"Come in, friends, the fit is not yet upon me. Make no noise, for I told that prying chamberlain that you were in bed. Now . . . I can feel it coming. Quick! Listen while I am master of myself. When the fit is upon me, it well may be that I shall beg and implore you, with entreaties and threatenings, to loosen my bonds. They say I do. I shall call upon you by all that is most dear and most dreadful. But do not listen to me. Harden your hearts and stop your ears. For while I am bound you are safe. But if once I were up and out of this chair, then first would come my fury, and after that, the change into a loathsome serpent...
Quick! I am sane now. Every night I am sane. If only I could get out of this enchanted chair, it would last. I should be a man again. But every night they bind me, and so every night my chance is gone. But you are not enemies. I am not your prisoner. Quick! Cut these cords...I beseech you to hear me. Have they told you that if I am released from this chair I shall kill you and become a serpent? I see by your faces that they have. It is a lie. It is at this hour that I am in my right mind: it is all the rest of the day that I am enchanted. You are not Earthmen nor witches. Why should you be on their side? Of your courtesy, cut my bonds. Believe me, you look upon a wretch who has suffered almost more than any mortal can bear. What wrong have I ever done you, that you should side with my enemies to keep me in such miseries? And the minutes are slipping past. Now you can save me; when this hour has passed, I shall be witless again - the toy and lap-dog, nay, more likely the pawn and tool, of the most devilish sorceress that ever planned the woe of men. And this night, of all nights, when she is away! You take from me a chance that may never come again. Beware. One night I did break them. But the witch was there that time. You will not have her to help you tonight. Free me now, and I am your friend. I'm your mortal enemy else...Once and for all, I adjure you to set me free. By all fears and all loves, by the bright skies of Overland, by the great Lion, by Aslan himself, I charge you."
If you've been a Christian for any time at all, you've heard a quip from the pulpit like, "The real you is how you are when the church isn't looking. It's how you are with your family and friends and coworkers, etc." We hear that, and we all reflect upon our short tempers, our off-color jokes, our office politics, our complaining, our anxiety, our speaking ill of others behind their backs. Not very sporting to point that out, is it? It's shooting fish in a barrel, taking candy from a baby. It sounds so very wise, what observation could be more evident than that? Hypocrites, all of us.
Following the logic of the quipper, imagine the following. "Oh, Sir Knight, we know that while you are in this Silver Chair, it is not the real you. You are only like this for a few minutes each day. It's very convenient for you to talk about Aslan while we Narnians are here. You're trying to impress us. Also, you want to manipulate us. No, the real you is the man who appears the other 23 hours of the day. We've been with you during those hours, and all your talk about Aslan is whitewash."
It sounds very wise to point up hypocrisy in others. It sounds very pious and humble to call ourselves worms and beat our breasts over our weaknesses. Yes, we might talk a good game in the gathering, but we go home and to the office and become our real and crappy selves. Or do we?
Really, who are we?
We get together on Friday night for what we call "prayer fellowship". I have to admit, I'm often weary on Friday, and many times would like to vegetate in a recliner and watch a movie. But when I arrive and begin to share with the brothers and sisters, and enter into prayer with them, something happens. It is like sitting in my own Silver Chair. For this brief time together before the Lord and before the travellers, I am sane. This is the real me.
As our three travellers witness the transformation of the Knight, so too our brothers and sisters witness our own transformations when we come before one another, and adjure one another in the name of our Lord. And maybe our plea is similar. "Set me free."
The travellers released the Knight from the chair, released him from being bound to that one hour, that he could be in his right mind all the time, that he would from then on be reckoned as Prince Rilian. Isn't that an outstanding aspiration, to know ourselves (and be known) as we really are, a Son or Daughter of the King? Not just for an hour here and there, but for all our hours?
And this is the truth of the matter, that deep down we do not equal our failure. Our failure no longer defines us. In us, in the pit of our being, is something else. Christ. In us. We are altogether a new creation.
That person who offers that earnest prayer, that's really me. That person who opens his mouth to build up the brothers, that's really me. Wherever Christ issues forth, that's the real me.
We experience tempations, doubts, anxiety, lusts, anger. It can feel like darkness is radiating from the inside out. But we are told we are like a lamp inside, and that light can be covered as if with a basket. In other words, the darkness is pressed in from outside. It is Christ being veiled, Christ in us being supressed. The darkness is not our identity, it is something that is happening to us. We are being afflicted from the outside, our light being veiled.
The solution to our hypocrisy is not to suppress the darkeness, but rather to release the light. Let's not suppress Christ in us, but rather unveil to one another, even if it seems awkward or hypocritical.
Furthermore, if we can view ourselves this way, how much more glorious for the Body if we can view one another this way. When a saint gets caught up in depression, anger, doubt, and the many other things which grieve the Body, we can earnestly say, "This is not the real him. He is afflicted. Circumstances are veiling his light, but we know that within him is Christ. Let us contend for his release."
