My dear Wormwood,
You have to hand it to the Enemy. It's a cunning move. He
turns up in a building dedicated solely to worship of him. But he turns up in
the guise of a whining child too tiny even to climb its steps (so much for the
pomp of the temple). He allows people to witness the child's vulnerability,
helpless in its mother's arms. But what
he actually allows them to witness is the vulnerability of the whole ghastly
project of their so-called redemption (love is always vulnerable). And he doesn't stop those old fools Simeon
and Anna blabbing the whole thing: 'This child is destined for the falling and
the rising of many in Israel'. Nor does he stop the passers-by ignoring them
(vulnerability again). It's pure genius.
The Enemy must have known that Simeon's prophecy about the
child was a prophecy about children. That's omniscience for you. But Simeon
can't have known that. Children are responsible for the falling and the rising
of many. That's why they are so dear to our Father. They are among his most
unwitting and most lethal agents.
Children are responsible for the rising of many. They can
inspire remarkable acts of generous self-giving and wonderful acts of profound
love. They bring out the sickening best of which the human race is capable. But
they can also inspire quite the reverse - and that is of much greater interest
to our cause. Children are responsible for the falling of many.
Consider our dear friends at St Peter's Eaton Square. They
are a curious menagerie, but on the whole not lacking in intelligence. The
Enemy ought to have high hopes of them. They turn out to worship him in
substantial numbers. They do their best
to care for one another. They even manage to be concerned for their wider
community. But just try putting children on the agenda at one of their
get-togethers - the behaviour of children in church, the noise children make in
the churchyard, the biscuits children eat on the church portico. They change.
It's delightful. Worship, care, concern...all these are
forgotten. For some, children are immediately clothed in the gleaming white of
Gabriel and his grinning band of nincompoops. For others, children are
immediately the red-eyed and cloven-hoofed denizens of our own happy tribe. For
some, children can do no wrong. For others, children can do nothing but wrong.
Why this sudden rush to irrational prejudice the moment
children are mentioned? Fear, my dear Wormwood, fear. They are afraid. Some of
them use children as a shield. Caring for a child's needs diverts attention
from their own needs. Everything is for
the child. All very laudable, no doubt, until they convince themselves that
worship is for the child, prayer is for the child, the Enemy himself is for the
child. Others of them use children as a target. The child represents everything
that is strange, everything that is uncontrollable, everything that is other
and everything that is threatening; the child draws the fire of a host of
secret frustrations and pent-up anxieties.
Every community, my dear Wormwood, has its weakness. At St
Peter's, it's children. That's why they are so vital to our Father's strategy.
They make some forget about their own needs. They make some forget about the
needs of others.
And what is so terribly amusing is that it could be very
different. You'd have thought that
Simeon had made that crystal clear. The Enemy is interested in everyone. The
child is a light for all the nations. All of them. The Enemy has no taste.
Never has. The Enemy isn't bothered about elites. He's never wanted cadres of the
holy or vanguards of the righteous. He wants them all: clever, stupid,
beautiful, ugly, rich, poor, diseased, healthy, fascinating, tedious,
fanatical, disenfranchised. They all have a place. What is so utterly hilarious
is that none of them seem to get it.
If they'd only look around them they might. The presence of
children might stop worship being a self-indulgent faith fest conducted for the
sole benefit of the initiated. Equally,
the presence of children might stop worship being a nice outing for the nuclear
family from SW1. Try sinking to your knees and having a virtuous and private
one-to-one with the Enemy when there are bored toddlers in the pew in front of
you. It can't be done: one-to-ones need to happen at a different hour. You get
cross and angry and resolve never to come again. Try enjoying quality time with
only your own children when there are a hundred others around, clamouring for
their attention, borrowing their toys and showing them up. Again, it can't be
done: quality time needs to happen at a different hour. You get distracted and
frustrated and forget about everything else. In the presence of children in
worship we see the audacious ambition of the Enemy. Or, rather, we see it. Most
of the time they, thankfully, don't.
'Here I am Lord, is it I Lord?' they sing. 'No it isn't',
the Enemy must long to shout. 'It's never been about you. It's never been about
you and your children. It's always been about all of you'. They sing to a God who became a child in
order that they might become his children. But their own make them forget that.
It's almost tragic.
I remain, Wormwood, your affectionate uncle,
Screwtape.
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