The work of sanctification

In a narrow place between two rocks there came to meet me a great Lion. The speed of him was like the ostrich, and his size was an elephant’s; his hair was like pure gold and the brightness of his eyes like gold that is liquid in the furnace…

Then I fell at his feet and thought, ‘Surely this is the hour of death, for the Lion (who is worthy of all honour) will know that I have served Tash all my days and not him. Nevertheless, it is better to see the Lion and die than to be Tisroc of the world and live and not to have seen him.’

But the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, ‘Son, thou art welcome.’

But I said, ‘Alas, Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash.’ He answered, ‘Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me.’

Then by reasons of my great desire for wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, ‘Lord, is it then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one?’

The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, ‘It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him. For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath’s sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man does a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand, Child?’

I said, ‘Lord, thou knowest how much I understand.’ But I said also (for the truth constrained me), ‘Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days.’

‘Beloved,’ said the Glorious One, ‘unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek.’

— C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle

The passage above from book seven of the Chronicles of Narnia
concerns Emeth, an infidel warrior who goes to his death, believing in a false god, the demon Tash. In the mythical world of Narnia, Christ wears the form of a Lion, but in most other respects His character matches that of His true form, the man Jesus Christ.

If you're not familiar with this series of books but have seen any of the recent film adaptations, they do not even come close to the story line that Lewis intended. Also, be advised that despite the warnings of a few anti-Narnia ‘Christian’ web sites, these books are not in any sense occult or witchery-laden as some other more recent series. In fact, Narnia stands in stark contrast to them. It is not a modern fantasy series, but in the best classic sense, a kind of allegory or myth.

Written for children, they never cease to interest and enlighten adult readers. They are Christian theology for children, the kind that Christ speaks of when He says, ‘to such as them the Kingdom of heaven belongs’ (Matthew 19:14).

Why did I just quote this passage? Am I going to try to prove anything by it? Not at all. I am not qualified to ask or answer the sorts of questions people sometimes debate, concerning the implications regarding ‘just who are saved’ that they read into this passage. I also don't think Lewis was jockeying into position to ask or answer such questions either.

What this passage bespeaks to me is the work of sanctification. This is not a human work but rather, the work of Christ: It is Him turning us into the kinds of creatures who not only are worthy of eternal life, but also want it. This is what comes to mind when I think about sanctification.

There is only one Christianity—biblical Orthodoxy—and all Christians owe its existence to the Church Fathers from the beginning till now.
Spiritual life goes on, undeniably, outside of the ‘visible Church.’
The work of sanctification is possible only through Christ, because only He accomplishes it.
Real sanctification is different from spiritual sophistication.
When Christ emptied the tombs He did not go only to those who knew Him or of Him, but to all.
Escape from hell and death is possible only through Christ, who is the Only-Begotten Son and Word of God.
Our narrow parameters for ‘just who are saved’ are based on a shallow interpretation of Christ's word about the ‘narrow path.’
Everyone whom He saves will finally know Him, even if while they were being saved, they may not have known by Whom.

Today I read an interesting comment on this very subject. Lorelei wrote, ‘When Jesus said “No one comes to the Father except through me,” he meant that He claims us—not that we must claim Him. Just as Aslan claimed Emeth, and not the other way around.’ This thought really contains a good dose of Calvinism, of predestination, but I am not sure that it must be taken that way.

God's plan of salvation, His divine ikonomía, as we call it in Greek, is too impossibly vast for our puny minds and meticulous methodologies to express or understand. Bits and pieces of it we learn and ingest all our lives, as we follow Jesus in faithful obedience, but we are never given to understand it completely, and as soon as we think we've got it all systematised, God acts, and our house of cards collapses again. Sounds familiar?

Back to the work of sanctification. What I wanted to say, what the story in The Last Battle speaks to me, is that wherever we find the work of sanctification going on—real sanctification, not religious hocus-pocus—there is Christ present, effecting it, since apart from Him, there can be no sanctification, as well as no salvation. The Church must look deeper than creedal preoccupations in herself and in others.

Everything we have been given on the path of sanctification and salvation is not for its own sake, but for the sake of the purposes of God the Holy Triad—what is it He wants for us? What does He intend when He creates us? Can we afford to quench the smoking flax when it is not in our own hands? If we know all is possible only through Christ, how can we welcome those whom He is sanctifying outside our gates?

Must we wait for Christ Himself to empty Hades of the souls whom we have relinquished there? What does Christ mean when He tells us, ‘If you confess Me before men, I will confess you before My Father who is in heaven’? And what does it mean to deny Him before men?
Is there only one kind of apostasy? Who has the boldness to turn away those souls whom Christ has made worthy, thinking they own His Kingdom?