Courage, Dear Heart.
The Dawn Treader sails toward the dark island. This full-color illustration was created for the book by Pauline Baynes in 1965.
Where Dreams Come True
I love rereading children’s books as a grown-up. They often convey a capacity for wonder and daring and joy that my sometimes-cynical soul needs, especially these days. I’ve been listening to the Harry Potter series again this fall.[1] Tales like these give me necessary breaks from hard or mundane realities while simultaneously inspiring me for the good work that is mine to do.
Recently, I’ve been thinking about a particular story that seems apt for this season. It’s a chapter in the Narnia series found within The Voyage of the Dawn Treader when the crew encounter what might be their most formidable threat. [2]
Seeking one of the lost friends of Caspian’s father requires them to sail toward an island obscured by impenetrable darkness. They don’t know what they’ll encounter inside the gloom but are willing to risk it because they are brave and because they trust Aslan. And truth be told, it also has something to do with the fact that they’ve been successful thus far, having survived treacherous situations including being captured by slave traders; narrowly avoiding a spring of water that appears refreshing but delivers greedy madness or death; and encountering an enchanted dragon. It’s understandable they’d like their odds after prevailing against all that.
But this time is different. Caspian, Edmund, Lucy, and the rest are relieved when they haul a wild-haired man aboard who turns out to be the one they’ve been looking for. And they’re thrilled—initially—when they hear they’ve arrived at the “Island where Dreams come true.”[3] They imagine delightful things until the man they’ve pulled from the waves corrects them. They haven’t reached a place where daydreams of love or success become reality. They are where dreams that startle us awake, hearts pounding, come alive. Where monsters and mazes and horrible choices spring into existence.
Shadows and Monsters
And if that isn’t like what’s been happening this year (and longer), I don’t know what is! The world is ominous and uncertain. Threats seem to be materializing out of our collective nightmares. The lines between trustworthy friends, innocent strangers, and dangerous enemies to guard against (even as we seek to love them) have gotten fuzzier, spurring many of us to adopt a more defensive stance.
In the moment of crisis, the gallant mouse Reepicheep urges them to continue forward, fighting shadows and monsters as they materialize. He is an essential voice of courage and dignity in the Narnia stories but in this case, he is mistaken. Some battles are best engaged by what might appear to be retreat. To stay where they were would have perpetuated fear and brokenness. The same can be true for us. This is not to advocate passivity or avoidance of healthy conflict but to say some evils can only be vanquished from outside of the toxic systems that perpetuate them.
As the situation becomes dire, Lucy cries out for help. And right there in the midst of horror, help arrives. It starts small—only a glimmer of light. But the tide begins to turn. The darkness, thick, palpable, and full of menace, still surrounds them. But light and a beautiful bird flying within it envelop their ship and begin guiding them to safety. May we, like Lucy, cry out for more shalom even when our path forward isn’t yet clear.
Light for the Path
The good news is that like Lewis’s Lion, God does not abandon us to darkness and destruction. He joins us in it. When Hagar and Ishmael were running from her harsh mistress, God showed up and spoke hope and a future.[4] When Jacob was rightly afraid of meeting his older brother again, God kept him company on that wakeful night, wrestling with him in the darkness, leaving him changed and with a new name.[5] At just the right time, God’s Spirit overshadowed Mary and somehow Emmanuel was enfolded into humanity to demonstrate what God’s good ways are like.[6]
My favorite part is when the albatross swoops close enough to whisper to Lucy with Aslan’s voice, “Courage, dear heart.”[7] Because God is like that, too. God cares about our concerns and worries—ours in particular. I need to know that as I bear witness to strife and brokenness and loss that makes my chest ache. If you’ve been weary and anxious, I hope you’ll listen for whispers of hope and vitality from One who draws near to empower you to stand firm in the face of real danger, speaking and acting for lovingkindness and flourishing, especially in places of injustice.
And like the crew of the Dawn Treader, we’re not meant merely to save our own skins. Our invitation, as fully as we’re able, is to ensure that all those who come after us aren’t doomed to replay the same struggles. As we enter the third wave of the pandemic with a sitting president refusing to concede projected results of an election for the first time in modern history amidst partisan division, fear, and demonization, we need courageous hope to keep following the Light and pulling for all we’re worth toward goodness and truth and compassion.
Courage, dear hearts.[8]
[1] If you haven’t listened to the Audible versions narrated by Jim Dale, I highly recommend them. He does all the voices and brings the stories to life in a delightful way.
[2] This is the third book published in the Narnia series or book five when they’re ordered chronologically, which was apparently CS Lewis’s preferred order of reading the stories.
[3] Lewis, CS, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Harper Trophy (1952), 183.
[4] Genesis 16:6-15
[5] Genesis 32:24-31
[6] Luke 1:26-38
[7] Lewis, CS, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Harper Trophy (1952), 187.
[8] Serendipitously and providentially, I created a playlist on Spotify early in 2020 called “Courage, Dearheart” before the pandemic and racial unrest following the death of George Floyd and others had come to light. It’s full of songs that give me life and hope and joy for the journey. You’re most welcome to listen along but do know that as a long-time empty nester, a few songs contain adult language.
This article appears in a slightly different form on the Companioning Center’s blog here.
