2022

Today we’re celebrating angels— chiefly, Saint Michael the Archangel but all the rest of them, too.  Because, you see, we as Christians believe in the reality of angels— unseen, spiritual beings that abide with God in a higher realm— in a transcendent realm—  that we call “heaven.”  Now, when you picture heaven, or the throne of God or angels serving at the throne of God, it’s tempting to imagine all of this unfolding light years away.  It’s tempting to think that there is an untraversable chasm separating our boring, earthly, mundane reality from the infinite splendour of heaven.

But one thing the Bible teaches us is this: The realm of heaven and the realm of earth are not wholly separate.  In fact, it may be that the partition separating heaven from earth is less like an impenetrable steel wall and more like a veil as thin and delicate as gossamer.  In fact, it could be that this veil is nothing but an illusion of our own fallen imaginations corrupted, as they are, by sin. Maybe even now, as we sit sleepily in chapel, thousands of angels robed in festal garments are lifting their voices with ours in praise and prayer and thanksgiving— not “way up in heaven”— but here, in this chapel, around this rough, stone altar.   It may even be the case that we—  as we worship— are being caught up with the angels in heaven to be with them.

Please don’t tell me you’ve never sensed this.  You have.  There have been times in your life when you— perhaps just for a moment— have glimpsed unspeakable glory: In a heron sailing over crystal waters, still as glass;  around a campfire, surrounded by family and friends whom you love, with billions of stars above, bearing silent witness to your joy.  In these times, the veil is rent and heaven, in all of her beauty and goodness, comes pouring in through every crack and crevice of this ordinary world; through every cleft and fissure in the armour of your pride.  And in that moment  unbelief is impossible and God seems as real and as close as the ground beneath your feet and the air that fills your lungs.  In short, in these moments, heaven and earth touch.

This theme of parallel worlds that  touch is one that fascinated the author C.S. Lewis.  C.S. Lewis, of course, was the author of (among many other works) the children’s series known as The Chronicles of Narnia.  In the story, four children from grey and foggy London find themselves transported (through a closet of all things) to the magical land of Narnia— a land of mythical creatures and talking beasts, where the very trees and rivers are sentient and living. But the most special thing about Narnia— the most wondrous thing about this world is this: Aslan.  Aslan is the Christ figure in Narnia— the powerful and noble Lion who lives and dies and lives again to save those whom he loves.

My favourite scene from the Chronicles of Narnia is found in the the third book of the series: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  At the end of the book, two of the characters, Lucy and Edmund, learn from Aslan himself that they can never come back to Narnia. They’ve grown too old.  In fact, they’re doomed (as it were) to live out the rest of their lives in our boring old world, far away from this magical land that they’ve come to love.  But here’s the thing: as Lucy weeps before Aslan, she explains that it isn’t really Narnia that she’s going to miss.  “It’s you,” she says to Aslan.  “We shan’t meet you there, [in our world].  And how can we live, never meeting you?”  But listen to what Aslan says to Lucy in reply: “But you shall meet me, dear one.”  To which Lucy replies, “Are you there too, Sir?”  And Aslan says, “I am… But there I have another name.  You must learn to know me by that name.  This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”

Lucy learns that Aslan isn’t  merely Lord of Narnia.  He is the Lord of all worlds, including our own world where he is known by the name of Jesus. And the reason why Lucy and Edmund, Peter and Susan go to Narnia in the first place is so that they can be sent back to their own world to know and love Christ better.

Now, I have a theory and it may be wrong.  After the service, you can tell me what you think.  My theory is this: For many of you here today, Saint Michael’s Youth Conference is your Narnia.  For many of you here today, Camp Medley is your Narnia. Why?  Because here, in this place; here, among these people, you feel there is holy magic at work.  You feel that the veil separating heaven from earth is peculiarly thin.  Medley Staff: There is a reason why you chose to devote your summer to this Camp other than the leisurely work hours, the high pay and the generous benefits. I’m willing to bet (and, again, I may be wrong) that you came here because you feel that God is somehow closer here, more real here, that Christ is on the move here.

Saint Michael’s people— I’m willing to bet that there is a reason why you are here— and it’s not just because you love the smell of incense.  It’s because the incense and the liturgy and the chanting— all mingled together in the beauty of God’s creation—  lift you into the presence of an unspeakable love, flowing ceaselessly between Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  That’s why the Lord brought you here to Camp Medley, to Saint Michael’s Youth Conference and (as it were) to Narnia.  To experience this.

But, all journeys come to an end.  Today, we’re leaving Narnia.  In fact (and I know this is sad) for some of you, this may be your last trip to Narnia. Perhaps Jesus is saying to you (just like Aslan said to Lucy and Edmund) that your time here has come to an end.  But, no matter who you are, remember what Aslan says to the two children. He says:  “This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”

Where’s “there?”  “There” is your life outside of this place. “There” is your life with your family; with your roommates, your life at school, at the university, at your job.  “There” is your boring life of exams and tuition, bills and taxes. Well, Jesus is there too.  In fact, he’s just as much a part of that reality as he is a part of this one.  And he’s waiting for each of you there.  He wants you to know him there, in that place— even better than you know him here, in this one.

How do you get to know him better?  Well, that’s what Cole and Sue have been talking about all week: open your Bible daily; study it; read, “mark, learn and inwardly digest” it.  Pray.  Daily.  Do it for five minutes.  Do it for an hour.  Use the Prayer Book.  Or don’t.  But pray.  And another thing: Find other people who have been to Narnia, so to speak— maybe Michaelites, maybe former Medley staff, maybe anyone who believes in an upside down world of holy magic where a crucified criminal reigns as King.  Meet with them, live in community with them, go to church with them, share meals with them. If you don’t do these things (and I know many who fall under this category) you will, to put it bluntly, lose your faith.  You will cease to be believe in the holy magic.  You will cease to be like the little children whom the Lord calls us to be like in today’s gospel reading (Matthew 18:1-10).  But… If you do seek Christ out— in the discipline of prayer, in the reading of the scriptures, in the sacraments, among the poor—  then you will find him.  And, get this: As you grow in your faith, he too will grow bigger.

In another Narnia Book— one called Prince Caspian— the character Lucy is reunited with Aslan after a long time away.  And this time, she notices something peculiar about him: He’s much bigger than she last remembered. 

“Aslan,” said Lucy.  “You’re bigger.”

“That is because you are older, little one,” answered he.

“Not because you are?”

“I am not,” said Aslan.  “But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.”

Every year you grow in your faith, you will find Christ bigger— more real, more holy, more loving, more challenging, more demanding. For every one of your questions that he answers, three deeper questions will arise in your minds.  The holy mystery that is Christ will only deepen, growing ever more wonderful.  Until the veil that separates heaven and earth, angels and men, God and his people is finally rent.  And we come to know, even as we are known.