First of all, C.S. Lewis would have fit if he knew people were dissecting his story as either allegory or, heaven forbid, Scripture. It is neither. Really, the stories are just stories. But they have an added kick of conveying deep spiritual truths to which we in Christian circles have become somewhat immune.
Lewis has his finger on the pulse of the Susans in the world, as he deals with the fact that sometimes we “get it” and sometimes we just don’t. In his explanation of the reason for writing the Chronicles and why they are NOT allegory, he shares…
I thought I saw how stories of this kind could steal past a certain inhibition which had paralyzed much of my own religion since childhood. Why did one find it so hard to feel as one was told one ought to feel about God or about the sufferings of Christ? I thought the chief reason was that one was told one ought
to. An obligation to feel can freeze feelings. And reverence itself did harm. The whole subject was associated with lowered voices; almost as if it were something medical. But suppose by casting all these things into an imaginary world, stripping them of their stained-glass and Sunday school associations, one
could make them for the first time appear in their real potency? Could one not thus steal past those watchful dragons? I thought one could.
See? The problem with kids leaving the faith isn’t new. The problem with immunity to the message isn’t new. These are the ancient perils of growing up… or not growing up, depending on which side of the coin you’re on. What happens to Susan happens to many of our kids… they fall in love with this world and lose sight of the wonder of the other.
“Oh Susan!” said Jill, “she’s interested in nothing nowadays except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being
grown-up.”
“Grown-up, indeed,” said the Lady Polly. “I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she’ll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one’s life as quick as she can and then stop
there as long as she can.”Lewis C.S., The Last Battle (New York: Collier Books, 1978. 135.)
Yeah… well… there’s where I get all conflicted with Lewis because in that quote I find the answer to the question: Who is Susan? Deep breath…. Susan is me. And you. Susan is all of our children and all of us.
I am alternately angry with Lewis for pointing out that Susan’s missing from Narnia because she grew up too fast and grateful to him for showing me that I’m in danger for not being grown up enough. Spiritual truth, again.
Here’s a question for you: Where are you? In the Kingdom, I mean… where are you? Are you standing there at the end of the last battle with the other kings and queens, getting ready to move further up and further in. Or are you missing… not quite there yet?
You see, you can’t take your teen by the hand and lead them “past watchful dragons” until you get by them yourself.
The thing that gets me over my issues with Lewis about Susan’s absence is that he doesn’t say things are over for her. The rest of the Friends of Narnia are there forever as a result of the railway accident and their faith that the other world is real. But Susan is M.I.A. While we know that at the time the others arrive in Narnia for the final time, Susan is immersed in the things of this world, we don’t know that she stays captivated by the Shadow-lands.
I love that ambiguity. There is absolutely no indication that Susan was at the railway station with the others. She’s just missing. And if she’s missing, there is hope she’ll turn up in the Real Narnia someday.
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