A few weeks ago Sarah gave me a copy of C.H. Spurgeon’s “Morning and Evening” devotional. Spurgeon is new to me — I’d heard his name but I’ve never read his sermons or devotionals before. I have to say, it’s fantastic (and you can find his sermons and devotions online here). Spurgeon has a certain melodic and visionary way of writing — writing that grabs you and makes you think, “Yes! I’m there with you, Spurgeon” or “Yes! I want to be there!”

Anyway, today’s really spoke to my heart, so I wanted to share.

“Get thee up into the high mountain.”—Isaiah 40:9.

UR knowledge of Christ is somewhat like climbing one of our Welsh mountains. When you are at the base you see but little: the mountain itself appears to be but one-half as high as it really is. Confined in a little valley, you discover scarcely anything but the rippling brooks as they descend into the stream at the foot of the mountain. Climb the first rising knoll, and the valley lengthens and widens beneath your feet. Go higher, and you see the country for four or five miles round, and you are delighted with the widening prospect. Mount still, and the scene enlarges; till at last, when you are on the summit, and look east, west, north, and south, you see almost all England lying before you. Yonder is a forest in some distant county, perhaps two hundred miles away, and here the sea, and there a shining river and the smoking chimneys of a manufacturing town, or the masts of the ships in a busy port. All these things please and delight you, and you say, “I could not have imagined that so much could be seen at this elevation.” Now, the Christian life is of the same order. When we first believe in Christ we see but little of Him. The higher we climb the more we discover of His beauties. But who has ever gained the summit? Who has known all the heights and depths of the love of Christ which passes knowledge? Paul, when grown old, sitting grey-haired, shivering in a dungeon in Rome, could say with greater emphasis than we can, “I know whom I have believed,” for each experience had been like the climbing of a hill, each trial had been like ascending another summit, and his death seemed like gaining the top of the mountain, from which he could see the whole of the faithfulness and the love of Him to whom he had committed his soul. Get thee up, dear friend, into the high mountain.

A friend sent me a link to this youtube clip of a comedian – Louis CK – on Conan the other night. I’ve never heard of him, though I appreciate his simple message in this clip.

In France, when Easter is celebrated, there is a common phrase that is proclaimed in cathedrals, shared on sidewalks, spraypainted on walls and plastered on streetlights.

l’amour de Dieu est folie!

The love of God is foolish!

What a great phrase. Why don’t we have anything like it here?

Now, we know God is infinitely wise and omnipotent. It’s a bit odd to call him foolish, isn’t it? It’s simply foolish because we can’t possibly fathom or understand God’s love for us. We are broken, sinful creatures, yet God loves us. Magnificently. Spectacularly. Undeservedly. And I can think of no better time to proclaim the glory of God’s foolish love for his creation than on Easter, the day of Christ’s resurrection and victory over death.

1 Corinthians says it better than I ever could.

“For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written,

“I will destroy the wisdom of the wise,
and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart.”

Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

- 1 Corinthians 1:18-25 (ESV)

Happy Easter!

In thinking about and discussing Easter lately with some friends, I was reminded of a C.S. Lewis quote that I’d seen once before but had never considered deeply.

“There is a stage in a child’s life at which it cannot separate the religious from the merely festal character of Christmas or Easter. I have been told of a very small and very devout boy who was heard murmuring to himself on Easter morning a poem of his own composition which began ‘Chocolate eggs and Jesus risen.’ This seems to me, for his age, both admirable poetry and admirable piety. But of course the time will soon come when such a child can no longer effortlessly and spontaneously enjoy that unity. He will become able to distinguish the spiritual from the ritual and festal aspect of Easter; chocolate eggs will no longer seem sacramental. And once he has distinguished he must put one or the other first. If he puts the spiritual first he can still taste something of Easter in the chocolate eggs; if he puts the eggs first they will soon be no more than any other sweetmeat. They will have taken on an independent, and therefore a soon withering, life.”

Ah, more wisdom from Clive. The type of sentimentality and expectancy Lewis describes is probably more often associated with Christmas in this modern day and age, though the lesson is just as potent for Easter.

Children don’t think in abstract terms, so to the boy, the thing (chocolate) and the sign (Easter) appear to be one and the same. But the thing is ephemeral, and is consumed – while the sign survives the thing in which it was once incarnate. The boy, then, remembers Easter even when the egg is gone, and is thus faced with the choice that Lewis presents.

How then, does the boy “get back” to the time when the chocolate was both delicious and significant? Does he focus on eating more chocolate, in the hopes that the feeling will somehow return? Or does he look elsewhere for the spiritual nature that made the egg significant in the first place?

What we often mistake as a desire to “consume more eggs” is really a desire to find the divine that makes the eggs significant in the first place. One commentary on this passage uses Communion – eating the bread and drinking the wine – as a metaphor.

“If [a] person puts the spiritual first and desires to have the benefits of the death of Christ sealed to his life, he can still use the sacrament to experience this. If [he] puts the sacrament, the physical ritual of eating and drinking, first in his life, he may become a very religious person, but he will have missed the higher reality to which the sacrament is pointing.”  - Will Vaus, Mere Theology

I’m fully aware that this post is a bit “out there” and highly theoretical – but the main point is that we seek an understanding of the spiritual that makes our rituals significant, as opposed to engaging in rituals because we recognize that they once held some sacred meaning. Chasing the “thing,” as Lewis describes, will make the eggs no longer feel sacramental.

So this Easter, I hope you have many chocolate eggs to enjoy – and I hope that they are full of the meaning and significance of Christ’s death and resurrection.