Sometimes the only thing to break the spell of sin’s deadly lullaby is the waft of burnt Marsh-wiggle drifting through the air. As every lover of the Chronicles of Narnia knows, Puddleglum’s pessimism is a cloak for his idealistic heart. His heart beats with a real Narnian rhythm and so, when the moment of truth comes, when all is at stake, he does not give in to the Green Lady’s foggy incantations that threaten to undo all reason. And what better way to clear the sticky webs of doubt and insanity than by reminding yourself and everyone else just how gritty and singed reality can be? What’s realer than stomping on a fire with your bare Marsh-wigglian foot?
One question bopping around in my head these days is how do we know we’re really awake? Has the poisonous melody of sin lulled me into a stupor? Or am I seeing through to the other side of the glass, albeit dimly? What if this thing I’m working toward––this goal, this drive, this cause, this achievement––is just a dragon skin that needs ripped off by Aslan’s mighty claw? Would I know the difference between dragon skin and tender flesh? How do I discern the water if I’ve become a fish? In other words, when sinful heart motives have become normalized or justified, how do we discover them and break free?
Of course the first and best answer is to go to the Norm. The unchanging God in three persons. Open his book, read of his ways. But I’ve noticed that when we’ve acclimated to certain heart sins, we can even read them into the Bible. The self-aggrandizement knows no bounds. We want to justify our anger and all the sudden we’re saying, “Look! Jesus was angry!” We want to justify our favoritism and we quickly point out that Jesus had an Inner Ring. We want to justify our greed and we start making a big deal about how Joseph of Arimathea was wealthy. We want to justify our passivity and we start belaboring God’s sovereignty as though it negates God’s commands. We want to be well-liked by everyone and we think that as long as we don’t offend people, we’re making a doorway for the gospel. We want to be entertained by immorality and we start telling everyone who raises an eyebrow that the Bible itself is R-rated.
Don’t get me wrong. God’s word is powerful. Sharper than swords. But the human heart is deceitful. Even the regenerate human heart can come under a spell. So what to do?
The best thing I know to do is to try letting someone else hold the mirror for a while. And by someone else, I mean someone who doesn’t benefit from telling us how great we look––and someone who isn’t under a similar spell. The mirror is never less pleasant than when we don’t have control over the angles and filters, when we don’t get to choose which parts of us we see reflected.
Perhaps the best way to shed the dragon skin is to let someone else tell us it’s there. It exists. It’s monstrous. Let someone whose walked around to the backside of us and seen the tail we’ve sprouted hold the mirror. We know we’re in deep when we––we who love the mirror as long as it’s poised at the right angle and managed with the right filters––start refusing to look in it when it’s in the hands of someone other than ourselves, someone who doesn’t come with a built in concern for our image or good Christian status.
What we really need is some burnt Marsh-wiggle to jolt us out of our stupor. But that takes courage and faith and sacrifice and a come-what-may kind of grit. It’s the Marsh-wiggle’s burnt foot that serves as the mirror to the rest of us.
To all the Puddleglums of the world: breaking spells is a dangerous business. For all the Nathan-like prophets willing to say to blind kings and blind moms and blind leaders and blind influencers, “You are the man,” the cost may be high. But we need you. Go put out some fires for us with your bare feet.
Abigail, I’m confident you have many gifts but I am especially blessed and thankful for this one, the gift if wisdom and writing you share with us. Prayers of thanksgiving for you. Beth Propp
Abigail, I’m sure you have many gifts but I am especially grateful for your gifts of wisdom and writing which you boldly share. Thank you for reminding us of the deeper magic and our need to put our feet to the fire. May God tenderly wrap your wounds, give you joy as you walk. Thank you!! I love your work. Beth Propp
Such an excellent word. A very good reminder, that I’ve heard twice today, that I’m not perfect! I don’t want to even sound facetious. We really, really need Christ’s forgiveness all the time. And He is so generous with His love and forgiveness.
Messages like this are rare even on the pulpit, where you should expect undiluted, raw Word of God.
“Jesus was angry” is even tame compared to “Jesus drank wine”. Apparently that qualifies as permission to drink. Not that I recall were Jesus actually drank wine.
People do indeed read their deeds into the Word of God.
Thank you and more anointing.
Thank you, Abigail. This is timely encouragement.
The degree to which this runs counter to our “approve everyone and everything all the time or you’re a big, fat meanie” culture is staggering – and a little terrifying. God give us grace to swim against these roaring flood waters! Thanks, Abigail. Again.
Such good words to live by. Having people in our life that we regularly confess sin to and regularly ask “hey how am I doing?” is one huge way that the body of Christ should work together. As well as giving permission to others that have the courage to step in, even when we do t ask or are blind to our sin…Thank you for this reminder and blessing of what it means, partly, to be in covenant with others.