In his novel That Hideous Strength, C.S. Lewis is able to masterfully illustrate in narrative form so many of his insights about the subversive dangers of Leftist political dogma to Christian civilization. Perceptive essays from Lewis like “The Abolition of Man” and “The Inner Ring” are fleshed out in the story of Mark and Jane Studdock. The elitist social engineers of Belbury, intent on remaking and controlling England and all of humanity, hide behind what appears to be a harmless bureaucratic, administrative organization called N.I.C.E (The National Institute for Coordinated Experiments). But over against demonic Belbury stands the domestic estate of St. Anne’s-on-the-Hill, with wise Ransom as the Director.
The battle lines are drawn. On one side—good, the true, and the beautiful. And on the other—the evil, the powerful, and the hideous. St. Anne’s household vs. the Belbury hive. Christian domesticity vs. Satanic domination. And as I said, it is a war to preserve Christendom.
So how will the battle be fought and won? What strategy will Ransom and his household at St. Anne’s employ? Well, not what you might expect. In the penultimate scene we have a divine intervention that confuses Belbury’s attempt at a new tower of Babel. But how does that come about? What triggers that event? What brings the heavenly judgment down on Belbury? As it turns out, some very ordinary, very common-place triggers.
When the beastly conspirators of Belbury are finally defanged and sent packing, there’s a celebration at St. Anne’s estate. One of the members of the St. Anne household, Andrew MacPhee, a Scot, something of a Scottish common-sense realist, is dumbfounded at just how this victory was accomplished and exactly what part any of the household of St. Anne might have had in it. The others are all wondering how the history of this great triumph will be recorded.
“Aye,” said MacPhee, “and it could be a right good history without ever mentioning you and me or most of those here present. I’d be greatly obliged if anyone would tell me what we have done—apart from feeding the pigs and raising some very decent vegetables.”
“You have done what was required of you,” said the Director [Ransom]. “You have obeyed and waited. As one of the modern authors has told us, the altar must often be built in one place in order that the fire from heaven may descend somewhere else.”
And right there is a profound lesson for all of us crusaders for Christendom. The most powerful weapon we wield against the forces of evil is ordinary Christian faithfulness. And I want to stress the adjective ordinary. Like the Scot MacPhee we often miss the centrality of simple godly living in order to pursue heroic, grandiose means to victory.
And if we had more time, I would point out that Lewis’s story begins with two central characters—Jane and Mark. The opening scene is Jane contemplating the words of the Book of Common Prayer on marriage. The first sentences in the book are these words:
“Matrimony was ordained, thirdly,” said Jane Studdock to herself, “for the mutual society, help and comfort that the one ought to have for the other.” She had not been to church since her schooldays until she went there six months ago to be married, and the words of the service had stuck in her mind.
Sadly, Jane is contemplating these words because neither she nor her husband are experiencing any of this because they are each of them pursuing a fool’s errand. They have been enticed to seek after the modernist promise of happiness through self-fulfillment. They must learn the hard way, not only how self-destructive this is, but also how the pursuit will further the campaign of the enemies of all that is good, true, and beautiful.
At end of the book both Jane and Mark abandon their self-centered quests and are united in an ordinary life of charity, love, and joy that brings true freedom.
What does all of this have to do with you two today? Well, you have probably already figured that out, as much as you are able to with so many things swirling around in your heads on the day of your marriage. I don’t remember a single word of the homily given at our wedding. But these days everything is recorded on video, so you can always return to this little homily when you have opportunity.
You are both warriors in the cosmic battle for Christian civilization. That’s commendable. But don’t think the battle is won primarily in high places of governmental power, with acts of gallantry in the public arena—whether in the university or conservative political organizations. There’s certainly some help there, some advances to be fought for. Some selective victories to be won, for sure.
But remember Ransom’s very wise, very biblical advice to MacPhee, “ . . . the altar must often be built in one place in order that the fire from heaven may descend somewhere else.” And the altar you must both erect is the altar of an ordinary Christian marriage and family. Perhaps everyone should know that this table behind me has been newly constructed and will be the table that this new family will gather around for meals when they return home. This is the altar that will be more powerful for the advancement of the kingdom of our risen lord than any direct political, social, or educational activism. And it is fitting that this will be today the altar from which you all will receive the body and blood of our Lord for the first time together as husband and wife, father and mother, brothers and sisters.
I read from St. Paul’s epistle to the Corinthian church earlier, especially his argument against the Corinthian Christians’ pursuit of spiritual greatness. Chasing after the showiest gifts, even gifts of the Spirit, is not the most excellent way. You might be able to deliver a speech or podcast in angelic tongues, you might attain great intellectual powers of discernment so as to prophetically ascertain global trends, you could muster up enough faith to move political and educational mountains, or even offer yourselves as individuals to be martyred for the cause. But if you have not love, ordinary love for one another and for your children, you will accomplish nothing and you are nothing.
Psalm 131 gives us God the Son’s posture in his incarnation.
“O Yahweh, my heart is not lifted up;
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child is my soul within me.
O Israel, hope in Yahweh
From this time forth and forevermore.”
Our hope in Yahweh’s promise to act on our behalf is grounded in our humility before him. After all, he loved us so much that he humbled himself. We are, therefore, called to be conformed to the image of our Savior. But we too often resist. As St. Augustine put it so well, “God has humbled himself, and still man is proud”
And so my prayer for you both is that you will humbly submit yourselves to the gracious discipline of the Lord in your marriage, so that you both can participate in the quality of love described in 1 Corinthians 13. This is a worthy expectation, a truly magnificent goal-to be remade in the image of God, to experience a mature love, a love that never fails, never disappoints, just as the love of our Lord for us. When we Christians learn to focus on building that kind of domestic altar we can expect the Lord to call down his fiery judgment on the Belburys of our time.
Amen.