Image by Grok
Nature and nature's God
I've been thinking this week about a strange irony that C.S. Lewis pointed out. Taking a cue from Paul in 1 Corinthians 1:21, he said the world calls preaching "foolish," yet it is that very "foolishness" that God uses to melt hearts. Shakespeare said it another way: "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." The modern mind may smirk at the pulpit, but Heaven smiles at the power behind it.
Lewis once compared spiritual experience to standing on the beach before the Atlantic—vast, overwhelming, undeniably real. However, he said, the creeds, teachings, and doctrines are like maps. Less vivid, perhaps. Less thrilling. But if you want to cross the ocean, the map is what keeps you from drifting into oblivion.
This was taken from a talk he gave to R.A.F. pilots during the War, when an old, tough officer stood up and said, "I've no use for all that. But I'm a religious man too. I know there's a God—I've felt Him: alone in the desert at night, that tremendous mystery. And that's exactly why I don't believe your neat little dogmas and formulas about Him. To anyone who's met the real thing, they seem petty, pedantic, and unreal."
In a way, Lewis agreed with him—he had truly experienced God in the desert. And when he compared that with the Christian creeds, he was turning from something real to something less real. "It's like seeing the Atlantic from the beach, then looking at a map of it—you're moving from real waves to colored paper. But here's the thing: a map, though just paper, is based on the findings of thousands who have sailed the real Atlantic. It brings countless real experiences together into one picture. And if you want to go somewhere, the map is essential. Sure, strolling on the beach and seeing the waves is more fun than staring at a map—but if your goal is to get to America, the map will be far more useful."
Lewis had a way of taking the obvious and turning it into revelation. And he's right: a moment of awe in the desert may feel more "real" than any creed, but it cannot guide a life. Experience awakens; revelation directs. The ocean stirs the soul, but the map gets you home. A society that abandons the map will eventually drown in the ocean.
I must agree that everyday life can seem trivial and insignificant compared to the awesome nature of the universe. But are we not a product and extension of that same grandeur? Our existence is just as much at the mercy of nature as the ant that gets squashed by a number 12-sized boot every day, but the difference is—we know it. Our awareness of our smallness is itself a clue to our greatness.
The Christian says, God made man in His image; the atheist says, man made God in his image. Who is right? I say there is another way to put it—man recognizes God's image within himself. It explains all the spiritual beliefs and practices of primitive man throughout history. It took the ancient Hebrews to finally understand that though we were spiritually connected to God, He was above and beyond the natural world He created. This was the beginning of the "map" that Lewis was alluding to. The Hebrews tried to follow God's directions, but because the map was incomplete, they were often lost in the worldly wilderness of life.
This original map was helpful but lacked the detail and directions that were necessary for our souls to successfully navigate this world back to where we came from. The coming of the Messiah in the form of Jesus Christ gave us the most complete map to that destination. He brought light into a dark world, but the darkness crucified Him. His sacrifice and resurrection marked the dawn of a new era of Western civilization.
Ignoring the morality of that map is a death sentence for the West—because worldly words can harden the softest of hearts. The world speaks in tones that make us cynical, defensive, and numb. Heaven speaks in a voice that awakens what was buried and softens the hardest heart. A culture that mocks the "foolishness" of preaching will soon discover how desperately it needs the very truth it dismissed.
But here is my hope—the appetite for truth is buried, not dead. The image of God is obscured, not erased. And the Light still shines in the darkness, melting hearts one word at a time.
So on this quiet Sunday morning, as the sun climbs over the mesa and the world wakes slowly, I'm reminded that the Designer who shaped the universe still speaks. And when He speaks, even the heart of stone can become flesh again.
