Clive Staples Lewis: November 29, 1898 – November 22, 1963
Today marks the fiftieth anniversary of the death of C. S. Lewis–professor, writer, theologian. Lewis is probably best known for his Chronicles of Narnia, a series of seven children’s stories that have been made into radio plays, movies, and have remained in print for sixty years. My brother had a copy of the first in the series, THE LION, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE, and though I remember seeing it on the shelf, and was curious about it, I never once throughout my childhood picked it up and read it. I read JENNINGS, and GRIMBLE, and history, and a variety of other things, but I avoided Narnia. Did I think it too “childish”? Did the title put me off? I really don’t know. Maybe, like many things, I just never got around to it.
The first C. S. Lewis I remember reading was not long after I became a Christian when I was 13. My uncle, a Church of Ireland minister, bought me a copy of THE SCREWTAPE LETTERS. That book made me a fan. It was witty, and thought provoking, and so beautifully written. After that, my mum picked up a copy of MERE CHRISTIANITY from a used book shop. In fact, up until my mid-twenties, I only knew C. S. Lewis the theologian. And while I didn’t agree with him all the time, I couldn’t avoid the way he crafted language, and formed his arguments in such an engaging way. Whether or not I liked what he said, I loved the way he said it.
I discovered Narnia when my wife bought me a set of the books for my birthday. I don’t remember the exact year, but I remember starting on the series and going through a book a day for a week. I was enthralled, and amazed that books for children could appeal to an adult. The way Lewis effortlessly brought his Christian worldview to bear on the stories without being preachy particularly impressed me. Encountering these familiar points of theology was like meeting beloved friends at a fancy dress party. There was joy at the recognition, and marveling at how well they concealed themselves from all but those who knew them. I often credit J. K. Rowling for giving me the kick up the backside to return to fiction writing; but I’m sure during that week, C. S. Lewis planted a seed. Christian theology wasn’t the only friend I encountered in Narnia; I also heard the call of the story-writer I had long left behind.
I have gone back to Narnia many times since, and frequently venture back to Lewis’ other writings. As a theologian, I would call him my Christian brother, though we still have important areas of disagreement that I’m sure will be settled in Eternity. As a writer, I consider him second-to-none. If at some point in my writing career–whatever becomes of that–I manage to attain some measure of his clarity of thought, and beauty of expression, I will consider myself blessed.
