Turning from the Good You Are Given

“You could send your soul after the good you had expected, instead of turning it to the good you had got.”
― The Green Lady, Perelandra

I was rereading the second book of C. S. Lewis’s science fiction trilogy, Perelandra, in preparation for the next book club meeting. Our little group had made our way through the first title, Out of the Silent Planet, and were now beginning a voyage to the planet you and I know as Venus.

Every time I read these two books and the third, That Hideous Strength, it’s as if I’ve never laid eyes on them. There is so much jammed into each page, one can barely navigate through the marvelous descriptions, dramatic action, and deep thoughts on the first attempt. Science fiction, by the way, is an inadequate label for this series. Mix the category up with fantasy, mythology, theology, cultural critique, and human psychology, and you’ll be closer to what Lewis is doing here.

Dr. Ransom, the unlikely protagonist shuttled by a mighty angel from Earth to Perelandra for a dangerous mission, encounters an Eve-like being he comes to know as the Green Lady. (Yes, she’s green but be assured, when you visit Perelandra it will make perfect sense.) Ransom discovers that she is the planet’s Queen and Mother. She is pure and innocent, and luminescent and holy, and completely ignorant of evil.

As Ransom and she talk, she asks about his home. To describe life on Earth is to include the shocking “bent” existence of sin and death that comes from rejecting the will of God, who is called Maleldil on Perelandra. This concept is utterly new to the Green Lady and for a moment, she is bewildered. She can’t imagine not accepting what Maleldil sends.

Ransom, though, reminds her that a short while before their meeting, the Lady had glanced at Ransom with delight, believing she finally was seeing the King of Perelandra, her partner. They had become separated on the vast planet. Understandably, her reaction was disappointment.

She ponders Ransom’s observation. Then “gaiety and gravity together” seem to pour from her countenance.

“I have been so young till this moment that all my life now seems to have been a kind of sleep,” she tells him. “I have thought that I was being carried, and behold, I was walking.“

Ransom doesn’t understand. He asks her to explain. The Lady describes going into the forest in search of food and having in mind a type of fruit. When she is guided to a different fruit she is faced with a choice.

“One joy was expected and another is given. But this I had never noticed before – that the very moment of the finding there is in the mind a kind of thrusting back, or setting aside. The picture of the fruit you have not found is still, for the moment, before you.  And . . . you could keep it there. You could send your soul after the good you had expected, instead of turning it to the good you had got. You could refuse the real good; you could make the real fruit taste insipid by thinking of the other.” [1]

Her eyes flash at the wonder of it. She now realizes that it is she, not Maleldil, who makes that choice “to turn from the good expected to the given good. Out of my own heart I do it,” she says.

At that moment, staring at Lewis’s words, I realized as if struck by a bolt of light that I had spent the majority of my adult life holding on to my picture of the good I sought and resenting God for giving me another, unwanted, good. That, certainly, was a bent way to live.

Soldiering On, and On

As a typical young adult, I had gone into the “forest” in search of the pictures in my mind. Love. A shared life. A vibrant home full of children and guests. A rewarding career. Assets to share.

Year after year, those shining goods did not appear. I researched strategies. I took classes. I read books. I journaled. Like Hannah in 1 Samuel, I prayed and fasted. I spiritualized. I sought therapy. I maneuvered and manipulated. I buried the pain. I gave up. I tried again. I condemned myself. I condemned God. I soldiered on. And on.

I persisted in the midst of suffering. Wasn’t that the definition of fortitude?

No, it was obstinacy, and at its heart was a lack of faith. I did not believe in the God that I said I did. I said I believed in an omniscient loving God who knew what was best for me.  The god I really believed in didn’t see me, and he enjoyed saying no. Or worse, being utterly silent.

I spent years angry at that god. He just wanted me to submit to him. End of story.

Pulled toward Hope

But that was not the end of the story. A new chapter began quite innocuously.

A few years into a new life in a new city, I began visiting a warm, youthful, intelligent church that seemed to be authentically in love with Jesus. Interestingly, it followed a liturgical tradition. Its Sunday services were beautiful, orderly, timeless, and joyful. For the first time in a long time, I felt at home in a congregation, and my heart began to be pulled toward hope.

I decided I needed to put down roots. No more ambivalence. No more Sunday morning dread. The church facilitated this sort of commitment through what it called the rite of Confirmation. I ignorantly assumed the process was a hoop one must jump through to become a “member.”  You know: learn about leadership hierarchy and read the statement of faith. Take a spiritual gifts test and sign up to volunteer for something. Let them check you out and determine whether or not you “fit in.” That sort of thing.

No. The three months of study were driven by the senior pastor’s directive: that we should ask the Holy Spirit to show each of us how He wanted to shape us and for what purpose.

I dutifully asked. My answer? Silence, again. Except for one word: Surrender.

Apparently, God did actually want me to submit—to submit to who He really was. Who He really is.

On Confirmation Sunday, we “confirmands” lined up at the front of the sanctuary. We each brought a few family members or friends to stand with us as prayer support (and Kleenex holders—thank you, Debbie and Rick). Bishop and Pastor were to come down the line, stopping at each person to pray, lay hands, and discern a word from the Holy Spirit.

I squeezed my eyes shut and waited. My knees felt like Jello. The worship music and the cacophony of prayers blocked anything that Bishop and Pastor may have prayed over the brother or sister to my right or left. Finally, I felt Pastor grasp my shoulder and Bishop put his hand gently on my head. Not every word got through the din. But the message did.

After a few supplications on my behalf, Bishop whispered, “I see a beautiful rose bush entwined by a thorny vine, and Jesus is untangling it.”

Then they moved on.

For all those years in which I thought that I was resolutely walking, behold, I was being carried.

The Desire of My Heart

A few weeks before that Sunday, confirmands were asked to submit a short “testimonial” to share with the congregation. Here’s what I wrote.

The Lord, the giver of life, has protected, provided, and pursued me—even as I for 40 years have harbored grievances under a veneer of spiritual maturity and withheld trust as if I could blackmail God into giving me the desire of my heart. I have finally come to the point in which I must declare, along with Orual in C. S. Lewis’s, Till We Have Faces, that “I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You yourself are the answer.” I am like Peter, who said, “To whom (else] should we go? You have the words that give eternal life.” Jesus, Son of God, Savior, have mercy on me, a sinner. I surrender all.

Endnote
[1] C. S. Lewis, Perelandra (New York: Macmillan Publishing, 1944), 69.

The featured image, “The Old Roads,” is courtesy of Amelia Freidline and is used with her kind permission for Cultivating.

Anita Palmer

Anita K. Palmer has always turned to pen and paper to figure out what she thinks, feels, and believes. That propensity launched a career that started with editing a Christian publication (which soon went to magazine heaven — by no fault of her own, she swears). Then came 13 years on daily newspapers, followed by five as a university media relations officer. Since then she has made her way for two decades as an independent book editor, ghostwriter, copywriter, and book coach. Five years ago, free of family responsibilities, she happily stored a lifetime of possessions, stuffed her SUV, and headed for the hills of Colorado, which she testifies are full of goodness, truth, and beauty. She is blessed with many dear friends and a tiny family, including one kind and brilliant adult son.

www.thestrongword.com/