I don’t always kneel when I worship (whether it’s in the great outdoors, in my home, or in a church), but I did that day. In “Present Concerns,” Lewis says, “The man who cannot conceive a joyful and loyal obedience on the one hand, nor an unembarrassed and noble acceptance of that obedience on the other, the man who has never even wanted to kneel or to bow, is a prosaic barbarian.”

He goes on to warn against a “mind which hates all superiority.”

Superiority. Power. When we have power, we humans don’t handle it well. We often abuse it. We tend to run over each other when we have power and because of that, we can develop that “mind which hates all superiority.”

We can’t be required to kneel or bow before other humans with unquestioning obedience. Lewis says that it is “wicked folly” to require kneeling, bowing, obedience “on a legal or external plane.” That is, it would be stupid to legally require external obedience.

So, while we live in a legal equality with our fellow humans, CS says that “the whole hierarchical dance and harmony of our deep and joyously-accepted spiritual inequalities should be alive.”

Spiritual inequalities? Yes. There is an undeniable inequality between me and the God of the universe. Even Christ, who came to earth as a human, just like us, is still (in so many and all the ways) worthy of me bowing a knee.

That truth can be deeply and joyfully accepted by a heart that does not hate the “superiority” of the creator of the universe.

I am brought to my literal and figurative knees before one who is mightier, more beautiful, more pure, more majestic, more just, more powerful, and more loving than myself. And before a being so perfect and loving, this “inferiority” or “inequality” is a good place to be.

Yet, with so much human abuse of power and superiority, we recoil at the idea of obedience, and, as Lewis says, hate all superiority — including God’s. He warns us against it.

Instead, let us open our minds and hearts to the possibility of power and superiority done differently than we’ve ever seen them done. Let us slowly enter into “the whole hierarchical dance and harmony of our deep and joyously accepted, spiritual inequalities.”

“How many who love never come nearer than to behold each other as in a mirror; seem to know and yet never know the inward life; never enter the other soul; and part at last, with but the vaguest notion of the universe on the borders of which they have been hovering for years?” -George MacDonald, Phantastes

Do we love in that way? It seems that we know the other person. But we haven’t even glimpsed the inner life, the soul, the universe that is the other person.

As the Spanish saying goes, “each person is a world.” Better yet, a universe with their own depths, story, and constellations.

Each person is an unrepeatable miracle and mystery – never again to be repeated in the history of the humanity. And we unknowingly walk on the edge of that human universe, loving (or leaving) without the slightest idea of the depths and beauty of the body-soul we have in front of us.

“Love that reaches the unrepeatable mystery of the other person is a love that’s truly that: unrepeatable, stable, sure. It’s an inexhaustible treasure that can’t possibly be found elsewhere. In this case, love’s inherent adventurousness finds its delight not in wandering from person to person, but from wandering ever more deeply into the heart of the one and only beloved.” – Christopher West, Fill These Hearts

The forever I.

Okay, forever is a long time. Let’s say “the long-lasting I.” The I that has felt like quite a while.

It’s always just I.

“I’ll be there.”

“I’m moving.”

“I can’t wait!”

“I’m having a hard year.”

It’s “I” and there are days that the “I” aches for “we.” The world worships the individuality and freedom of I, yet we have hearts that yearn for togetherness and belonging.

To be part of someone else.

To be accounted for.

To be counted on.

To be a team.

To be a “we” that doesn’t swallow up the “I” but protects it, makes it flourish, nourishes it, and makes it shine.

“We’ll be there.”

“We’re moving.”

“We can’t wait!”

“We’re having a hard year.”

The “we” isn’t always a piece of cake. In fact, we is objectively and practically harder than “I” because it means becoming one with another imperfect human, taking them into account always.

But that’s not the point right now.

The point is that sometimes “I” can get lonely, that there’s loneliness intertwined with the joy of life and that’s okay.

Yesterday we bid farewell to the body of my grandmother, almost five years to the day that we buried my grandfather. We will miss her so!

South Louisiana makes me think of stringy Spanish moss, sucking on sugar cane in the fields, miserably muggy weather, and, most of all, Gran and Gramps house and all the family memories.

I remember the creak of their front door, the funny brick linoleum floor, the sweet and distinctive smell of their home, and running my fingers along the wooden bars that led into their kitchen. There are countless memories stored up in my brain but also moments that have, over time and without my knowing, created and shaped the person I am today.

Gran spoke kindly, listened well, cooked the best food (but made us Velveeta macaroni and cheese for us cousins), gave thoughtful gifts, let us eat ice cream for breakfast, taught me math, spurred me on to cook and read, played hours of Mancala with me, watched our swim meets, wrangled and loved her kids and grandkids (then great-grandkids!), and loved Jesus Christ.

She aged with grace and was so patient in her suffering, whether it was her declining health, being wheelchair-bound, or having to stay in her room during lockdown.

After moving away to Spain, my contact with her became sparse, but we reconnected during lockdown last year when I found out I could videocall her. We spoke everyday and read a book aloud together. I’m thanking technology and corona for those special, daily phone calls!

At the end of one of my last conversations with her a couple of weeks ago, I said “I love you.” It’s the one thing you want someone to be sure of in those final days. And she said “I know.” ❤️

This week there has been sorrow mixed with rejoicing — sorrow for the hole that her departure leaves in our hearts but rejoicing over the gift that she was to this family and the new life she now has.