“Lights, Fauns, Food” - Narnia – the story begins. December 1, 2019 Advent 1

Bombers fly overhead, in the Blitz of London during WWII. A boy opens curtains to see outside, and the bombs rain down. A family runs for a bomb shelter, and the boy runs back to save a picture – of his father. He risks everything and everyone, for that.

So begins a journey of four children – sent far out of London into the country, to the home of a professor -  there are no other children around, just a housekeeper. Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy Pevensie are separated from their mother, for safety. And we see a rainy dreary day, in a strange old house with plenty of odd nooks and crannies.

A day for playing “hide and seek” indoors – a day for going through unknown doors and finding different worlds. Doors which open into empty rooms, spare rooms, empty closets – and for sliding into a wardrobe full of fur coats.

Lucy Pevensie enters the wardrobe, pushing backwards through the coats and expecting to find a back to the wardrobe, but instead there are more and more coats, until she is in a snowy frosty wood in the dead of winter – she can look forward and see the frozen landscape, and look back to see the fur coats. Lucy is a child full of wonder – it doesn’t really occur to her to be afraid. She isn’t sure, but it doesn’t stop her from going on.  The snow is falling, the flakes light and fluffy – perfect snow. The experience is magical.

And in the distance, a light – which turns out to be an elegant lamp-post – standing alone in the forest. The lamp-post is actually a ten-minute walk from the back of the wardrobe - but it’s so intriguing Lucy goes ahead. She forgets about being cold, or about being out in the snow in a forest in just her shoes. There is no explanation of why it is there, or how long it has been there.

Along comes Mr. Tumnus, a Faun carrying packages. He meets Lucy, and tells her this lamp-post is a boundary, a marker between the land of Narnia and the wild woods; but more than a boundary, it is a beacon in the dark and cold permanent winter which evil has brought onto Narnia. Mr. Tumnus takes Lucy to his home for tea – and it doesn’t occur to her not to trust him. In the forest, the light continues to shine through the darkness – and the darkness cannot put it out.

Living in the climate we do, it’s not hard to imagine entering Advent as much like entering Narnia. Advent and the preparation for Christmas are a magical time, set aside from ordinary time. There are decorations, carols and music, a different atmosphere. There is light and colour. Darkness comes much earlier in our winter, but there are the bright Christmas lights to ease the gloom.

In Advent, we too walk through a door, and begin a journey to a tiny village. A light shows the way. Just as Lucy has begun a journey to find the light of the world – we have also begun that journey. Lucy doesn’t know what comes next. She doesn’t know she is on her way to understanding the light of the world. Every experience is completely new, and she has no idea what the ending will be; but of all the Pevensie children Lucy is led by her heart, and her sense of direction is true.

We, on the other hand, do think we know where we are going – the story has been told and retold so many times we get impatient to skip through the beginning bits of this journey and go to the end. Christmas decorations up even before Advent begins; Christmas pageants, conflating all the parts of the story into just one story, and then setting it aside for another year; but just as for Lucy and the other children, this is supposed to be a journey where learning takes place, where faith is stretched and tested. As much as we like to skip to the end, sing all the Christmas carols in Advent, the lessons of discipleship mean we can’t. The light is there to show a way forward – to link us to where we have been, and point our forward direction.

Edmund, Lucy’s brother, has lied and cheated. He harbours anger and resentment towards his siblings, when it’s really himself he doesn’t like. Edmund is a spiritually hungry person. When he comes through the wardrobe, instead of Tumnus, he meets the White Witch, who has created eternal winter – a place where Christmas never comes. She seems kind, encouraging, and helpful. She takes him into her sleigh – offers him a cup of a restorative drink, and any food he wants to eat. Edmund asks for his favourite thing - Turkish delight. Unbeknownst to him, it’s enchanted Turkish delight which creates more and more want, more and more desire – until as we learn, a person can die from over-eating it – because it doesn’t feed the body or the soul. One is never filled, never satisfied – and starves to death.

Edmund, in his need to be better than the others, to ‘show them’ when the White Witch makes him a king, learns the hardest lesson of his life. He betrays his siblings, thinking he will come out on top of the family heap. He comes to what he thinks will be a fabulous banquet, that he will be able to ‘lord it’ over everyone else – only to find that those doors are closed.

The prophet Isaiah asks “Why do you spend money on that which is not bread? And your labour for that which does not satisfy?” As we continue into the story, Edmund loses his appetite for nourishment, for what C.S. Lewis calls “good ordinary food”;  he becomes addicted to “bad magic food” - developing a physical and spiritual addiction which leaves him constantly empty and wanting more. Even more so – he discovers what Jesus said often – that those who think they are first will end up last, and those who have been dismissed as last and least will be the first invited to the table. It’s a hard lesson to learn.

In this time of Advent, what are our ‘spiritual addictions’, our religious junk foods? Do we harbour anger, do we need to lash out, try to prove we are better than others? When the world seems to be moving towards anger and hate again, are we affected by it? I am…because it’s insidious, it seeps into us, we react without realising, just as the anger seeped into Edmund, and he reacted out of his anger.

Can we put those things aside? Not just at this table, but at other tables too?  Jesus said “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Does that mean that we find spiritual food only at the communion table. What about feeding others? Reaching out to friends when we are in pain, or need help? Reaching out to those we know who need help, or who are in pain. Growing in love and compassion? Recognising that the stranger among us is also beloved, is also deserving? Are these not the things which are “bread” for our spirits, nourishment for our souls? Compassion, empathy, love, generosity. The food which satisfies. Come now, to this table, for the bread of life, and the cup which sustains.