Isaiah 7: 1-17 (links validated 10/25/22)

“In C.S. Lewis’ book The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Gumpas is governor of the Lone Islands. The islands are technically under Narnian rule, but no one from Narnia has been to these far-flung regions of the kingdom in a very long time. Caspian, the young King of Narnia, is sailing through these regions for the very first time when he stops off at one of the Lone Islands with the idea of stretching his legs a bit with a few of his friends. Not long into his hike, though, he realizes that it might not be the best idea he ever had. He begins to understand that things have gone their own way for a very long time, and while he is still technically ruler of the islands, his actual presence may not be all that welcome. When Caspian finally finds someone he can trust, he asks if Governor Gumpas is even loyal to the Narnian kingdom. “In words, yes. All is done in the King’s name. But [the governor] would not be pleased to find a real, live King of Narnia coming in upon him. And if your Majesty came before him alone and unarmed – well he would not deny his allegiance, but he would pretend to disbelieve you. Your Grace’s life would be in danger.”...

Signs are essential to life in this world. A red octagon tells us that we need to stop for cross traffic or we will get in a wreck. A black and white rectangle with an arrow warns us that traffic is going in only one direction on this street, so don’t turn into it. The green signs with white lettering overhead inform us where we are in a city and what highways are coming up. A blue sign with an H shows us the way to the hospital, while a sign with a picture of an airplane indicates where the airport is. Try to picture a city without signs and you will see how necessary they are to peaceful cohabitation. In a confusing world filled with conflict, one sign stands above the fray to show us that God is with us and wishes us “peace on earth.” Jesus is the Sign of God’s loving involvement with his world.

Sign painters in decades and centuries past didn't necessarily consider themselves artists, but they were definitely communicators on a giant scale. There work was as small as a card in a window and as large as the side of a building or the roof of a barn. The job was to make information as understandable as possible through size of letters, placements of words, and use of color. The information had to be comprehensible even from a moving car and persuasive. The point of the sign was to influence the viewer: to draw them into a shop or bring them to a tourist attraction or to sway them to try a product. The message had to be unmistakable...

I think of Marilynne Robinson, the novelist who reads Calvin and Karl Barth for pleasure. Non-anxiously, questions and doubts are woven through her stories. At the time I saw Captain Fantastic, I was also reading Robinson's novel Lila. Lila had been an abused child in a loveless home until rescued by a cleaning woman, Doll. Literally, Doll was Lila's savior. Doll had secrets; she had not been baptized, did not believe, and had nothing but contempt for Christians. Now grown up, Lila had married Ames, a faithful pastor, more or less by accident. She was surrounded by Christians. One night at dinner, there was some banter about heaven, judgment, who was saved and who was not. Doll, it seemed, was not. Not Doll, or anybody Lila knew before her accidental marriage.

("In C.S. Lewis' book The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Gumpas is governor of the Lone Islands. The islands are technically under Narnian rule, but no one from Narnia has been to these far-flung regions of the kingdom in a very long time. Caspian, the young King of Narnia, is sailing through these regions for the very time when he stops off one of the Lone Islands....")

It's like the story of the tourist who went to the Grand Canyon. He stepped too close to the edge and fell off the cliff. Luckily, there was a scrub brush growing out from the hillside, and, as he hit it, he grabbed on for dear life. In desperation, he called for help. "Is anyone up there?" he cried. Just then, a man in a white robe appeared above him. He looked down at the man and said, "I'll help you, my friend." "Great!" he said, "But who are you? The man replied, "I'm the Lord. I'm here to help you. Just let go of the limb, and you'll be saved." The man hanging from the limb looked down at the great chasm below and said, "Let go of the limb? Are you crazy?!" The other man replied, "Not at all. I'm the Lord. Trust me. Let go of the limb, and you'll be saved." The man thought for a moment and called out, "Is anyone else up there?"...

("In a favorite song of mine, Bette Midler captures this deeply human but ambivalent sense of longing. From a sanitized 'distance'. life feels safer and better than what we experience up close and personal...")

We’re all familiar with the St. Vincent de Paul Society, but fewer of us are familiar with St. Vincent de Paul himself ? a man who swept through seventeenth-century France like a tornado of holiness. During one of his many visits to the galley slaves (galley slaves were criminals condemned to serve their punishment by forced labor as rowers on board ships) in the French city of Marseilles, he met one man who seemed sadder than all the rest. “My friend,” St. Vincent asked the man, “what makes you so sad?” “I have a wife and family far away,” the slave replied, “and my heart aches to see them. But it will be a long time before I have that happiness ? if I ever do.” St. Vincent went to the overseer and asked permission to take the poor man’s place. Not recognizing the saint, the overseer agreed. The chains were taken off the slave and put on St Vincent, who was forced to work in the place of the man he befriended. A short time later, when it was discovered who he was, the saint was set free. But the love and generosity of this heart had already breathed new life and hope into all the wretched men who were condemned to cruel labor at the oars...