C.S. Lewis and Me: A Bible Story

I loved C.S. Lewis, because he wrote eloquently, but mostly because he married Joy, the divorced American woman.

I was the good woman, the Christian woman, who had been wronged, and I wanted to be righted. I wanted to be righted by God, or at least by a righteous man. And when I felt alone, and no one would stick up for me; I had C.S. on my side, that lovable guy who pissed off J.R.R. Tolkien for the love of a divorced woman. (Tolkien was Catholic.) Lewis had his faith, but he walked out into the gray area, following not the rules, but his heart. The rules bent for love.

This, by the way, gives credit, where credit is due, to my theory, that all philosophy, all theology falls away when faced with strong feelings. He who is hungry steals bread, he who is lonely, loves whoever they can find, he who is angry enough or hopeless enough, kills. Look to Moses, if you will. And look to the story of Abraham and Isaac, a damn good if not confusing and scary story, but this is what is says to me:

God spoke to Abraham, and told him that Sarah, his aged wife would bear a child. This child was born and named Isaac. When Isaac was nearly grown, God told Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. So Abraham was dutiful and compliant, this was God, after all, and he took Isaac up a mountain, and of course hid his motive from Isaac, his intended victim. Strong emotions for Abraham, wanting to obey. But then, an angel appears and tells Abraham, “For God’s sake, put down the knife. God was just testing you, do you really think God wants you to commit murder, like the heathens down the block, sacrificing their children to Moloch?” Abraham puts down the knife, and hopefully somehow repairs his relationship with Isaac. When Isaac is like, “Wow, is my old man whacked, or what?”

So what does this tell us? That unless we really listen to what is right for us, that we can be led astray, even by God, or by who we believe God to be. This fable came alive for me when I divorced my husband. I did not want to be divorced, but I didn’t want to live the way I was living. I was brought up to believe only heathens divorced, and not only might I go to hell, but I would be judged if I ever loved again. Mostly, I didn’t want to be miserable and small. So there goes the sacrament of marriage, out the window, in a courtroom, not a church.

Like Abraham, I walked up the mountain, and laid my ‘marriage’ on the alter, and then an angel whispered in my ear, “Wait, what are you thinking, marriage is just a social convention, research it, look it up, what do you think that gray matter between your ears is for?” And I did, and it is, (a social convention), and I don’t even know if there is a God out there in man’s image, but I feel more holy, more righteous, than I ever have. I no longer want to be redeemed by Jesus, or God, or a righteous man or woman. C.S. Lewis was a hell of writer, I will give him that, but he stayed in the lines, where it was safe. He got to have his God and his wife, and some fame too.