O clap your hands, all ye people; shout unto God with the voice of triumph. For the Lord most high is terrible; he is a great King over all the earth. [Psalm 47:1-2 (KJV)]
The Lord is great in Zion; and he is high above all the people. Let them praise thy great and terrible name; for it is holy. [Psalm 99:2-3 (KJV)]
“He’s not a tame lion.” Anyone familiar with The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis knows to whom this sentence refers. Throughout the seven Narnia books, that same thought is expressed in various ways when describing Aslan (the Christ-like character in the series). When the Pevensie children discover that Aslan is a lion, they ask if he’s safe. “Who said anything about safe?” is the reply. “’Course he isn’t safe,” adds Mr. Beaver, “But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” A safe lion would be a tame lion because a tame lion has been trained. It’s predictable and can be managed, manipulated, controlled, and taught. Aslan, most definitely, is not tame but he is good and, at times, that fact is forgotten. Perhaps it is because, as Lewis explains: “People…sometimes think that a thing cannot be good and terrible at the same time.”
The Hebrew word describing God in the Psalms and translated as “terrible” in the King James, was yare, meaning “to be feared.” Most other modern translations use “awesome” or a similar less terrifying word. Back in the 1600s, when the King James version was first published, the type of “terror” associated with the word was a reverent fear of God. It conveyed both dread and terror as well as solemn awe and reverence—an appropriate response to a Being who is far greater and more powerful than any human could ever hope to be. When describing God (or Lewis’ lion Aslan), “terrible” means tremendous, awe-inspiring, formidable, intense, and fearsome. Our God is all that and more; what He isn’t is tame!
The children eventually understand that Aslan is intrinsically good and, because the lion is good, it doesn’t matter that he isn’t tame. The same goes for God! If we truly believe Him to be good, we can trust that everything He does is for our good. When life takes a bad turn, however, we tend to lose sight of God’s goodness and love. Forgetting that His inherent goodness and terribleness are inseparable, we allow challenging circumstances to steal our confidence in a good God. Like Aslan, God can’t be evil any more than He can be tamed.
Afraid of trusting an unpredictable, fearsome, and awesome God, we would prefer a God who is tame—one we could tell what to do along with when and how to do it. We wouldn’t need to please a tame God; He’d want to please us. He would coddle rather than challenge and beg rather than demand. A tame God would answer to us rather than hold us accountable to Him. Since a tame God would live to please our sinful nature, a tame God could not be good!
In Lewis’ books, the untamed but good lion brings the children into Narnia not to live bland or boring lives but to face foes, trials, and difficulties and become better for it. Nevertheless, they never face those challenges alone; Aslan is always there for them. In the same way, our awesome God does not call us to lead humdrum safe lives. He calls us to live far-reaching, uncompromising, purposeful, profound, and often challenging ones. Jesus told His disciples to take up their crosses and have lives of radical goodness and love; He tells us to do the same thing.
Our God is not tame, but He is good; He is untamed goodness and love!
When writing about issumagijoujungnainermik, the Inuit word for forgiveness, I came across a word in the Tshiluba language spoken by the Bantu of the Congo: ilunga. Because isumagijoujungnainermik is made up of several Inuit words, it easily translates as “not-being-able-to-think-about-it-anymore.” Like issumagijoujungnainermik, ilunga has to do with forgiveness but, unlike the Inuit word, it resists an easy translation. In fact, back in 2004, 1,000 linguists gave it the questionable honor of being the world’s “most difficult” word to translate!
Heather Kaufman’s novel Up From Dust is historical fiction. Based on what Scripture tells us about Martha of Bethany, her sister Mary, and their brother Lazarus, it gives the reader a fictionalized version of their backstories. Kaufman’s extensive research for the novel allowed her to paint a vivid and accurate picture of 1st century life in Judea. Even though the story is a figment of her imagination, it reminded me that the people who spent time with the Lord while He walked on earth were real (and flawed) people like us—each with their own personal history. Ordinary people with parents, friends and, for some, spouses and children, they had jobs, responsibilities, secrets, regrets, and weaknesses. Like us, they were people who worried, disagreed, cried, laughed, loved, rejoiced, and mourned. The only thing that made them different from their neighbors was their love for a man called Jesus!
While touring an historic house, the elaborately set dinner table reminded me of the large formal dinner parties we had in our younger (and more energetic) days. I’d start preparing the table in advance by adding extra leaves to the table, gathering the extra chairs, and ironing out the creases in the damask tablecloth. From the cupboard in the basement, I’d haul up the crystal salad plates, my mother’s Lenox china, and the hand-painted Bavarian service plates and Czechoslovakian dessert plates that were my grandmother’s. I’d spend hours polishing the silverware and serving pieces. The service plates were set out, the silverware laid, the crystal wine and water goblets carefully placed at each setting, and the napkins artfully folded. I’d set out the silver candlesticks, put in fresh candles, get flowers from the florist, and create what I hoped would be the perfect Martha Stewart-worthy table setting. There was plenty more work to do in the kitchen. I’d spend days perusing recipes, planning the menu, making lists, purchasing food, and preparing it all. I loved doing it because I loved the people for whom I did it. Nevertheless, as nice as my guests were and as much as they enjoyed themselves, I’m not sure they truly appreciated how much effort went into everything that on that table.
When writing about the Annunciation of our Lord, I came upon some articles by women who take offense at the story of Jesus’ conception. Interpreting Mary’s response as involuntary, they picture the angel Gabriel’s visit to Mary as some weird sort of supernatural rape. This is inconsistent both with Scripture and God as we know Him. The Archangel didn’t say, “Surprise, you’re pregnant!” and leave nor did he physically impregnate her. Read the words as reported by Luke; Gabriel told Mary what would happen, not what had already occurred. It was only after Mary asked how the angel’s words would be fulfilled and Gabriel explained that the Holy Spirit would make it possible that she accepted God’s invitation to motherhood. It was then that the miraculous power of God—the “Most High”—came upon her.
Devotions of the Heart 