Liar, Lunatic, or Lord? {C.S. Lewis Week}

“I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God. That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.” 
― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

In honor of the fiftieth anniversary of the death of C.S. Lewis this Friday, November 22, I aim to share one of my favorite quotes of his daily this week. Feel free to chime in with your own favorites in the comments.

Will Preach for Cupcakes

One morning last summer, Allen and I discussed the various errands to be done and whether I should attempt any of them. My stamina was even more limited then than it is now, but his job required a great many hours of overtime just then, and he was weary and grim. Still, he said he'd take care of them all over the weekend.

There was, however, one errand I had omitted from the list. I wanted cupcakes to photograph for the blog's first birthday, and I wanted to choose them myself.

When he left for work, I looked at a new local bakery's Web site to see their hours, knowing that with temperatures starting the day near 90F, I needed to get out and back in a hurry. To my relief, they opened at eight.

I dressed and headed that way. As I drove, I pondered Ann Voskamp's invitation to write about forgiveness for the Walk with Him Wednesday community that week. Was that the answer to my prayers of late for an open door to witness to someone of Christ? Should I write about God's forgiveness? In the background, Alistair Begg preached about the foolishness of the gospel, apparently on a text from 1 Corinthians. Yes, that was how I should approach Wednesday's post. God's forgiveness through the cross of Christ.

That settled, I parked the car and entered the bakery. The manager was coaching a young Asian woman, apparently a new hire. They both looked up, and she greeted me enthusiastically. He boxed up the cupcakes I selected and answered my inquiry about a yummy-looking bar cookie (of which the girl eagerly offered a sample).

She then asked if I was on the way to work. I said no, I was going home after this.

"You already finished your work??!!"

'Well, no, not exactly. Just trying to get errands done and get home before the heat got too bad.'

"So what kind of work do you do?"

'I, well, I...' What is it I do exactly? 'I... write.'

"I knew it! You just look like a writer. What do you write?"

'When I am healthy, I write business documents,' I told her, 'but it has been a hard year with a chronic illness flaring up, so right now I write on my blog only.'

"What kind of blog?"

'I'm a Christian, so I write devotional pieces about Christian ideas and what God is teaching me through my health problems.'

The girl asked for my card, and I gave it to her with the blog address. I learned her name, but here I'll call her Buttercream. It was not clear to me whether she wanted the contact information because of the business writing or the blog, so I asked her if she was a Christian too, if that was why she wanted my contact details.

"My friends are Christian, but I am not. My background is Buddhist, but I really think everyone finds their own truth." Oh.

"What about you? What do you think?" Oh!

My heart raced. God was answering my prayer for an open door, and He was answering it right now. Words, Lord. I need Your words.

'Well, I... Christians..." Deep breath, girl. In. Out.

'Christianity is a little different from some of the other world religions in that we believe--the Bible teaches--that there is really only one truth, absolute truth, or what you could call True Truth.' (Thank you, Francis Schaeffer, for that phrase.)

She's nodding, attention locked in. Her boss has excused himself to the back room. No one else is in the shop, so I continue.

'The Bible teaches that there is only one true God, but we aren't smart enough or good enough to find out about Him on our own. We need Him to reveal Himself to us.

'We see some things about Him in the world around us. Nature tells us how powerful He is and that He is eternal. He lives forever. Left to itself, the world should be winding down and falling apart, so there has to be something, Someone, beyond what we see to keep everything continuing on.'

"Yes! I think so too!! There has to be something keeping all this going!"

The back room is still quiet. No more customers have arrived. Full speed ahead then.

'But the greatest way He has revealed Himself to us is in the historic person Jesus Christ. He was God and man, so His life showed us what God is like. Jesus went around teaching and working miracles and healing people. Even more than that, He lived a perfect life. The Bible tells us God is pure and holy, and if we want to be His friends we have to measure up to that standard, too. Only, none of us do. We all mess up and fall short of His perfection.

'Jesus never did, though. He's the only person in all of time who never messed up. He loved us so much that He died on a cross like the worst kind of criminal to pay the penalty we deserved for our wrongdoings so we could be God's friends.

'Because He did that for us, all that's left for us to do is believe in Him, to trust that what He did is enough. If we do that, however, our lives will start to change and look like His life because He comes to live in the hearts of those who believe in Him.  We still stumble and get it wrong a lot, but we live better than before because He changes us from the inside out.

'When Christians die, then they will be completely like Jesus and not weighed down by sin anymore. For a Christian, death is actually a good thing, because then we will be like Jesus and be with Him forever.

'Does that make sense?'

"Yes. You should have a book club."

Now I'm confused. 'For, like, Christian books, so you can learn more about this, or what?'

"No, just any kind of book. Or a writing seminar. You explain very clearly."

'Well, I'll think about it. Thank you for saying that.'

"We could have it at your house. Potluck. Easy. You know, if not too much work for you."

'I'll consider it and come back and let you know. You work here every day?'

"Monday through Friday. And I study ESL." She named a local university.

It was a week before I found time to write all this down, and by that time I didn't remember quite how I closed the conversation and left. Shook hands? Very nice to meet her? I don't recall.

Why did I skip from natural revelation to Jesus? Why skip Easter? Why didn't I ask her where she was from or what she was majoring in? Why didn't I ask her if she wanted to trust Christ?

But I didn't. And I didn't have a Bible with me to give her. When I returned home, I found one, bagged it up, and set it in the back of the car, at the ready for the next time I saw her. Then I prayed for her to come to know God through Jesus.

So far, there hasn't been a next time. By the time I returned to the bakery, it had closed. Buttercream has my contact information, but I only knew where she worked. The Bible still rides around behind the driver's seat of our car, waiting for an opportunity. Buttercream is still on my prayer list. Maybe I'll meet her someday, and we'll laugh about how much I got wrong and left out, and the language and cultural differences won't matter anymore.

For now, all I can do is pray for her, offer the opportunity back to the Lord with what I made of it and what I didn't, and ask Him to smother it with grace, grace like frosting on those cupcakes.

"Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone" (Colossians 4:5-6, NIV1984).

The Drink {a poem}

concerning John 4:1-42


Drained of usefulness,

Discarded by the roadside

Like an empty amber bottle

Tossed out the window

To shatter on the shoulder,

Only to be swept up,

            Crushed,

                        Recycled,

Ready for the next thirsty customer.

Five times used,

            Broken,

                        Discarded.

Smarter this time,

            Harder.

Two can play at this game.

My own bottle trades

For a ten-cent deposit.

Broken? It sure is,

But lips bloodied by the drinking are

Better than dying of thirst.

Aren’t they?

Five times been known,

            Five times rejected.

Better now to hide myself

In the loneliness

Of the glaring noonday sun,

Bright enough to keep inquiring minds

            And catcalls from the well,

But no light bright enough

To bleach my scarlet letter—

Indelible ink—

Mama warned me—

To match the faded landscape.

“Give Me a drink?”

Great, another one.

And a Jew, at that.

He should know better.

“If you knew who I am. . . “

More to the point,

If You knew who I am,

Mister,

We wouldn’t be having this conversation,

But this is a new line, even to me.

OK, I’ll bite:

Tell me more;

(Big shot, eh?

Might be time for me

To cash in

And trade up.)

More promises:

Water to quench

The unquenchable.

Water?

A bloomin’ spring,

My own well,

Life that never runs dry.

Suddenly I’m very tired,

Tired of the thirst,

            The bloody lips,

                        The long, hot hiding.

‘Sir, give me this water.’

“Go, call your husband and come back.”

There it is—

I brace for the blow,                                        

Found out again.

Unless. . .

Maybe a way out? Truth?

‘I have no husband.’

Hope shatters.

He knows me already

For the broken bottle I am.

But—

If He knew all along,

Why is He still here?

Has my reputation preceded me—

Is this just one more thirsty customer

Looking for a cheap drink?

Funny, He doesn’t seem like all the others.

What then, a prophet?

Here’s a test:

‘Where should we worship?’

“A time is coming. . .

            Salvation from the Jews. . .

A time is coming and is here. . .

            True worshipers. . .

                        The Father seeks. . .

                                  Spirit and truth. . .”

The Father seeking worshipers,

            This Man seeking me.

       Water seeking out a desert.

Seeking me,

            Even knowing whom He seeks?

Such acceptance:  surely not

Messiah?

“I who speak to you am He.”

A well springs up,

Bubbling and dancing

All over the Samaritan landscape,

Singing,

“Come and see!

Come and see!

He knows!

He knows it all!

Come and see Messiah!

More springs gush and ripple,

The whole town flooded

With living water

From one broken bottle

Given a Drink.


pondering Good News with the community at Ann's today:

and redemption with Emily and friends: 

By His Wounds...

Yet He Himself bore our sicknesses,
and He carried our pains;
but we in turn regarded Him stricken,
struck down by God, and afflicted.

But He was pierced because of our transgressions,
crushed because of our iniquities;
punishment for our peace was on Him,
and we are healed by His wounds.
Isaiah 53:4-5, HCSB

Monday night, my mom and I attended a Survivor Art Show at the local oncology center. A friend was one of five breast cancer survivors to tell her cancer story through the collage she'd created in the therapy class.

The women amazed me with their courage, resilience, humor, and gratitude. Our friend seized the opportunity to boast about the support she'd received from her church family, several of whom were there. Almost all the women shared about how wonderful their husbands had been through the ordeal. One brought laughter to the crowd through her story of how her son shaved her head when the time came, how he gave her a punk 'do, a clown head, a mohawk, how hard they'd laughed. Another brought tears through her testimony of "3 months to live" stretching out to 6 years, during which her grandson was born.

The last woman to speak was unique. She was the only one without a husband's support, although her family and friends had been wonderful. She was the only one of Jewish descent, which she highlighted in her presentation as she honored her religious community. She was also the only one visibly afraid, having received the news only that week that the cancer had spread to her bones.

When the presentations began, the crowd parted ways to open an impromptu stage in front of the paintings. In the process, I was separated from my friend's team and found myself in the middle of a Middle Eastern family speaking a language I couldn't even identify, let alone understand. We had exchanged smiles and politely shifted about so the right people could see at the right moments.

The fifth woman, the one whose cancer had progressed, had been standing or sitting to my left through all the preceding presentations. When she told her story, my heart went out to her. When she said she was Jewish, I was stunned.

You see, over the preceding week I had heard five different sermons on Jewish evangelism. (I doubt I had ever in my life heard one prior to last week.) That had been the emphasis for missions week at Dallas Seminary, the school we attended and whose chapel podcasts I listen to regularly. It had also been a key component of the Sunday sermon at church.

My mind flashed back through what the Messianic Jewish speakers had said, wishing I'd taken better notes:

• Love your Jewish friends, neighbors, and co-workers. They are people just like you.
• Pray for them.
• Fly the flag of your faith in Jesus the Messiah. Speak openly about your relationship with Him.
• Isaiah 53 is the one chapter in their Scriptures they can't refute.

Love them. Pray for them. My heart had been in my knees, to paraphrase George Herbert, all week for my Jewish doctor and the family of boys I once tutored, for the middle son whose Bar Mitzvah speech I'd edited and celebration I'd attended, for the youngest son who asked me once "why you guys wear that sword around your necks."

In that context, when I discovered myself surrounded by this wounded, loving Jewish family, I felt there was something I must do. "Why did You place me here, Lord? What do You want?"

When the woman, whom I'll call Miriam, returned to her family and they surrounded her with hugs and encouragement, I moved to touch her arm to get her attention. She looked up, surprised.

"Excuse me, please? I'm not Jewish. I'm a Christian, but would it be okay, would you mind if I prayed for you, for what you're going through? God can do what the doctors sometimes can't. I will write your name on my prayer list so I remember. So... would that be okay?"

She beamed, "Of course! Of course that would be all right."

Someone translated, I think, to the mother who had come from Israel and only spoke Hebrew. The friend nodded at me and said, "Nice."

Embarrassed, I made my way through their group and rejoined my friend's team, wondering all the while, was that the right thing to do? Was it enough? I could have just prayed and not said anything. Should I have given her my contact information, or would that have been too much?

The opportunity passed. We celebrated our friend, now cancer-free. The group smiled for the camera, relished the tiny pumpkin tarts from the refreshment table. Mom and I drove home through sheets of rain. I wrote Miriam's name on a sticky note by my List in the kitchen and later on my prayer list. My heart has been in my knees for her since, that God would heal her cancer if that would bring her to know her Messiah, by whose wounds believers are healed in the most important way. If not, I ask that Adonai (Hebrew for "Lord") would sustain her life until she has come to know peace and true life through Jesus, Yeshua, Messiah.

God is able to water the oh-so-tiny seed of this Gentile stranger offering prayers for an ill, frightened Jewish woman. May He cause it to grow and bring forth fruit to His glory.

Brothers and sisters, my heart’s desire and prayer to God for the Israelites is that they may be saved (Romans 10:1, NIV 1984).

If you would like to learn more about ministries seeking to share the good news of Messiah with Jews around the world, please visit the Web sites of Chosen People Ministries and Jews for Jesus.