Severity and Timidness

First week of classes down. Whoo. Doesn't look like anything will be particularly difficult, and I'm looking forward to the Java class. Finally, my induction into programming!

I have decided to try running again in preparation for a little 5K up in Furman that I hope to run with Liz and Jeromie in March(or at least Jeromie, who has provided me with a low-impact training regimen designed to prepare oneself for running events). I have a new MP3 player loaded with techno to listen to while I run, now all I need is some sweatpants. Cuz, you know, it's cold. Hopefully I can stick to this, and finally discover exactly what the "Runner's High" is all about.

Most of you were there for the New Years party, so I needn't describe what happened. I will offer my immense thanks for making the effort and the drive to attend. It was wonderful, and I even felt a little lonely after the fact. Such get-togethers shall definitely have to be replicated. Maybe... with chili!

I have been slowly reading through "A Severe Mercy." Mostly because I am extremely skilled at finding 10 things to distract me from any given task. Still, I have gotten through the chapters on their conversion to Christianity at Oxford, and I find myself, again, wistful. The author talks about how the friends they made were not only by and large Christian, but also highly intelligent (which makes sense for people attending Oxford). He describes conversations bouncing from physics to poetry to natural law, but all with the certitude of faith. His wife, Jean (or Davy as she was called by the author), came to her belief by a more personal emotional path, and he noted how she threw herself into it once she had 'made the leap.'

Vanauken(I continue to use his last name), on the other hand, took a more cerebral approach, and thus was plagued by doubts and a need for certainty before he committed. And even though his reasoning found the claims of Christ 'very probable,' he admitted that he faced a paradox. He put it thus in a letter to C.S. Lewis, "I can't believe in Christ unless I have faith, but I can't have faith unless I believe in Christ." Lewis, in turn, dismissed the weight of his paradox as little more than circular reasoning, and opined that people are not so inclined to faith only after proof as Vanauken thought, "I demand from my friend a trust in my good faith which is certain without demonstrative proof. It wouldn't be confidence at all if he waited for rigorous proof."

What also moved me was the image of Oxford that Vanauken painted. He and Davy got a shabby little flat that was on the way to the college, so their friends would often stop by unannounced. Indeed, this was a part of Oxford and England that they adored. They had so many visitors so often that he said there was almost always a knock at the door on any given day. That is something that appeals to me greatly. A community that actually communes, and not by some rigid formality or arrangement. Just by... dropping in.

When they returned from England, I almost felt the washing away of vitality in faith when he described how the Virginian believers seemed so holy and devout, yet oftentimes would live without a full understanding of Christ's teachings, and certainly not the same vivacity as their friends from England. I also felt a guilt, as I often fall into that category.

Yet perhaps the most poignant part of the Virginia story was where Vanauken described his hesitance to commit himself as wholly to Christ as Davy had....

"I wanted - what did I want? I wanted the fine keen bow of a schooner cutting the waves with Davy and me - just Davy and me and Flurry (their dog) - happy and loving and comradely on her decks. Well, there was nothing unChristian about that, as long as God was there, too, and as long as we were neglecting no service of love. But, though I wouldn't have admitted it, even to myself, I didn't want God aboard. He was too heavy. I wanted him approving from a considerable distance. I didn't want to be thinking of him. I wanted to be free - like Gypsy (their dog who had run away). I wanted life itself, the color and fire and loveliness of life. And Christ now and then, like a loved poem I could read when I wanted to. I didn't want us to be swallowed up in God. I wanted holidays from the school of Christ. We should, somehow, be able to have the Shining Barrier intact and follow the King of Glory. I didn't want to be a saint. Almost none of this did I consciously know - just longings."

Oh, how well I understand that. In my thoughts, I know that my purpose and freedom from doubt and fear lie in obedience to God... but deep down, I want my own freedom. I hold my piece of the Apple up against the memory of Eden and think how noble it is, how great the insatiable human spirit. Ah, but it is all folly, yet a folly so hard to pull away from.

I am come now to the tragedy of the story. Yet I think I begin to grasp the title of the book. You see, a few months prior to her terminal diagnosis, Davy prayed for Vanauken. She offered up her life so that he might come fully into faith. A severe gesture, but one also laced with mercy. The mercy or grace that Davy might give her life for the greatest and dearest of services: saving the soul of the man she loved, and the grace laid upon Vanauken, that he might come into the strength of faith he desired but found so difficult to accept by the humble sacrifice of an unbreakable love .


Twilight out.