Chances are if you've read any one of the posts that I've written for this blog (or if you've just looked at the title of the blog itself) you've noticed my overwhelming prejudice in favor of C. S. Lewis. The very first of his books I ever read was The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. In that book, Aslan the lion returns to Narnia and breaks the spell laid upon it by the White Witch. But when I read that book, it cast an enchantment on me, and the spell has never been broken. C. S. Lewis' work remains the most heartfelt and truly real of anything I have ever read, and C. S. Lewis himself the most observant, gifted, and sincere of any author I have ever had the good fortune to discover.
Sunday marks the anniversary of C. S. Lewis' (or Jack, as he preferred to be called) birth in Belfast, Ireland, in 1898. If he were still alive, he'd be 117 years old. Sadly for the world, he died in 1963 in Oxford, just seven days before his sixty-fifth birthday. But he left behind a prodigious amount of writings: his lasting gift to us.
Writing this post, while listening to the film score of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (of course), is a tender experience for me. I am filled with wonder and with gratitude for this amazing, humble man who had such a deep understanding of life and the ability and courage to share it with the world. Words cannot express my debt to C. S. Lewis, so it seems vain to attempt it. In the end, I find all I can say that seems to me to truly resonate is, "Thank you."
Happy Birthday, Jack.
Take this quiz to show off how many C. S. Lewis books you've read; and/or comment below about the first C. S. Lewis book you read, or the C. S. Lewis book that first made you fall in love with his writings.
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