the truth about fairy tales

Why are reason and facts often argued as better than or superior to imagination? Is it because imagination is open to lies or fanciful fabrications like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny? Or is it because we'd make fools of ourselves or end up dying from stupidity if we tried to live by the laws that govern imagination? If, for instance, we imagined we could fly, would we kill ourselves because we couldn't resist leaping off a tall building? For the sake of survival and sanity, we reason, the hard fact of physics and logic must win out every time.

Or must they?

With imagination, we experience wide-eyed wonder and we connect with deeper joys that defy our limited understanding of what's logical and rational. With imagination, we see with faith-eyes all the virtues that make us inexplicably human, like love, kindness, altruism, hope, trust and beauty. With imagination, we ride in the clouds with angels and wrestle in hell with demons. With imagination, we believe that good must ultimately triumph over evil and that Fairy Tales eventually will come true.

Yes, with imagination, we risk clinging to childhood delusions about a red-suited jolly old elf and an oversized bunny that delivers pastel eggs. But with imagination, we are free to consider heart-felt realities and deeper truths that exist even within our most ridiculous fantasies.

So, let's open our faith-eyes and gaze into a sunset or look with wonder into the eyes of newborn baby. In doing so, we just may discover that our longing for what we cannot see is not a mere glitch in our DNA, or some sort of evolutionary fool's gold that causes us to keep on keeping on for the sake of preserving the species.

We are, indeed, more than the eye beholds and so much more than what's revealed by the laws of logic and physics. We are also heart; we are also soul; we are also living in a world of intangibles that offer glimpses of eternity, whispers from heaven, the sweet aroma of the grace, and an occasional touch from the very hand of God.

For further discussion about faith and the imagination, see chapter four, "The Ethics of Elfland," in Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton.

merry mockery

stomp on a glass decoration and let the shattered shards fly;
drop a match on a lifeless pine and let o tannenbaum burst into flames;
pull the plug on sparkly bright lights and let the holiday world go black;
flip the off-switch on candy-coated muzak and let the mall go silent;
drop the biggest present in a back-alley dumpster;
punch a whole in all those atrocious air-filled santas and snowmen;
kick a glossy gaudy crèche across a snow-covered lawn ...
and what remains is nothing but a blood-smudged babe
in a cave-barn, lying in a feeding trough
on a chilly night in a small middle-eastern town,
waiting for mother’s milk and a horrible death
(followed by a miracle grave robbing)
that makes a mockery of all we call Christmas.

terrible grace

Imagine the scene:

Suddenly a Being of Light bursts into a young girl’s bedroom. After scaring the wits out of her, he tries to comfort her with these words: “Don’t be afraid, Mary; God has shown you his grace” (Luke 1:30, NCV). He then goes on to tell her that she will become pregnant.

Let this moment of time hang there, unmoving.

What has just happened? What has just been said?

“Mary, God has shown you his grace. … You will become pregnant.”

Think about it. Mary is a 13-years-old, unmarried virgin child. A total stranger with a odd glow about him not only knows her name, but claims to know a very intimate detail about her life.
What is going through her young mind as the words of the angel hang like fog in the air? Grace? Pregnancy?

Those two words are a strange, cruel combination for an unmarried Jewish teen in b.c.e. Israel. Indeed, what an awful thing! It’s not something to be celebrated, but something readily condemned by the traditions and convictions of her entire community and culture.

“Hey, people, bring your rock, there’s an unmarried girl who needs a good stoning till dead …”

This is grace? Terrible grace. But grace nevertheless, for the event doesn’t end in the stoning of a young girl. In its wonderful and wild totality, this is not a story about a girl losing her virginity before marriage. It’s a story about an innocent child who’s miraculously pregnant by the Spirit of God. It’s the story about a virgin who gives birth to the Savior of the world.

Those who are familiar with the Christmas story know all this. But in a moment of time—a moment that hung there unmoving for what must have seemed a very long time—Mary didn’t know the whole story. She’d never read the first chapter of Luke in the Bible. All she knew was that she was in a whole heap of trouble.

Strange grace? Terrifying grace? For a moment in time, yes. But as the entire story unfolded, this troublesome grace would become salvation and hope for all humankind. It would shift from terrible grace to truly amazing grace.

space invader

You’ve had it happen to you: Someone gets so close you feel their breath on the tip of your nose. They’re so close the toe-ends of their shoes touch the toe-ends of yours. You take a step back and they step forward, as if it’s their job to be your personal shadow. Feeling uncomfortable yet? OK, that’s bad. Want to hear something that’s even more uncomfortable than having your physical space invaded?

I have a friend who invades my spiritual space. This friend is a Christian speaker and she’s incredibly good at what she does. Almost too good. There are times her words slide in just a little too close, so close I feel her breath against my soul. If I let my thoughts wander elsewhere, her thoughts—and sometimes her intense gaze—follow like my own shadow. It’s almost like she’s able to pry open my soul so that that truth shines a light into places that have grown a little too comfortable with darkness. If I’m smart, I’ll even nudge my soul a little closer so the truth can cast an even brighter glow. After all, I can always use a little extra light in dark places.

Not everybody has a friend like mine. She’s a rarity in many ways. But you don’t need to know her, or even someone like her, to have your spiritual space invaded. God is quite happy to invade your space every now and then. No, he’s not a forceful God. As C.S. Lewis tells us, God is a wooer, not a ravisher. But like my friend, God can get uncomfortably close sometimes. And his unrelenting up-close stare feels unbearable because it can be so doggone guilt-inducing. While we may try our best to stay out of God’s space, avoidance doesn’t work all that well. He has this uncanny ability to nudge up close even when we’re hiding in the shadows.

Maybe it’s best to slide on out of the shadows and stop pretending that we can somehow slip out of God’s presence. Perhaps it’s time to let his truth shine a light deep into our souls. After all, we can all use a little extra light in dark places, don’t you think?

seen a prophet lately?

Where are the dreamers, the prophets, the challengers, the visionaries? Where are the radical Kingdom-pushers? Where are those who would sit at the front of the bus when the world would shove them to the back? Where are the meekly strong? Where are the peacemakers who wage war against violence, oppression and injustice? Where are the Martin Luther Kings? Where are those who hold grace in one hand and truth in the other? Where are those who turn our eyes heavenward, even as the reveal the Kingdom of God on Earth?

god in a box

a tiny box sits in the corner of my room. god lives there, i’m pleased to say. it’s a small snug fit, but a nice, safe place, nevertheless. one day, though, i walked into my room and to my surprise, the top was off the tiny box and god was nowhere to be found. i searched the house; no god. i searched outside and looked up into the cloudy, threatening sky, but i couldn’t catch a glimpse of my absentee deity. suddenly, the clouds split wide open and the rain poured out; then lightning lit the sky and thunder blasted like cannons; rushing winds ripped the leaves from the branches of my old maple. i fretted: how could god possibly survive such a storm? i shouted and pleaded: “oh, god, god, where are you, god? please come home where all is safe from this awful weather!” to my great relief, god trotted from the shadows, headed back to the house and nestled into the tiny box in the corner of my room. i quickly snapped the lid on and then wrapped tape around and around until i was certain god couldn’t possibly escape. from inside the box, i thought i heard a gentle whimper and this made me kind of sad. but not too sad, because i knew god was safe, controlled, and small enough to fit inside my box.

when all feels hopeless ...

"God of life, there are days when the burdens we carry chafe our shoulders and wear us down; when the road seems dreary and endless, the skies gray and threatening, when our lives have no music in them and our hearts are lonely, and our souls have lost their courage. Flood the path with light, we beseech you; turn our eyes to where the skies are full of promise." --Augustine