I was one of the contributors to a recently-released book, The Lion and the Land of Narnia. The book highlights the wonderful artwork of Robert Cording, whose paintings capture the wonder of the world of Narnia, and contains personal essays by a number of C.S. Lewis experts and fans. As the author of a biography of Lewis, I guess I fall into both categories. My essay had to be edited down for reasons of space, so herewith I share the "directors cut."

I arrived late to Narnia, but still in plenty of time for it to have a profound influence on my life.

I envy those who devoured the books as children, turning the pages expectantly to discover the adventures within. But I was nearly twenty, and had already been charmed by Lewis’ winsome theology in books like Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters. In fact, I delayed my reading of the Chronicles in favor of the non-fiction works. After all, I reasoned, I wanted to fill my mind with the “deep stuff” before I bothered with the lightweight children’s stories.

I recently found myself in a discussion with a friend about the theology of popular writer, Rob Bell. I was enthusing over the creativity of his Nooma videos and how effectively they present aspects of the Christian faith to the cynical and skeptical among us. My friend’s tightening smile let me know that he did not share my excitement about Bell or his message. When I asked why, he said he was frustrated with Bell’s unwillingness to share “the whole gospel.” He was concerned that sin and wrath and judgment were being short-changed in Bell’s attempt to emphasize God’s love and acceptance.

His concern got me to thinking about the ways we present the gospel. Some of us emphasize the love of God as the starting point, and others focus on sin and repentance. My limited personal (and granted, anecdotal) experience has led me to see that the vast majority of non-believers in our culture don’t really resonate or identify with a presentation that begins with the realization our sinful state and are much more likely to pay attention and be moved by a message that emphasizes grace. Maybe that is just a quirk of our time and culture, but it seems to be a reality, especially among the young.

I recently overheard a conversation in which one well-meaning Christian man was trying to share his faith with a woman who looked increasingly uncomfortable and confused as he rattled through a collection of Bible verses which were aimed at helping her see her need for Jesus Christ. It was obvious that his little speech was well-rehearsed and had been committed to memory. What was also painfully obvious was how ineffective his approach was in connecting with this woman, who, seated in seat 12E, was pretty much a captive audience…and I don’t mean captive as in captivated. She was squirming uncomfortably and looking around—probably in search of someone to come to her rescue or trying to determine which emergency exit would be closest if the whole experience became completely unbearable.

Yesterday I drove almost two hours north of my home in Eugene, Oregon to my nearest IMAX theater in order to see U2 3D, the new concert film by veteran rock group U2. It was an amazing experience, not to be missed by even casual U2 fans.

U2 3D is a live concert film, shot at nine stops on the South American leg of the Vertigo Tour in 2006. Longtime U2 watchers have been able to enjoy a number of DVD releases of their shows, but the difference here is that the concerts were shot using nine pairs of Sony CineAlta cameras to produce the first-ever 3-D multi-camera live shoot. More than 100 hours of footage have been edited down to an unforgettable 85 minutes of sheer musical energy and excitement.

U2 always puts on a great live show, but to see them projected in three dimensions on a large screen gives you an experience that may even surpass actually being there. The temptation might have been to throw in a bunch of cheesy 3-D effects to wow the audience. Instead, you just get a great concert experience that makes you feel that one moment you are right on the stage with the band, and the next moment that you are on audience level, trying to see past the sea of raised hands. And yes, there are some pretty startling moments: when Adam Clayton swings his bass guitar around and it seems to protrude right out of the screen; when a jumble of projected words and phrases collapse and rain down upon the band; and when you want to ask the person in front of you to put their arms down so you can see—and then you realize they are part of the film. It is wonderfully larger-than-life. To quote the title of one of their songs, it might be “Even Better Than the Real Thing.”

In recent discussions of the emergent church and the influence of postmodernism on modern Christians, there has been a lot of heated discussion about the nature of truth. The debate usually goes something like this:

One side says that truth has to be discovered in the context of our lives—that our culture, our upbringing, our experiences (or lack of them) all contribute to a difficulty in arriving at simple propositional statements that are true everywhere at all times. And our fallenness and human limitations stand in the way of our being able to grasp it in simplicity. Truth must be found in the living of our lives. Now, I have some sympathy for this kind of thinking. But I am not prepared to give up the idea that truth can be expressed rationally and in propositions. Absolutes may not be easy to get at, but I think it is intellectually lazy and irresponsible to give up on them and simply drift into some sort of Christianized version of relativism where the truth is whatever is true for me.

A writer friend and I have been engaged in some ongoing dialogue about how Christians make sense of the Bible. Why do we defend it as though we’re defending Jesus himself? Why do we avoid the uncomfortable issues it presents? What is my relationship to the Bible, and what does that have to do with my relationship with God?

It is, after all, God’s book, so at times I work up some courage and do the unthinkable: I ask Him about it. The conversation generally goes something like this:

Me: God, I'm so sorry I haven't been reading your Word as I should. I'm a terrible believer. I should be more self-disciplined.

This may seem weird to admit, but I have always had a twinge of regret that I have lived a pretty straight-arrow life and don’t have any of those dark secrets that would give me a more interesting testimony. Would I be more effective for Jesus if I had “a past,” a collection of sins that I could parade as being overcome when I finally saw the Light?

Well, Google has come to my rescue.

Yesterday I googled myself. Hmmm. When you put it like that it sounds both narcissistic and perhaps a little improper. But I did.

C’mon admit it. You have done it too, right? How can you not check yourself out on the web’s premier search engine. It’s like having the opportunity to overhear what other people are saying about you…hard not to listen.

First, a confession: I really can’t speak objectively about Bob Dylan. I am the kind of fan that you could easily identify as obsessed. I own all his albums (even the handful of genuinely bad ones) as well as countless rare live and unreleased studio songs; I have seen all the films he has made or that have been made about him; I have read three or four full-length biographies and a number of critical studies of his work; I have seen him live in concert three times and will see him again next time his “Neverending Tour” wanders into my town. And, of course, I know the words to most of his songs, even the long, surrealistic ones. His lyrics have moved my heart, made me smile, given me shivers of delight at recognizing amazing creative prowess in action, challenged my way of thinking, and sometimes provided a meeting place with God Himself.

A couple of weeks ago I sat down to review a manuscript from a talented young Christian writer. It was bold, blunt, and painfully honest—definitely not the typical Christian bookstore fare. On the first page he dropped the f-bomb and page three included a desperate and angry prayer that began, “Screw you, God…” The honesty he put on display in these pages seemed pretty brave to me and I have to admit to enjoying the little autobiographical journey he took me on. Many times I found myself smiling and nodding in agreement—“yeah, I know just how you feel…” I have always resonated with Frederick Buechner’s self-analysis of being “part Christian, part pig.”

I love the confessional style of Christian reflection that has become increasingly popular. I have smiled and wept through the pages of the brutally honest work of writers like Don Miller, Anne Lamott, Patton Dodd, and Craig Borlase. Like many, I find their honesty about their personal failings to be strangely comforting. It gives me the courage to set aside my attempts at plasticine piety and just be the flawed person that I really am…the ragamuffin who can never really seem to get this whole Christ-like thing nailed.

Let’s never make the mistake of thinking that God is primarily interested in religion.

Many of us were probably raised with the belief that if we wanted to find God that we had to use one of the religious means at our disposal. We could go to church, we could read the Bible, we could pray. If we followed one of these paths we’d be sure to find Him, elusive as He sometimes seemed to be. But I have learned that these are not the only ways to connect with God.  God does not limit Himself to “sacred” means when it comes to reaching us. His Divine fingerprints can be found in the most unlikely of places, if only we are paying attention.

One of my dear friends felt the first stirrings of spiritual longing in listening to a Cat Stevens record, a longing that once awakened led him down a different path than Stevens himself. Another person I know first began to believe after a visit to the Grand Canyon. There she got a glimpse of something even bigger than the awe-inspiring canyon itself. Whoever had created that canyon seemed worth getting to know.