Catherine Claire, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: On Lucy, Fire-flower Cordial, and Calling

I grew up breathing Narnia’s air. If you’ve ever stretched a clammy hand into an old armoire, or stared oh so long at a picture of a ship at sea, or had a shadow of wonder pass over you when pushing on a stable door, you know what I mean. 

 

As a youngest child with two older brothers, one protective, and one provoking, I always related easily to Lucy. Her simple trust in Narnia’s reality and Aslan’s goodness and her mortification at not being believed by the older children and even taunted by Edmund, bonded us for life. Like Lucy, I wept at Aslan’s disgrace, and like Lucy I gulped joy to know His presence. 

 

But there was one aspect of Lucy’s story that remains forever brandished on my memory. To this day, I’m not sure why with so many other moments weighty with meaning it is the one piece of the story that is in vivid Technicolor in my imagination, but it is.

To explain, I must back up a bit. For other lovers of Narnia, you will recall that the always-winter, never-Christmas icy spell of the White Witch began to thaw with Aslan on the prowl. As it did, a most unusual character appeared against that snowy backdrop---Father Christmas. For me, it took about as much faith to believe in Father Christmas as it did to believe in unicorns, centaurs, and dwarves. But yet, there he stood, passing out gifts to Mr. and Mrs. Beaver and to Peter, Susan, and Lucy.

 

A solemn air of mystery hung about these gifts. Something in the tone communicated honor, dignity, and destiny:

 

“Peter, Adam’s Son,” said Father Christmas.  

“Here sir,” said Peter.

“These are your presents was the answer, and they are tools not toys. The time to use them is perhaps near at hand. Bear them well.”

 

To Peter was given a sword and a silver shield with lion’s insignia, to Susan a bow and quiver full of arrows along with an ivory horn that would bring help when put to her lips, and to Lucy, a dagger and a little diamond bottle of fire-flower cordial, said to hold the power to restore health if a friend were wounded. The time to use them would come only too swiftly.

 

As Peter leads the charge against the White Witch in Aslan’s absence, there is no doubting that this sword and shield are not mere child’s play, nor is the battle. Life, death, and the future of Narnia itself, hang in the balance. Peter’s gifts are surely for such a time as this. Sounds of shouts, shrieks and clashing metal curdle the very air as Aslan, Susan, Lucy and the rest of the recently stone-to-flesh-and-fur creatures crest the battlefield. With a dreadful roar that shakes the four-corners of Narnia and a ferocious lunge, Aslan slays the witch.

 

But although the battle is soon over, the wounded lie strewn across the landscape. Edmund, mouth open, covered in blood, and ghastly green, has narrowly survived with his life. Aslan, Himself, is on the scene, but he turns to the youngest Daughter of Eve, who has a role to play in the story. “Quick, Lucy,” he says indicating the cordial.

 

At time’s intersection of urgent need and gracious gifting, Lucy finds her calling, that of healer. Surely in light of Aslan’s great sacrifice on the Stone Table, Lucy’s old bitterness toward Edmund thaws like Narnia’s winter and she pours a few drops of the cordial into her brother’s mouth. I am frozen, like Lucy in this moment, when suddenly Aslan’s deep voice stings my ears.

 

“There are other people wounded.” 

 

Lucy stays put. She responds crossly and demands for Aslan to wait. But his voice comes stronger and graver: “Daughter of Eve, other are also wounded and at the point of death. Must more people die for Edmund?”

 

No doubt, Lucy and I both grew up years in that moment. Our eyes are opened to a world beyond ourselves, our calling is clear, our gifting is sure, and the need is unmistakable. There is no time to look back, only time to respond to Aslan’s voice, and to go. He has won the victory, but much is still at stake in our obedience.

 

©Catherine Claire, 2005

Comments

[Travis Prinzi]

Very, very well said.

[Glenn]

Catherine,
I love you writing and you've done it again. Thank you for reminding me of Lewis' reminder to look out with our gifts, and serve those both close and far. Moving, beautiful words. Thank you.

[Catherine]

Thanks Travis and Glenn for the words of encouragement!

[La Shawn Barber]

Hello all! I look forward to the discussions this week. I've come out of the closet as a Christian Harry Potter fan and decided to create a new blog (what else?). When you get a chance, check it out:

http://www.lashawnbarber.com/ffc/

[Shaun]

Amen. I agree with Travis. Very well said.

It's just a shame that Lewis never meant them to be Christian stories. (Tongue planted firmly in cheek as I ponder what the producers of the film have gone through to, on the one hand, promote the film to believers, and on the other, to deny they are any more than adventure stories.)

Thanks for reminding us of the truth.

[Catherine]

LaShawn, good to hear from you! Glad you've come out of the closet with your Harry Potter tendencies. Confession is good for the soul.

Shaun,
I hear you on our poor "mis-represented" Lewis friend who never intended them to be Christian stories. The people who are writing that stuff are the real fantasy writers, huh?

I remember this excerpt from Gene Edward Veith's excellent book, Reading Between the Lines. It might be appropriate here, especially as he quotes from Lewis on his work and intent. Veith writes:

"The fantasy context defamiliarizes the gospel. In describing how he wrote the series, Lewis describes his purpose: 'I thought I saw how stories of this kind could steal past a certain inhibition which had paralyzed much of my religion in childhood.' The enforced reverence of church, with its lowered voices and heavy obligations, prevented him as a child from appreciating the magnitude of the Christian claims. It occurred to him that the fairy tale might be a way of recovering the true excitement of the Christian story. '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.' The very atmosphere of fantasy is charged with beauty and mystery, the sense that anything can happen, that there is more to life than we see on the surface. It is little wonder that Christian writers and readers have disciplined their imagination through fantasy" (p. 140).

[David Wayne]

Good essay Catherine - thanks for this.

[El Guapo]

Catherine,
You really did an incredible job on this one. Just thought I'd tell you that one more time.

Scott "my woman's a genuis" W.

[Hannah]

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