to life by such a difficult and painful process. One part of the answer to this question is fairly
easy: the other part is probably beyond all human knowledge. The easy part is this. The process
of being turned from a creature into a son would not have been difficult or painful if the human
race had not turned away from God centuries ago. They were able to do this because He gave
them free will: He gave them free will because a world of mere automata could never love and
therefore never know infinite happiness. The difficult part is this. All Christians are agreed that
there is, in the full and original sense, only one "Son of God." If we insist on asking "But could
there have been many?" we find ourselves in very deep water. Have the words "Could have
been" any sense at all when applied to God? You can say that one particular finite thing "could
have been" different from what it is, because it would have been different if something else had
been different, and the something else would have been different if some third thing had been
different, and so on. (The letters on this page would have been red if the printer had used red ink,
and he would have used red ink if he had been instructed to, and so on.) But when you are
talking about God-i.e. about the rock bottom, irreducible Fact on which all other facts depend- it
is nonsensical to ask if It could have been otherwise. It is what It is, and there is an end of the
matter. But quite apart from this, I find a difficulty about the very idea of the Father begetting
many sons from all eternity. In order to be many they would have to be somehow different from
one another. Two pennies have the same shape. How are they two? By occupying different
places and containing different atoms. In other words, to think of them as different, we have had
to bring in space and matter; in fact we have had to bring in "Nature" or the created universe. I
can understand the distinction between the Father and the Son without bringing in space or
matter, because the one begets and the other is begotten. The Father's relation to the Son is not
the same as the Son's relation to the Father. But if there were several sons they would all be
related to one another and to the Father in the same way. How would they differ from one
another? One does not notice the difficulty at first, of course. One thinks one can form the idea of
several "sons." But when I think closely, I find that the idea seemed possible only because I was
vaguely imagining them as human forms standing about together in some kind of space. In other
words, though I pretended to be thinking about something that exists before any universe was
made, I was really smuggling in the picture of a universe and putting that something inside it.
When I stop doing that and still try to think of the Father begetting many sons "before all worlds"
I find I am not really thinking of anything. The idea fades away into mere words. (Was Nature-
space and time and matter-created precisely in order to make manyness possible? Is there
perhaps no other way of getting many eternal spirits except by first making many natural
creatures, in a universe, and then spiritualising them? But of course all this is guesswork.)
(2) The idea that the whole human race is, in a sense, one thing -one huge organism, like a tree-
must not be confused with the idea that individual differences do not matter or that real people,
Tom and Nobby and Kate, are somehow less important than collective things like classes, races,
and so forth. Indeed the two ideas are opposites. Things which are parts of a single organism
may be very different from one another: things which are not, may be very alike. Six pennies are
quite separate and very alike: my nose and my lungs are very different but they are only alive at
all because they are parts of my body and share its common life. Christianity thinks of human
individuals not as mere members of a group or items in a list, but as organs in a body-different
from one another and each contributing what no other could. When you find yourself wanting to
turn your children, or pupils, or even your neighbours, into people exactly like yourself,
remember that God probably never meant them to be that. You and they are different organs,
intended to do different things. On the other hand, when you are tempted not to bother about
someone else's troubles because they are "no business of yours," remember that though he is
different from you he is part of the same organism as you. If you forget that he belongs to the
same organism as yourself you will become an Individualist. If you forget that he is a different
organ from you, if you want to suppress differences and make people all alike, you will become
a Totalitarian. But a Christian must not be either a Totalitarian or an Individualist.
I feel a strong desire to tell you-and I expect you feel a strong desire to tell me-which of these
two errors is the worse. That is the devil getting at us. He always sends errors into the world in
pairs-pairs of opposites. And he always encourages us to spend a lot of time thinking which is
the worse. You see why, of course? He relies on your extra dislike of the one error to draw you
gradually into the opposite one. But do not let us be fooled. We have to keep our eyes on the goal
and go straight through between both errors. We have no other concern than that with either of
7. Let's Pretend
May I once again start by putting two pictures, or two stories rather, into your minds? One is the
story you have all read called Beauty and the Beast. The girl, you remember, had to marry a
monster for some reason. And she did. She kissed it as if it were a man. And then, much to her
relief, it really turned into a man and all went well. The other story is about someone who had to
wear a mask; a mask which made him look much nicer than he really was. He had to wear it for
year. And when he took it off he found his own face had grown to fit it. He was now really
beautiful. What had begun as disguise had become a reality. I think both these stories may (in a
fanciful way, of course) help to illustrate what I have to say in this chapter. Up till now, I have
been trying to describe facts-what God is and what He has done. Now I want to talk about
practice-what do we do next? What difference does all this theology make? It can start making a
difference tonight. If you are interested enough to have read thus far you are probably interested
enough to make a shot at saying your prayers: and, whatever else you say, you will probably say
the Lord's Prayer.
Its very first words are Our Father. Do you now see what those words mean? They mean quite
frankly, that you are putting yourself in the place of a son of God. To put it bluntly, you are
dressing up as Christ. If you like, you are pretending. Because, of course, the moment you realise
what the words mean, you realise that you are not a son of God. You are not being like The Son
of God, whose will and interests are at one with those of the Father: you are a bundle of self-
centred fears, hopes, greeds, jealousies, and self-conceit, all doomed to death. So that, in a way,
this dressing up as Christ is a piece of outrageous cheek. But the odd thing is that He has ordered
us to do it.
Why? What is the good of pretending to be what you are not? Well, even on the human level,
you know, there are two kinds of pretending. There is a bad kind, where the pretence is there
instead of the real thing; as when a man pretends he is going to help you instead of really helping
you. But there is also a good kind, where the pretence leads up to the real thing. When you are
not feeling particularly friendly but know you ought to be, the best thing you can do, very often,
is to put on a friendly manner and behave as if you were a nicer person than you actually are.
And in a few minutes, as we have all noticed, you will be really feeling friendlier than you were.
Very often the only way to get a quality in reality is to start behaving as if you had it already.
That is why children's games are so important. They are always pretending to be grown-ups-
playing soldiers, playing shop. But all the time, they are hardening their muscles and sharpening
their wits, so that the pretence of being grown-up helps them to grow up in earnest.
Now, the moment you realise "Here I am, dressing up as Christ," it is extremely likely that you
will see at once some way in which at that very moment the pretence could be made less of a
pretence and more of a reality. You will find several things going on in your mind which would
not be going on there if you were really a son of God. Well, stop them. Or you may realise that,
instead of saying your prayers, you ought to be downstairs writing a letter, or helping your wife
to wash-up. Well, go and do it.
You see what is happening. The Christ Himself, the Son of God who is man (just like you) and
God (just like His Father) is actually at your side and is already at that moment beginning to turn
your pretence into a reality. This is not merely a fancy way of saying that your conscience is
telling you what to do. If you simply ask your conscience, you get one result: if you remember
that you are dressing up as Christ, you get a different one. There are lots of things which your
conscience might not call definitely wrong (specially things in your mind) but which you will see
at once you cannot go on doing if you are seriously trying to be like Christ. For you are no longer
thinking simply about right and wrong; you are trying to catch the good infection from a Person.
It is more like painting a portrait than like obeying a set of rules. And the odd thing is that while
in one way it is much harder than keeping rules, in another way it is far easier.
The real Son of God is at your side. He is beginning to turn you into the same kind of thing as
Himself. He is beginning, so to speak, to "inject" His kind of life and thought, His Zoe, into you;
beginning to turn the tin soldier into a live man. The part of you that does not like it is the part
that is still tin.
Some of you may feel that this is very unlike your own experience. You may say "I've never had
the sense of being helped by an invisible Christ, but I often have been helped by other human
beings." That is rather like the woman in the first war who said that if there were a bread
shortage it would not bother her house because they always ate toast. If there is no bread there
will be no toast. If there were no help from Christ, there would be no help from other human
beings. He works on us in all sorts of ways: not only through what we think our "religious life."
He works through Nature, through our own bodies, through books, sometimes through
experiences which seem (at the time) anti-Christian. When a young man who has been going to
church in a routine way honestly realises that he does not believe in Christianity and stops going-
provided he does it for honesty's sake and not just to annoy his parents-the spirit of Christ is
probably nearer to him then than it ever was before. But above all, He works on us through each
Men are mirrors, or "carriers" of Christ to other men. Sometimes unconscious carriers. This
"good infection" can be carried by those who have not got it themselves. People who were not
Christians themselves helped me to Christianity. But usually it is those who know Him that bring
Him to others. That is why the Church, the whole body of Christians showing Him to one
another, is so important. You might say that when two Christians are following Christ together
there is not twice as much Christianity as when they are apart, but sixteen times as much.
But do not forget this. At first it is natural for a baby to take its mother's milk without knowing
its mother. It is equally natural for us to see the man who helps us without seeing Christ behind
him. But we must not remain babies. We must go on to recognise the real Giver. It is madness
not to. Because, if we do not, we shall be relying on human beings. And that is going to let us
down. The best of them will make mistakes; all of them will die. We must be thankful to all the
people who have helped us, we must honour them and love them. But never, never pin your
whole faith on any human being: not if he is the best and wisest in the whole world. There are
lots of nice things you can do with sand; but do not try building a house on it.
And now we begin to see what it is that the New Testament is always talking about. It talks about
Christians "being born again"; it talks about them "putting on Christ"; about Christ "being
formed in us"; about our coming to "have the mind of Christ."
Put right out of your head the idea that these are only fancy ways of saying that Christians are to
read what Christ said and try to carry it out-as a man may read what Plato or Marx said and try to
carry it out. They mean something much more than that. They mean that a real Person, Christ,
here and now, in that very room where you are saying your prayers, is doing things to you. It is
not a question of a good man who died two thousand years ago. It is a living Man, still as much a
man as you, and still as much God as He was when He created the world, really coming and
interfering with your very self; killing the old natural self in you and replacing it with the kind of
self He has. At first, only for moments. Then for longer periods. Finally, if all goes well, turning
you permanently into a different sort of thing; into a new little Christ, a being which, in its own
small way, has the same kind of life as God; which shares in His power, joy, knowledge and
eternity. And soon we make two other discoveries.
(1) We begin to notice, besides our particular sinful acts, our sinfulness; begin to be alarmed not
only about what we do, but about what we are. This may sound rather difficult, so I will try to
make it clear from my own case. When I come to my evening prayers and try to reckon up the
sins of the day, nine times out of ten the most obvious one is some sin against charity; I have
sulked or snapped or sneered or snubbed or stormed. And the excuse that immediately springs to
my mind is that the provocation was so sudden and unexpected: I was caught off my guard, I had
not time to collect myself. Now that may be an extenuating circumstance as regards those
particular acts: they would obviously be worse if they had been deliberate and premeditated. On
the other hand, surely what a man does when he is taken off his guard is the best evidence for
what sort of a man he is? Surely what pops out before the man has time to put on a disguise is the
truth? If there are rats in a cellar you are most likely to see them if you go in very suddenly. But
the suddenness does not create the rats: it only prevents them from hiding. In the same way the
suddenness of the provocation does not make me an ill-tempered man: it only shows me what an
ill-tempered man I am. The rats are always there in the cellar, but if you go in shouting and
noisily they will have taken cover before you switch on the light. Apparently the rats of
resentment and vindictiveness are always there in the cellar of my soul. Now that cellar is out of
reach of my conscious will. I can to some extent control my acts: I have no direct control over
my temperament. And if (as I said before) what we are matters even more than what we do-if,
indeed, what we do matters chiefly as evidence of what we are-then it follows that the change
which I most need to undergo is a change that my own direct, voluntary efforts cannot bring
about And this applies to my good actions too. How many of them were done for the right
motive? How many for fear of public opinion, or a desire to show off? How many from a sort of
obstinacy or sense of superiority which, in different circumstances, might equally had led to
some very bad act? But I cannot, by direct moral effort, give myself new motives. After the first
few steps in the Christian life we realise that everything which really needs to be done in our
souls can be done only by God. And that brings us to something which has been very misleading
in my language up to now.
(2) I have been talking as if it were we who did everything. In reality, of course, it is God who
does everything. We, at most, allow it to be done to us. In a sense you might even say it is God
who does the pretending. The Three-Personal God, so to speak, sees before Him in fact a self-
centred, greedy, grumbling, rebellious human animal. But He says "Let us pretend that this is not
a mere creature, but our Son. It is like Christ in so far as it is a Man, for He became Man. Let us
pretend that it is also like Him in Spirit. Let us treat it as if it were what in fact it is not. Let us
pretend in order to make the pretence into a reality." God looks at you as if you were a little
Christ: Christ stands beside you to turn you into one. I daresay this idea of a divine make-believe
sounds rather strange at first. But, is it so strange really? Is not that how the higher thing always
raises the lower? A mother teaches her baby to talk by talking to it as if it understood long before
it really does. We treat our dogs as if they were "almost human": that is why they really become
"almost human" in the end.
8. Is Christianity Hard Or Easy?
In the last chapter we were considering the Christian idea of "putting on Christ," or first
"dressing up" as a son of God in order that you may finally become a real son. What I want to
make clear is that this is not one among many jobs a Christian has to do; and it is not a sort of
special exercise for the top class. It is the whole of Christianity. Christianity offers nothing else
at all. And I should like to point out how it differs from ordinary ideas of "morality" and "being
The ordinary idea which we all have before we become Christians is this. We take as starting
point our ordinary self with its various desires and interests. We then admit that something else
call it "morality" or "decent behaviour," or "the good of society" has claims on this self: claims
which interfere with its own desires. What we mean by "being good" is giving in to those claims.
Some of the things the ordinary self wanted to do turn out to be what we call "wrong": well, we
must give them up. Other things, which the self did not want to do, turn out to be what we call
"right": well, we shall have to do them. But we are hoping all the time that when all the demands
have been met, the poor natural self will still have some chance, and some time, to get on with its
own life and do what it likes. In fact, we are very like an honest man paying his taxes. He pays
them all right, but he does hope that there will be enough left over for him to live on. Because we
are still taking our natural self as the starting point.
As long as we are thinking that way, one or other of two results is likely to follow. Either we
give up trying to be good, or else we become very unhappy indeed. For, make no mistake: if you
are really going to try to meet all the demands made on the natural self, it will not have enough
left over to live on. The more you obey your conscience, the more your conscience will demand
of you. And your natural self, which is thus being starved and hampered and worried at every
turn, will get angrier and angrier. In the end, you will either give up trying to be good, or else
become one of those people who, as they say, "live for others" but always in a discontented,
grumbling way-always wondering why the others do not notice it more and always making a
martyr of yourself. And once you have become that you will be a far greater pest to anyone who
has to live with you than you would have been if you had remained frankly selfish.
The Christian way is different: harder, and easier. Christ says "Give me All. I don't want so much
of your time and so much of your money and so much of your work: I want You. I have not
come to torment your natural self, but to kill it. No half-measures are any good. I don't want to
cut off a branch here and a branch there, I want to have the whole tree down. I don't want to drill
the tooth, or crown it, or stop it, but to have it out. Hand over the whole natural self, all the
desires which you think innocent as well as the ones you think wicked-the whole outfit. I will
give you a new self instead. In fact, I will give you Myself: my own will shall become yours."
Both harder and easier than what we are all trying to do. You have noticed, I expect, that Christ
Himself sometimes describes the Christian way as very hard, sometimes as very easy. He says,
"Take up your Cross"-in other words, it is like going to be beaten to death in a concentration
camp. Next minute he says, "My yoke is easy and my burden light." He means both. And one
can just see why both are true.
Teachers will tell you that the laziest boy in the class is the one who works hardest in the end.
They mean this. If you give two boys, say, a proposition in geometry to do, the one who is
prepared to take trouble will try to understand it. The lazy boy will try to learn it by heart
because, for the moment, that needs less effort. But six months later, when they are preparing for
an exam., that lazy boy is doing hours and hours of miserable drudgery over things the other boy
understands, and positively enjoys, in a few minutes. Laziness means more work in the long run.
Or look at it this way. In a battle, or in mountain climbing, there is often one thing which it takes
a lot of pluck to do; but it is also, in the long run, the safest thing to do. If you funk it, you will
find yourself, hours later, in far worse danger. The cowardly thing is also the most dangerous
It is like that here. The terrible thing, the almost impossible thing, is to hand over your whole
self-all your wishes and precautions-to Christ. But it is far easier than what we are all trying to
do instead. For what we are trying to do is to remain what we call "ourselves," to keep personal
happiness as our great aim in life, and yet at the same time be "good." We are all trying to let our
mind and heart go their own way-centred on money or pleasure or ambition-and hoping, in spite
of this, to behave honestly and chastely and humbly. And that is exactly what Christ warned us
you could not do. As He said, a thistle cannot produce figs. If I am a field that contains nothing
but grass-seed, I cannot produce wheat. Cutting the grass may keep it short: but I shall still
produce grass and no wheat. If I want to produce wheat, the change must go deeper than the
surface. I must be ploughed up and re-sown.
That is why the real problem of the Christian life comes where people do not usually look for it.
It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day
rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all
back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger,
stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day. Standing back from all your natural
fussings and frettings; coming in out of the wind.
We can only do it for moments at first. But from those moments the new sort of life will be
spreading through our system: because now we are letting Him work at the right part of us. It is
the difference between paint, which is merely laid on the surface, and a dye or stain which soaks
right through. He never talked vague, idealistic gas. When he said, "Be perfect," He meant it. He
meant that we must go in for the full treatment. It is hard; but the sort of compromise we are all
hankering after is harder-in fact, it is impossible. It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it
would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at
present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be
hatched or go bad.
May I come back to what I said before? This is the whole of Christianity. There is nothing else.
It is so easy to get muddled about that. It is easy to think that the Church has a lot of different
objects-education, building, missions, holding services. Just as it is easy to think the State has a
lot of different objects-military, political, economic, and what not. But in a way things are much
simpler than that. The State exists simply to promote and to protect the ordinary happiness of
human beings in this life. A husband and wife chatting over a fire, a couple of friends having a
game of darts in a pub, a man reading a book in his own room or digging in his own garden-that
is what the State is there for. And unless they are helping to increase and prolong and protect
such moments, all the laws, parliaments, armies, courts, police, economics, etc., are simply a
waste of time. In the same way the Church exists for nothing else but to draw men into Christ, to
make them little Christs. If they are not doing that, all the cathedrals, clergy, missions, sermons,
even the Bible itself, are simply a waste of time. God became Man for no other purpose. It is
even doubtful, you know, whether the whole universe was created for any other purpose. It says
in the Bible that the whole universe was made for Christ and that everything is to be gathered
together in Him. I do not suppose any of us can understand how this will happen as regards the
whole universe. We do not know what (if anything) lives in the parts of it that are millions of
miles away from this Earth. Even on this Earth we do not know how it applies to things other
than men. After all, that is what you would expect. We have been shown the plan only in so far
as it concerns ourselves.
I sometimes like to imagine that I can just see how it might apply to other things. I think I can
see how the higher animals are in a sense drawn into Man when he loves them and makes them
(as he does) much more nearly human than they would otherwise be. I can even see a sense in
which the dead things and plants are drawn into Man as he studies them and uses and appreciates
them. And if there were intelligent creatures in other worlds they might do the same with their
worlds. It might be that when intelligent creatures entered into Christ they would, in that way,
bring all the other things in along with them. But I do not know: it is only a guess.
What we have been told is how we men can be drawn into Christ -can become part of that
wonderful present which the young Prince of the universe wants to offer to His Father-that
present which is Himself and therefore us in Him. It is the only thing we were made for. And
there are strange, exciting hints in the Bible that when we are drawn in, a great many other things
in Nature will begin to come right. The bad dream will be over: it will be morning.
9. Counting The Cost
I find a good many people have been bothered by what I said in the last chapter about Our Lord's
words, "Be ye perfect." Some people seem to think this means "Unless you are perfect, I will not
help you"; and as we cannot be perfect, then, if He meant that, our position is hopeless. But I do
not think He did mean that. I think He meant "The only help I will give is help to become
perfect. You may want something less: but I will give you nothing less."
Let me explain. When I was a child I often had toothache, and I knew that if I went to my mother
she would give me something which would deaden the pain for that night and let me get to sleep.
But I did not go to my mother-at least, not till the pain became very bad. And the reason I did not
go was this. I did not doubt she would give me the aspirin; but I knew she would also do
something else. I knew she would take me to the dentist next morning. I could not get what I
wanted out of her without getting something more, which I did not want. I wanted immediate
relief from pain: but I could not get it without having my teeth set permanently right. And I knew
those dentists; I knew they started fiddling about with all sorts of other teeth which had not yet
begun to ache. They would not let sleeping dogs lie; if you gave them an inch they took an ell.
Now, if I may put it that way, Our Lord is like the dentists. If you give Him an inch, He will take
an ell. Dozens of people go to Him to be cured of some one particular sin which they are
ashamed of (like masturbation or physical cowardice) or which is obviously spoiling daily life
(like bad temper or drunkenness). Well, He will cure it all right: but He will not stop there. That
may be all you asked; but if once you call Him in, He will give you the full treatment.
That is why He warned people to "count the cost" before becoming Christians. "Make no
mistake," He says, "if you let me, I will make you perfect. The moment you put yourself in My
hands, that is what you are in for. Nothing less, or other, than that. You have free will, and if you
choose, you can push Me away. But if you do not push Me away, understand that I am going to
see this job through. Whatever suffering it may cost you in your earthly life, whatever
inconceivable purification it may cost you after death, whatever it costs Me, I will never rest, nor
let you rest, until you are literally perfect-until my Father can say without reservation that He is
well pleased with you, as He said He was well pleased with me. This I can do and will do. But I
will not do anything less."
And yet-this is the other and equally important side of it- this Helper who will, in the long run,
be satisfied with nothing less than absolute perfection, will also be delighted with the first feeble,
stumbling effort you make tomorrow to do the simplest duty. As a great Christian writer (George
MacDonald) pointed out, every father is pleased at the baby's first attempt to walk: no father
would be satisfied with anything less than a firm, free, manly walk in a grown-up son. In the
same way, he said, "God is easy to please, but hard to satisfy."
The practical upshot is this. On the one hand, God's demand for perfection need not discourage
you in the least in your present attempts to be good, or even in your present failures. Each time
you fall He will pick you up again. And He knows perfectly well that your own efforts are never
going to bring you anywhere near perfection. On the other hand, you must realise from the outset
that the goal towards which He is beginning to guide you is absolute perfection; and no power in
the whole universe, except you yourself, can prevent Him from taking you to that goal. That is
what you are in for. And it is very important to realise that. If we do not, then we are very likely
to start pulling back and resisting Him after a certain point. I think that many of us, when Christ
has enabled us to overcome one or two sins that were an obvious nuisance, are inclined to feel
(though we do not out it into words) that we are now good enough. He has done all we wanted
Him to do, and we should be obliged if He would now leave us alone. As we say "I never
expected to be a saint, I only wanted to be a decent ordinary chap." And we imagine when we
say this that we are being humble.
But this is the fatal mistake. Of course we never wanted, and never asked, to be made into the
sort of creatures He is going to make us into. But the question is not what we intended ourselves
to be, but what He intended us to be when He made us. He is the inventor, we are only the
machine. He is the painter, we are only the picture. How should we know what He means us to
be like? You see, He has already made us something very different from what we were. Long
ago, before we were born, when we were inside our mothers' bodies, we passed through various
stages. We were once rather like vegetables, and once rather like fish; it was only at a later stage
that we became like human babies. And if we had been conscious at those earlier stages, I
daresay we should have been quite contented to stay as vegetables or fish-should not have
wanted to be made into babies. But all the time He knew His plan for us and was determined to
carry it out. Something the same is now happening at a higher level. We may be content to
remain what we call "ordinary people": but He is determined to carry out a quite different plan.
To shrink back from that plan is not humility; it is laziness and cowardice. To submit to it is not
conceit or megalomania; it is obedience.
Here is another way of putting the two sides of the truth. On the one hand we must never imagine
that our own unaided efforts can be relied on to carry us even through the next twenty-four hours
as "decent" people. If He does not support us, not one of us is safe from some gross sin. On the
other hand, no possible degree of holiness or heroism which has ever been recorded of the
greatest saints is beyond what He is determined to produce in every one of us in the end. The job
will not be completed in this life: but He means to get us as far as possible before death.
That is why we must not be surprised if we are in for a rough time. When a man turns to Christ
and seems to be getting on pretty well (in the sense that some of his bad habits are now
corrected), he often feels that it would now be natural if things went fairly smoothly. When
troubles come along-illnesses, money troubles, new kinds of temptation-he is disappointed.
These things, he feels, might have been necessary to rouse him and make him repent in his bad
old days; but why now? Because God is forcing him on, or up, to a higher level: putting him into
situations where he will have to be very much braver, or more patient, or more loving, than he
ever dreamed of being before. It seems to us all unnecessary: but that is because we have not yet
had the slightest notion of the tremendous thing He means to make of us.
Documents you may be interested
Documents you may be interested