Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Blog

He's not a tame lion. He's not always a lamb.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

It's an ugly thing, that sneering derision you pass off as aesthetic wisdom. You hide it behind your latte, maybe, or the three Nietzsche books you bought because you thought they'd look good on the bookshelf.

Jesus is the lamb, not a lion, you might have thought. Such a shoddy allegory of violence is a long way from turning the other cheek.

Jesus was merely a good prophet, a good man, sweet and nice, never judging. A lovely lamb is all he ever was and will be because that fits best in your life. You pick and choose teachings that make you feel good, ignoring the things He said that make you uncomfortable.

The Lion-as-Christ allegory is a perversion. What ever happened to the sacrificial lamb? you said to me.

I wonder how you missed the whole story? Didn't you read the parts where He wasn't being spit upon, mocked? Did you stop halfway through The Story and miss how the Lamb became the Lion?

You roll your eyes at the simple-minded Christians who flock, like sheep, to take part in yet another allegory. Weak, you think. Their faith is based on a myth that can't stand on its own; it needs re-telling and now we have talking beavers and magical wardrobes.

Anger spurred you on, making you forget the parables He told, not noting the irony that He, too, used simple stories as a way of teaching greater truth.

Why invent a new mythology? you chortled, your fingers lighting up on the keyboard with an impending sense of intelligence marred only by your lack of it. We already have the Bible, which I have to assume has much more detailed moral/ethical lessons, and is an acknowledged literary classic.

You continue on, forgetting that all stories are a retelling of one or two basic themes; all stories find their home in the heart that adheres to them, the person who finally understands a truth through eyes that had not seen before. You forget the stories in your own life that made you see something differently even when it had been in front of you, in another form, all along. You forget the parables.

Christians are so lacking confidence in the theology that they are trying to slip it under the cultural door disguised between comic book covers, you crowed. You are certain your words of a few days will last as long as those of another author whose words have lasted for half a century, loved by millions. You are certain that because your circle of aquaintances and the selection of material you choose to read tells you as much, it must be true. You mistakenly see our love of Truth and the realization that it seeps out in all that we do as a lack of confidence instead.

You might laugh at the silliness of the story, the characters, that we enjoy, thinking we are incapable of understanding anything complex overlooking your own lack of understanding. Where do you take your direction from, then? Out of what mouth, what story, from what school of thought, do you find your truth?

You haughtily "teach" me about your knowledge of two possible such sources, telling me, as if I were a person incapable of thinking through complex things, and assuming I hadn't even consider such matters, of your enlightenment. Both versions are devoid of the hocus pocus and any claims of divinity of Jesus; no miracles, no resurection, you said. Both [...] knew that the important message is an outline of basic ethical principles for living in the here and now -- in other words the Humanist one.

Very well. You put your trust in man. You put your trust in humanism. I have seen what humans have done and continue to do. But go ahead, put your trust there. I choose not to.

"If there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."

"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.

"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver; "don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."

Do you feel safe? You sound like you do. That's odd. Because the Lion is coming.