Looking At and Looking Along

C.S. Lewis describes the experience of looking at a beam of light in a dark toolshed. He notes that you can see the shape and brightness as the light reflects of the dust particles floating in the air. After reflecting on the experience of objectively observing the beam, he then steps into the light and looks along it. As the light shines in his eyes he can see out a window. The tall trees and green grass are suddenly visible. The sun shines bright in a clear blue sky as wisps of clouds dance around it. While the light allows him to see out the window, he can no longer see the beam itself.

Lewis is commenting on the paradox of experience. No one can objectively look at joy while he is experiencing joy. No one can observe sorrow while weeping. In his essay Lewis says, "If only my tooth would stop aching so I could write about pain." Observing and writing about experiences is very difficult because no one can capture the true sensation of all that is happening. There is something lost in the translation of being there, to trying to describe the sensation of being there. Gazing backwards and joy, sorrow, pain, or any other sensation, can't be adequately captured with memory and certainly not with words. Looking at a light, while interesting, can never be the same as looking along the light.

This past weekend my friends and I took a trip down to foggy London town. One evening we decided to go to Evensong at St. Paul's Cathedral. I could spend hours describing the intricately carved statues and moldings that permeated the towering structure. I could strain the English language to attempt to give you the experience of gazing up at murals so real and so poignant. I could search for hours for adjectives to adequately describe the magnitude of the structure, but even more shocking was the walls that were covered with beautiful paintings showing scenes of the Bible in an artistic perspective. One could sit and gaze for an endless amount of time and still miss a detail of a painting that made it all the more beautiful. I could attempt to string together a list of adjectives to describe the experience of sitting in an ancient, wooden chair and listening with eyes closed to the choir weaving melodies so flawlessly it seemed to come as natural as breathing. Sound echoed of the walls of the tower mixing songs of praise with glorious murals devoted to Christ welding both sound and sight into a worship experience that overwhelmed the senses. I could attempt to do all these things, but there is no way to describe the experience. There is a giant chasm between looking at and looking along a beam of light.