In Letters to Malcolm, C.S. Lewis meditates on the puzzling, invisible-yet-always-present relationship with God. These intimate notes between friends feel like snapshots of an analog conversation; Lewis and his pen pal even established a topic for their dialogue-by-mail.
They set their focus on prayer, with one condition: “If you were thinking of corporate prayer, I won’t play,” Lewis wrote.
Lewis contends that institutional novelty distracts us from true devotion, and therefore resists the paternalistic grip that squeezes us toward a certain way of knowing God and making ourselves known to God.
Unlike formalized requests or recitations, prayer is a grateful, humble posture toward our Loving Creator and a communicative exchange in which we faithfully expect to be heard and answered. However, it’s less about expecting God to orchestrate circumstances according to our wishes and wants; rather, it’s about authentically opening up in such a way that we come to understand how to do what God wants us to do.
“I am a conductor, not a source,” Lewis wrote.
God made heaven and earth and everything in between. What, then, can we make for the Maker?
Prayer is how we learn the answer to that question; the psalmist David writes, “The Lord confides in those who fear Him and reveals His covenant to them.”
We wait, listen, and contemplate the job description for being human: act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.
Let us pray that the works of our hands be thanks and praise, and as we do good and share, the story of salvation will be told.
What merciful moments have turned your stumbling blocks into stepping stone stories?
When I reflect, my mind’s eye tracks to the moments I wish I could do differently — the times I fell short as a mentor, did not speak from my heart, or let the feeling of trepidation slip out as an impatient, untamed tongue.
The deposits of disgrace I left in the hands of time are also entry points for grace to work more boldly; a humble spirit and contrite heart are effective instruments in the Hands of God.
Mercy is powerful when matched with surrender; we become potent vessels for Truth, because our falls from grace let us see with eyes of compassion what otherwise might be clouded by judgment.
When we let what breaks God’s heart also break ours, we open room for a renewed, steadfast spirit to work within us, and through us, so we can love deeply and live fully.
