I had forgotten. I had forgotten the great line from C.S. Lewis’, touching book, A Grief Observed. Lewis wrote this book soon after the death of his wife, Joy. I had forgotten that line because it has been so long ago that I read the book. I ran across it in a recent reading of a periodical I regularly read. The title of the article is “Happiness and Pain: That’s the Deal.” The author, Amy Morris-Young does a nice job of reflecting on relationships and the death of those relationships.
I like the way she opens the article. She quips, “Let's get real. Where the rubber meets the road for most of us in our relationship with God is when we are sick or hurt, or the people we love are.” She probably is correct, even though many of us would say we have a deep and meaningful relationship with God long before tragedy. Her line is a good reminder, however, of when the rubber does meet the road.
She recognizes these times of death leads most of us to feel alone. Humorously, she says at that point we are likely to ask, "Uh, God. You out there?" Morris-Young then recounts her own experience with the deaths of a couple people close to her. The first death she describes is the death of Red, her beloved grandfather. As she recounted this story, my mind was flooded with memories of my own beloved grandpa. I almost teared up when she shares the time he looked up at her and softly confided, "Almost done now, honey. Almost ready." I hope I can be there when that time for me comes.
Toward the end of her reflections, she comes to C.S. Lewis’ experience of his wife’s death. Many of us know of Lewis and the books he wrote, perhaps most famously, The Screwtape Letters and The Chronicles of Narnia. Lewis was a professor at Oxford, that famous university and city about an hour from London. I have lived a couple times in Oxford. I have often visited the pub where Lewis and his sidekicks, among whom was J.R.R. Tolkien, hung out and called their gathering, the Inklings.
In 1956 Lewis married Joy Davidson, an American poet. Their marriage lasted only four years before her untimely death. Morris-Young shares a brief exchange between Joy and Jack (as Lewis was known). Basically, she wants to talk about her impending death and he does not want to talk about it. At the end of that conversation, Joy uses the line, which then forms the end of Lewis’s book. She says, “the pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That's the deal." That is such a powerful line, I needed to reflect on its meaning.
Ironically, in this line Lewis connects pain and happiness. On the surface these two ideas seem contradictory. They seem to be either/or. The way Lewis is using them, they are complimentary, not contradictory. Perhaps part of the issue in understanding this is to recognize most of us think about happiness in more pedestrian ways than life and death. For example, when I stop by my favorite place for morning coffee, I will say I am happy to get that cup of coffee. But it is a long way from any kind of ultimate happiness. I’m not sure I would be sad if I did not get it. Coffee is not a very profound or deep happiness. If I don’t get coffee, I don’t feel pain!
Of course, Lewis is pointing to a much more profound level of happiness. The potential level of happiness in a marriage can approach profundity. My kids and my friends can do the same thing. I am deeply happy with them and for them. To be deprived of them is more than sad; it can be painful. This is the level to which Lewis points. We inch toward understanding fully what Joy is telling Jack.
When there is profound happiness, you necessarily have signed up for potential pain. Clearly, most of us never think about the other side of the coin when we are experiencing the sheer delight of happiness. As she said, “That’s the deal.” If you don’t want to deal with the pain that awaits you on the other side of happiness, then live life in neutral. That sounds like a lot of fun! If you care, you will hurt when it’s not possible to care anymore. So, if you want to avoid that, don’t invest. Live a shallow, uncommitted life devoid of love or friendships.
Otherwise, that’s the deal. I was intrigued how Morris-Young ends her reflections. Let’s go with hers and put my own reflections on hold. How is she dealing with the happiness-pain issue that death of loved ones has given her? She observes, “My greatest challenge is remembering to trust God, to not just believe but know that love connects us infinitely. When death separates me from those I love — or I stand on the precipice of that great chasm myself — that faith is all I have.”
Like C.S. Lewis, Morris-Young comes back to faith. And faith is always linked to love. I am good with her theology, namely, that “love connects us infinitely.” In faith I can affirm the truth of that without theologically knowing for sure how to work it out. Maybe she is correct. Faith is all we have.
If I feel pain now, it is because of happiness once enjoyed. And pain is not the last word. The pain I feel now is bracketed by happiness on both ends. That’s the faith we all have.
I like the way she opens the article. She quips, “Let's get real. Where the rubber meets the road for most of us in our relationship with God is when we are sick or hurt, or the people we love are.” She probably is correct, even though many of us would say we have a deep and meaningful relationship with God long before tragedy. Her line is a good reminder, however, of when the rubber does meet the road.
She recognizes these times of death leads most of us to feel alone. Humorously, she says at that point we are likely to ask, "Uh, God. You out there?" Morris-Young then recounts her own experience with the deaths of a couple people close to her. The first death she describes is the death of Red, her beloved grandfather. As she recounted this story, my mind was flooded with memories of my own beloved grandpa. I almost teared up when she shares the time he looked up at her and softly confided, "Almost done now, honey. Almost ready." I hope I can be there when that time for me comes.
Toward the end of her reflections, she comes to C.S. Lewis’ experience of his wife’s death. Many of us know of Lewis and the books he wrote, perhaps most famously, The Screwtape Letters and The Chronicles of Narnia. Lewis was a professor at Oxford, that famous university and city about an hour from London. I have lived a couple times in Oxford. I have often visited the pub where Lewis and his sidekicks, among whom was J.R.R. Tolkien, hung out and called their gathering, the Inklings.
In 1956 Lewis married Joy Davidson, an American poet. Their marriage lasted only four years before her untimely death. Morris-Young shares a brief exchange between Joy and Jack (as Lewis was known). Basically, she wants to talk about her impending death and he does not want to talk about it. At the end of that conversation, Joy uses the line, which then forms the end of Lewis’s book. She says, “the pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That's the deal." That is such a powerful line, I needed to reflect on its meaning.
Ironically, in this line Lewis connects pain and happiness. On the surface these two ideas seem contradictory. They seem to be either/or. The way Lewis is using them, they are complimentary, not contradictory. Perhaps part of the issue in understanding this is to recognize most of us think about happiness in more pedestrian ways than life and death. For example, when I stop by my favorite place for morning coffee, I will say I am happy to get that cup of coffee. But it is a long way from any kind of ultimate happiness. I’m not sure I would be sad if I did not get it. Coffee is not a very profound or deep happiness. If I don’t get coffee, I don’t feel pain!
Of course, Lewis is pointing to a much more profound level of happiness. The potential level of happiness in a marriage can approach profundity. My kids and my friends can do the same thing. I am deeply happy with them and for them. To be deprived of them is more than sad; it can be painful. This is the level to which Lewis points. We inch toward understanding fully what Joy is telling Jack.
When there is profound happiness, you necessarily have signed up for potential pain. Clearly, most of us never think about the other side of the coin when we are experiencing the sheer delight of happiness. As she said, “That’s the deal.” If you don’t want to deal with the pain that awaits you on the other side of happiness, then live life in neutral. That sounds like a lot of fun! If you care, you will hurt when it’s not possible to care anymore. So, if you want to avoid that, don’t invest. Live a shallow, uncommitted life devoid of love or friendships.
Otherwise, that’s the deal. I was intrigued how Morris-Young ends her reflections. Let’s go with hers and put my own reflections on hold. How is she dealing with the happiness-pain issue that death of loved ones has given her? She observes, “My greatest challenge is remembering to trust God, to not just believe but know that love connects us infinitely. When death separates me from those I love — or I stand on the precipice of that great chasm myself — that faith is all I have.”
Like C.S. Lewis, Morris-Young comes back to faith. And faith is always linked to love. I am good with her theology, namely, that “love connects us infinitely.” In faith I can affirm the truth of that without theologically knowing for sure how to work it out. Maybe she is correct. Faith is all we have.
If I feel pain now, it is because of happiness once enjoyed. And pain is not the last word. The pain I feel now is bracketed by happiness on both ends. That’s the faith we all have.
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