The capitalistic endeavor of the intelligent man in the bowler hat continues as he labors off with the smallest of golden apples. This is the ghost determined to bring heaven to hell, to introduce a real commodity in a place with “no scarcity”, and maybe to turn a little profit in the process.
Lewis has a knack for description. Providing detail, yet all the while leaving endless room for imagination. A thunderous yet liquid voice. Rarely calling anything or anyone by name, he relies on engaging description to keep your mind wondering. As he described the efforts of Ikey, I couldn’t help but feel small. Literally small. As I imagined the scene, I imagined things being great in size. I couldn’t help it. I had to read paragraphs again to bring them to a manageable scale in my mind. I thank Mr. Lewis for this, because it is his ability and his gift to describe scenery in such a way that invites me and surrounds me.
The presence of the Water-Giant is exciting.
I saw now… that it was also a bright angel who stood, like one crucified, against the rocks and poured himself perpetually down towards the forest with loud joy. (the Writer)
The Writer became self-conscious in the presence of the Water-Giant. How fitting. It is exciting to me that this short chapter shadows the presence of the Lord, all the while portraying his brilliance.
Here we encounter the hard-bitten ghost, an opinionated skeptic through and through. He is defined by what he already believes to be true. He proudly carries his presuppositions into every situation, and carries them back out again unscathed. His earthly life as a traveler was, in the end, wasted, because he had no interest or appreciation for his circumstances. He already knew what he was going to see, and so he never really saw anything. His eyes and his understanding were darkened, and so his years were, in the end, fruitless. Oh, how often we miss moments because we refuse to see that there’s something to see.
This ghost even knows Management. As a side note, kudos to Lewis for capitalizing the final occurrence. As if to cement the hard-bitten ghost’s defiance of God, he subtly magnifies the final complaint by giving Management a sense of significance.
“What would you say if you went to a hotel where the eggs were all bad and when you complained to the Boss, instead of apologising and changing his dairyman, he just told you that if you tried you’d get to like bad eggs in time?” (the Hard-Bitten Ghost)
It is a loaded complaint. The assumption is that the eggs are, in fact, bad. What if, instead of the eggs, it is your tastes that have been corrupted? We’ve talked before in this series about the difficulties of relativistic thinking. The hard-bitten ghost has fallen into the trap of thinking that what he thinks is true, simply because he is the one who is thinking. He cannot see the possibility that his presupposition is wrong, that the eggs are in fact good and that his tastes have somehow been perverted.
If the Bible is true, then our tastes have been compromised. Sin has darkened our heart, causing us to view God and his absolute Truth as narrow, stifling, and judgmental. In response, we place ourselves on the throne, living according to definitions of right and wrong that we’ve concocted (and, on occasion, borrowed from God without giving him due credit). By keeping God out of the equation, we build our straw houses with tons of room to wiggle in and out of any solid definition or standard of right. (Romans 1)
We think we know.
The hard-bitten ghost wants Management to give him something that suits his darkened heart. Something to spice up his sinful straw house. The ghost wants a god that he can tote around in his pocket, one who bows to his every whim – not only answering his questions, but reading hollow answers from cue cards crafted in the ghost’s sinful core. In short, the ghost has already found the god his heart desires right in the mirror.
What if Management could give a new heart to appreciate the eggs? What if Management could replace a cold, dead heart with a living, beating heart, and open eyes to boot? To the hard-bitten ghost, this would probably seem like the ultimate joke at the end of a bad dream. But then again, that’s exactly what the cold, dead heart would think.
I’m thankful this morning that the one true God of the universe is in the business of removing hearts of stone and giving hearts of flesh. (Ezekiel 36:22-38) I’m thankful that he is in the business of opening eyes and ears to the truth of the gospel. But then again, as one who has found life and life abundant in Christ, that’s exactly what I would think.
“I prefer it up here.” (the Writer)
The fading hope in the Writer, stressed under the weight of encounters with ghosts who remind me all too clearly of my own clinging sin, now carries me, wondering, to the next chapter.
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