. Rather than sighing and telling me to not worry, it's pointless so on and so forth. He told me it would all be okay and then he asked, 

"Do you want me to pray for you?"

Hallelujah! A break through for both of us.  A humble confession, a simple reply. Exactly what I needed. So he held me and prayed over me and I felt peace and deliverance. As Curtis prayed specifically for my concerns, I just kept asking Jesus to break this stronghold in my heart and mind. It's one of Satan's best guarded defenses. He's built a castle wall with archers at the ready and then dug a moat around this stronghold of worry within me. It's impenetrable for me...but not for Jesus.

I fear that Philippians 4:13 has become a bit of a cliche for me. And the problem with cliches is that we all know they're true but they've ceased to bring real meaning to our lives. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" is a true statement, packed with power and promises. But it can be all too easy to just rattle it off without letting it actually rebuke the Enemy and give me what I need--an actual lifeline to that strength. Today I learned not to just mutter the verse like a over-used mantra but to actually await the strength, to expect the help. And I got it. I was strengthened by an outpouring of His love, and when that is overflowing into my life, how can I worry? How can I let the lies and distractions get the best of me when I see the evidence of His presence in my life?

My absolute favorite scene in 'The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe' movie is when Peter and Edmund are losing the battle. It looks hopeless but then in the 11th hour, to everyone's astonishment, Aslan appears at the top of the mountain. He roars and His army of the redeemed stands in boldness and determination around Him. Having conquered death, the White Witch is nothing to Him. I cried in the theater as His roar filled the dark space...not only the theater but also in my heart. God is ready, able, and wanting to come to my defense, to roar and fill up the darkness with His power and might.  (Incidently, an entirely different scene is my favorite in the book...but more on that closer to Easter).

So here I am, asking Jesus, my Aslan, to come in and defeat my White Witch of Worry. No more winter in my mind--bleak, hopeless. I've been freed from death, how much more so have I been freed from worry, depression, and anxiety?? Just as Spring spreads across Narnia with the presence of Aslan, Spring will spread across my heart and mind with the presence of Jesus.

I can't claim to be cured. Not yet. Not by a long shot. But last night and certain signs from my Deliverer this morning reassure me that I can be. This stronghold can be broken down and defeated. I can learn to plan and not fret. I can learn the difference between cares and concerns, and the downward spiral of worry. And praise the Lord for a husband that will pray for me, that will listen but not encourage the worrying, that knows just how to make me laugh, and with laughter start breathing again. God shows His love to me in a thousand ways, my husband's tenderness is one of the best. And last night, as I drifted to sleep, I felt my puppy's warm tongue on my hand and soft fur on my fingers as I drifted to sleep. Love defined in a puppy's perfectly timed kiss. Oh, how He loves me. And surrounded by love, who can worry?