Receiving Narnia

A simple but powerful Holy Week tradition

Forest in the Winter (1885), Isaac Levitan

Every year, our family returns to Narnia through the back of the wardrobe. Fearlessly led by Lucy, we carefully make our way through the darkness, arms outstretched, feeling and smelling the rows of long fur coats. Suddenly, something crunches under our feet. It is soft, powdery, and very cold, and, wait—it’s also falling softly on our faces—I do believe it’s snowing.

Our journey begins each year on Palm Sunday. Next week will be our eighth year to read aloud C. S. Lewis’ beloved classic, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Our whole family gathers to hear the story read aloud as we progress towards Good Friday and the most astonishing Sunday to ever dawn on our little planet.

It’s a simple tradition, really, as all reading-aloud is. Besides a book, a reader, and an audience, all you need is an open heart and mind–both kept (at least) slightly ajar, like the wardrobe door. Our family gathers somewhere cozy, and my husband, over the course of a week, reads aloud each evening while our children, now 14, 12, 10, 8, 5, and 3, listen. (It’s hard to believe that when we started this tradition, our children were only 6, 5, 3, and 1. Start those traditions that you’ve always wanted to, because all the clichés about time and babies? They’re all true.)

My 12-year-old daughter has no memory of us not doing this tradition. My eldest groaned last year when I told him to come and listen. He said, “mom, really? We have that book memorized!” [Cue evil mom laughter.] Exactly. That’s precisely the point!

Repetition is good. In fact, when it comes to beautiful language as well as the really important truths we want our children to have engraved on their hearts for all time, repetition is necessary.

It has been fascinating over the years as I have listened to this simple story, ostensibly for children. I never tire of it. Usually my husband is the one reading it aloud, so I can let the language soak deep into my mind and surrender to the imagery. The story is short, and the language isn’t difficult; but every sentence is delectable.

While we’re reading, we never preach or lecture or explain. We are careful to let the story speak for itself. C. S. Lewis himself said that art should be received. He says:
“The first demand any work of art makes upon us is surrender. Look. Listen. Receive. Get yourself out of the way.”¹

So, even if our children groan a little, we’ll keep reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe every Easter, year after year after year. And someday, perhaps our grandchildren will join, too. Perhaps we will reach our 50th year of reading to our posterity before our torch fades and we pass it to our children, and their children.

The magic of walking through the back of the wardrobe should, indeed, never end.

-Leland Ryken

Keep seeking the virtuous and the lovely,

-Shannon

notes

1. C. S. Lewis, An Experiment in Criticism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961)