The first fact in the history of Christendom is a number of people who say they have seen the Resurrection. If they had died without making anyone else believe this â€˜gospelâ€™ no gospels would ever have been written. And that is precisely what Christianity is about. This world is a great sculptorâ€™s shop. We are the statues and there is a rumour going round the shop that some of us are some day going to come to life. An ordinary simple Christian kneels down to say his prayers. He is trying to get into touch with God. But if he is a Christian he knows that what is prompting him to pray is also God: God, so to speak, inside him. But he also knows that all his real knowledge of God comes through Christ, the Man who was Godâ€”that Christ is standing beside him, helping him to pray, praying for him. You see what is happening. God is the thing to which he is prayingâ€”the goal he is trying to reach. God is also the thing inside him which is pushing him onâ€”the motive power. God is also the road or bridge along which he is being pushed to that goal. So that the whole threefold life of the three-personal Being is actually going on in that ordinary little bedroom where an ordinary man is saying his prayers. The man is being caught up into the higher kinds of lifeâ€”what I called Zoe or spiritual life: he is being pulled into God, by God, while still remaining himself. The terrible thing, the almost impossible thing, is to hand over your whole selfâ€”all your wishes and precautionsâ€”to Christ. But it is far easier than what we are all trying to do instead. For what we are trying to do is to remain what we call â€˜ourselvesâ€™, to keep personal happiness as our great aim in life, and yet at the same time be â€˜goodâ€™. We are all trying to let our mind and heart go their own wayâ€”centred on money or pleasure or ambitionâ€”and hoping, in spite of this, to behave honestly and chastely and humbly. And that is exactly what Christ warned us you could not do. As He said, a thistle cannot produce figs. If I am a field that contains nothing but grass-seed, I cannot produce wheat. Cutting the grass may keep it short: but I shall still produce grass and no wheat. If I want to produce wheat, the change must go deeper than the surface. I must be ploughed up and re-sown. The real Son of God is at your side. He is beginning to turn you into the same kind of thing as Himself. He is beginning, so to speak, to â€˜injectâ€™ His kind of life and thought, His Zoe, into you; beginning to turn the tin soldier into a live man. The part of you that does not like it is the part that is still tin.
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