The Uncomfortable Comforter
I found this from C. S. Lewis in Perelandra when the narrating character runs into an angelic-like being:
I felt sure that the creature was "good," but I wasn't sure whether I liked goodness so much as I had supposed. This is a very terrible experience. As long as what you are afraid of is something evil, you may still hope that the good may come to your rescue. But suppose you struggle through to the good and find that it is also dreadful? How if food itself turns out to be the very thing you can't eat, and home the very place you can't live, and your very comforter the person who makes you uncomfortable? . . . Here at last was a bit of that world from beyond the world, which I had always supposed that I loved and desired, breaking through and appearing to my senses: and I didn't like it, I wanted it to go away.
We all assume to be well-received by the "goodness" of that "world beyond the world" when we finally make contact. This is due to a misunderstanding of both the potency of "goodness" and the overwhelming lack of it in ourselves. We expect to enjoy this goodness because we think ourselves to be good. We think ourselves to be suited for it.
The Lewis quote above instantly brought to mind something from R. C. Sproul's classic book The Holiness of God. Sproul comments on Luke 5 where Peter, after Jesus told him to put his nets in the water, "caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break."
Instead of a response of great joy or divine worship, verse 9 says: "When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus' knees and said, 'Go away from me, Lord; for I am a sinful man!'"
Sproul comments: "People have an appreciation for moral excellence, as long as it is removed a safe distance from them. The Jews honored the prophets from a distance. The world honors Christ from a distance. Peter wanted to be with Jesus, until He got too close. Then Peter cried, 'Please leave.'"
Peter realized the horror of which Lewis describes above. What "if food itself turns our to be the very thing you can't eat, and home the very place you can't live, and your very comforter the person who makes you uncomfortable?" That was Peter's experience when Jesus' holiness and power got too close. Such goodness exposes our sin, makes us undone in its presence, and even provokes our hostility towards it. Before it we cry with the great prophet Isaiah: "Woe is me!"
Sproul says later on: "No man was ever more loving that Jesus Christ. Yet even His love made people angry. His love was a perfect love, a transcendent and holy love, but His very love brought trauma to people." There is a kind of love, Sproul says, "so majestic we can't stand it."
We rejoice that God in his grace condescends to our weakness and makes us suited for such divine goodness. But there is a proper order of operations here. We have to first be broken by holiness, before we can be covered by grace. And it is only after we receive His gospel provision, that we can be commissioned like both Peter and Isaiah were.
In our unique moment of global pandemic, it is my prayer that our families, our communities, and our nation--all make contact with the undiluted holiness of God. May it break us, may it unmake us. But may it not leave us in that state. May it draw us to seek the grace and mercy offered in Jesus Christ, and in doing so, may we find rest for our souls.
I felt sure that the creature was "good," but I wasn't sure whether I liked goodness so much as I had supposed. This is a very terrible experience. As long as what you are afraid of is something evil, you may still hope that the good may come to your rescue. But suppose you struggle through to the good and find that it is also dreadful? How if food itself turns out to be the very thing you can't eat, and home the very place you can't live, and your very comforter the person who makes you uncomfortable? . . . Here at last was a bit of that world from beyond the world, which I had always supposed that I loved and desired, breaking through and appearing to my senses: and I didn't like it, I wanted it to go away.
We all assume to be well-received by the "goodness" of that "world beyond the world" when we finally make contact. This is due to a misunderstanding of both the potency of "goodness" and the overwhelming lack of it in ourselves. We expect to enjoy this goodness because we think ourselves to be good. We think ourselves to be suited for it.
The Lewis quote above instantly brought to mind something from R. C. Sproul's classic book The Holiness of God. Sproul comments on Luke 5 where Peter, after Jesus told him to put his nets in the water, "caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break."
Instead of a response of great joy or divine worship, verse 9 says: "When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus' knees and said, 'Go away from me, Lord; for I am a sinful man!'"
Sproul comments: "People have an appreciation for moral excellence, as long as it is removed a safe distance from them. The Jews honored the prophets from a distance. The world honors Christ from a distance. Peter wanted to be with Jesus, until He got too close. Then Peter cried, 'Please leave.'"
Peter realized the horror of which Lewis describes above. What "if food itself turns our to be the very thing you can't eat, and home the very place you can't live, and your very comforter the person who makes you uncomfortable?" That was Peter's experience when Jesus' holiness and power got too close. Such goodness exposes our sin, makes us undone in its presence, and even provokes our hostility towards it. Before it we cry with the great prophet Isaiah: "Woe is me!"
Sproul says later on: "No man was ever more loving that Jesus Christ. Yet even His love made people angry. His love was a perfect love, a transcendent and holy love, but His very love brought trauma to people." There is a kind of love, Sproul says, "so majestic we can't stand it."
We rejoice that God in his grace condescends to our weakness and makes us suited for such divine goodness. But there is a proper order of operations here. We have to first be broken by holiness, before we can be covered by grace. And it is only after we receive His gospel provision, that we can be commissioned like both Peter and Isaiah were.
In our unique moment of global pandemic, it is my prayer that our families, our communities, and our nation--all make contact with the undiluted holiness of God. May it break us, may it unmake us. But may it not leave us in that state. May it draw us to seek the grace and mercy offered in Jesus Christ, and in doing so, may we find rest for our souls.
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