We watched Prince Caspian again tonight.
All the lights in the house were off except a few candles, and with our toes snuggled under the fleece blankets, Julia, Jonny and I re-watched our favorite movie. It was the first time I’d seen it since the summer.
I took a class on the Inklings last semester. We studied George MacDonald, Lewis and Tolkien and their friend Dorothy Sayers’ theory of story. A fairy tale, they wrote, should help you understand something you always knew but couldn’t quite put your finger on, something so true you never recognized it before. It should take you away into another world so you will better love and understand your own. It should have something transcendent that should call you away and plant your feet on the ground at the same time. It should inspire your creativity, and it should make you desire Heaven.
Prince Caspian is a fairy tale.
I know, I know, I’ve written about it before. About how the last scene captures the ache of saying goodbye. How Lucy’s whispered “wake up!” to the trees breaks my heart because that’s how I feel about my people. How the burning question of the movie, “Where is Aslan?” has been the burning question of my own heart for quite some time.
But this time I noticed something different. For the past week I’ve been meditating on my role as RA and my calling therein. I’ve been processing my last semester; an exhausting semester of battle after spiritual battle. I’ve been realizing how much I’ve learned and grown this semester, and I know my friend’s prayer for me has come true: this semester has been good for my soul more than any other before it.
But I’m so tired.
The last two months of the semester, I was just crying for relief. For a rest, a respite, a safe place. I read Psalm 18 and Psalm 121 over and over. I didn’t want to fight anymore, I just wanted a shelter. I wanted someone to fight for me. But although many fought alongside me, no one could take over and fight for me. My spirit was worn down to the bone. More than once, I have ached to be taken Home.
Christmas Eve, with my hand affixed to that microphone, I wondered if maybe that moment had finally come. Maybe all that waiting was finally over. It was not to be. But since then, I have ached and longed for the second advent of my King. My champion. My Aslan.
Tonight, watching Prince Caspian, that was what captured me. Everyone was waiting for Aslan. They were fighting so hard against an enemy so huge. They were surrounded. It was only a matter of time before they were completely overwhelmed. And still he didn’t come.
The kings and queens had different reactions to this waiting, and each one I could relate to. The agonized frustration of Peter, who felt the responsibility of a people. The distraction of Susan, who felt the loneliness of leadership. The quiet faithfulness of Edmund, who had seen the other side and was never, ever going back. And the aching certainty of Lucy, who never lost faith; who was trying so hard to be brave. He would come. He must come. And yet, he did not come. She tried so hard to find a good reason.
And so the question, when finally face-to-face. “Why didn’t you come?”
He doesn’t answer.
But he applauds her faithfulness, and tells her, “if you were more courageous, you would be a lioness!”
And none of it matters anymore, because they’re together again.
Is that what it will be like?
And then he comes. Then he comes with a vengeance. In the darkest moment, in the thickest part of the battle, when everything seems lost. When all his servants are fighting with every ounce of strength that is in them. That’s when he comes. With all the power of the universe, he comes.
I saw myself in Lucy. I saw myself when the entire Telmarine army came to a screeching halt in front of a little girl standing alone on a bridge. She drew a tiny dagger, prepared to give her all to the fight.
And then the lion roared.
