“I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.” John 10:10
The resurrection and play: two disparate terms but beautifully joined together in C.S. Lewis’s classic, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Susan and Lucy witness the resurrection of Aslan who recovers his strength only to indulge in a purely, playful romp with the two girls. “Catch me if you can!” he cries as he leaps across the great stone table. “A mad chase began. Round and round the hilltop he led them, now hopelessly out of their reach, now letting them almost catch his tail, now diving between them, now tossing them in the air with his huge and beautifully velveted paws and catching them again, and now stopping unexpectedly so that all three of them rolled over together in a happy laughing heap of fur and arms and legs.” It is a wonderful portrayal of joy unspeakable and full of glory, wholly suited to the occasion of occasions.
I was challenged by Mark Buchanan’s book, The Rest of God, this weekend. In exploring the proper dimensions of the Sabbath rest, he poses the question, “Do you play enough? Do you risk enough and bask in God’s creation enough and do some things for no reason other than that you’ll be dead soon enough anyhow, so why not live a little now?” As Americans, we are very much driven by the twin taskmasters of time and utilitarianism. Play does not come easy. There is always way too much work to do. Play seems wasteful and uncomfortably close to slothfulness.
Buchanan argues that there are many things that cannot be proven to be of any utilitarian usefulness but that life deprived of these things becomes dull, drab, and lifeless. Imagine a world without ice cream cones, spring picnics, slow hot showers, fireplaces, and front porch swings. None of these things will add to the gross national product, enhance our intellect, hone our skills, or make us better neighbors. “But they just might make us feel more alive, more ourselves, and that’s use enough.”
At 5:00 AM this very Tuesday morning, I stepped out of a simple and rugged shelter on top of Mt. LeConte in preparation for an early start home. I looked up and was immediately arrested by the drama of that opening prequel to the day. The half-moon was still proud in the clearest of skies making my steps quite known but yet not so bright as to mask a thousand stars sprinkled across the velvet heavens. A trace of a left over vaporous cloud stretched across the lower third of my field of view highlighted by the moon’s deft rays. And uppermost in the unfolding drama was the perfectly straight and brilliant white contrail of a high flying jet who winked his little red light at me while heading for the moon. As far as I know, no one saw it but me, and I caught it at its zenith form of perfect composition. A matter of minutes and the picture was ruined. It was at that moment I felt very much alive. The whole business of climbing 5 miles up some 3,000 feet just to stare at the world below doesn’t make a lot of sense. But it afforded a wonderful taste of that Sabbath rest that restores the soul.
I have to agree that play can be subversive. “It hints at a world beyond us. It carries a rumor of eternity, news from a kingdom where Chronos [time] and utility are no more welcome than death and Hades and the ancient serpent. When we play, we nudge the border of forever.” I trust that your totally useless Spring Break was full of the joy of the resurrection of the One who came that we might have life, and have it more abundantly; a life which includes some time “…producing nothing but adrenaline, laughter, and memories.”
