A Grief Observed by C.S Lewis

A reading

This book by C.S. Lewis compiled from his journal entries in trying to endure the grief from the death of his beloved wife, Joy, is the closest expression of my own confounding, bewildering experiences with God.

“Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be — or so it feels — welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be an empty house. Was it ever inhabited? It seemed so once. And that seeming was as strong as this. What can this mean? Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?”

C.S. Lewis met Joy late in life. She was his intellectual match, brilliant, accomplished, and an excellent writer. She initiated correspondence with C.S. Lewis, who she thought possessed rare clarity, and who in turn, noticed her letters right away.

He describes pain, loss, and anguish like nothing else I’ve ever read, and unlike the mushy sentimentality often attributed to God’s dealings with His children, feels free to hurl his angst heavenward and then processes it with muted confidence in the goodness of God. I could never come close to articulating my simmering frustration, and unrelenting perplexity at Providence, but C.S. Lewis’s words made me realize that although I didn’t ultimately doubt the goodness of God, I simply wished for His goodness to *feel* good.

You can listen to me read the book: Audio book