Fairy tales are more than true – not because they tell us dragons
exist,
but
because they tell us dragons can be beaten.”
G. K.
Chesterton
Nicole and I have been attending
Geneva Library’s adult book club once a month, and one of the books to be
discussed this month is Michael Gruber’s The
Witch’s Boy. It is a marvelous book, and this is the second reading
of it for both Nicole and me.
In one scene of that book, the
protagonist, a young man named Lump, and his mother travel through Faeryland and
are confronted with a dance by the Faery Folk. Lump’s mother, experienced in
these matters, warns her son to take precautions against hearing the music or
seeing the dance. She says, “Now, as for you, you must not on any account see
it. Go now into the wagon, and on my shelf of simples you will find a red clay
jar, and in it you will find soft beeswax. Use bits of it to stop up your
ears.”
Lump answers, “But why? Why must I
not see the dance nor hear the music of the fay?”
And she explains, “Oh, child,…
should you but once see this dance, no sight of common earth would ever again
give you pleasure – not the face of a beloved, nor that of your own dear child,
but you would lust after a lost perfection. And as for the music: once in a rare
while a person of the common earth hears, as from a great distance, the horns of
Faery, and then they run mad or become great poets or both together. To hear
them at this slight remove and so clear would be the end of you, from the pure
deadly joy of it.”
Now, it’s the nature of such things,
in our fallen world and in this version of Faeryland, that protagonists are
susceptible to temptation. Lump scurries into the wagon and stops his ears and
sits on his cot. But as he sits there, the thought of being denied even one look
at the dance grows intolerable to him. And he creeps to the front of the wagon
and pulls aside the leather curtain that separates the cabin from the driving
seat. And…
“He saw the fay dancing. Their
wings were spread wide as they trod a measure in the air. As he was not a great
musician, he was never able to describe what he saw, for no human words can
comprehend that concentrated essence of loveliness – beauty as terrible as a
bomb. All we know of beauty on earth is but its muddy shadow; music alone can
remind us of its glory. And his heart twisted in his bosom, and he fell back in
a faint, as if shot by a poisoned arrow.”
The tale continues, and Lump and his
mother return to the ‘real’ world. But the vision of the Faeries’ dance and
music lingers in Lump. He is unable to shake away the memories, and all earthly
joys are now tainted by the inevitable comparisons he makes to the real joys of
Faeryland. Dissatisfaction is now Lump’s constant
companion.
Gruber’s book is not meant to be an
allegory of the Christian life, but I see reflected in this story vivid
realities we Christians experience.
The temptation Lump encounters is
reminiscent of the temptation to which Adam and Eve succumbed and to which you
and I have fallen prey. A clear command is issued, a command given for the
well-being of the one receiving it, but the urge to transgress its boundaries
and sample some forbidden ‘delights’ proves overwhelming, and the command is
disobeyed. Lump gave in, and, similarly, Adam and Eve did, and we did also. This
transgression occasions a penalty, the natural outgrowth of the violation. This
is what the Bible refers to as “the wages.” For Adam, Eve, you and me, this
meant death, both spiritual and physical.
In the story, Lump is forced out of
Faeryland and must return to a world that proves, at best, a sad shadow of what
he had glimpsed. In a similar way, Adam and Eve were forced from Eden
But there is more. The inner ache
Lump experiences is similar to the ache we humans experience from birth. Our
consciences bear witness from infancy that there is more to this life than we
see. We sense that we were created for greater, nobler things, and we experience
an inner frustration as we realize that, even at its best, this life’s joys are
incomplete and temporal.
Now, I’m not trying to posit a
one-to-one correlation, so, I’ll go ahead and mix the metaphor.
There is another way to think of
this picture. When we first came to Christ, we received a glimpse of glory. We
were given a foretaste of ‘glory divine.’ It’s as if we had a chance, for just a
moment, to watch the heavenly dance. And then, immediately, we were forced to
reckon with the reality that we were not in heaven yet, dancing in the dance,
but were still consigned physically to a fallen world. We had glimpsed the
heavenly and returned to the earthly. We became aware that our citizenship had
transferred from the latter to the former, but we were compelled to wait for the
moment of physical relocation.
And how hard that was! When we came
to Christ, we realized the reality of Paul’s words, that to depart and be with
Christ is far better than to live on in the flesh. But, of course, we recognized
also that God had a purpose for us here, and so we determined to please Him by
pressing on in the flesh. And, accordingly, we look forward eagerly to the day
when He will call us home. And, in this, we have become like Abraham, Isaac, and
Jacob, dwelling as in a foreign country, waiting for the city which has
foundations, “whose builder and maker is God.” As we look forward to our
inheritance in heaven, we affirm that we are strangers and pilgrims on the
earth, a people who desire a better, heavenly country.
These thoughts have been helpful to
me as I have tried to understand the constant ache of my heart, that ‘almost,
but not yet’ desire that lurks deep within me. That ache is my spirit’s craving
to realize full reconciliation with its Creator, spiritually and physically. It is my spirit’s desire
to join fully in the heavenly dance. It is my spirit’s yearning to be
transformed from a lump of clay into a vessel for
honor.
What literary tales speak to your
spiritual realities?
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