As I dreamed, I saw a man named Evangelist turn and look down a road. In the distance, a figure was approaching. He was certainly taking his time.
As he walked up, Evangelist greeted him cordially and they began to talk. They engaged in what appeared to be small talk for a few moments, and I learned that the man’s name was Randy.
“Where are you going?” asked Evangelist.
“Oh, nowhere in particular. I just go where the women are.”
“And why is that?”
Close to the heart of what makes the glory of God glorious is the way his majesty and his meekness combine. Or another way to put it would be that God is more glorious because he is a paradoxical juxtaposition of seemingly opposite traits rather than being a manifestation of only majestic strengths. And the unifying mark if these paradoxical juxtapositions is that the majestic heights of God are glorified especially through the way they serve or stoop in lowliness to save the weak.
Among these Jews there suddenly turns up a man who goes about talking as if He was God. . . . [W]hat this man said was, quite simply, the most shocking thing that has ever been uttered by human lips. . . . I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him. “I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept His claim to be God.” That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher.
In Paul's second letter to Timothy he asks that:
When you come, bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at Troas, also the books, and above all the parchments. (2 Tim. 4:13)
Knowledge should lead to worship. The true knowledge of God will result not in our being puffed up with conceit at how knowledgeable we are, but in our falling on our faces before God in sheer wonder and crying, “O the depths of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!” Whenever our knowledge becomes dry or leaves us cold, something has gone wrong. For whenever Christ opens the Scriptures to us and we learn from him, our heart should be aglow within us. The more we know God the more we should love him.
When a Russian cosmonaut returned from space and reported that he had not found God, C. S. Lewis responded that this was like Hamlet going into the attic of his castle looking for Shakespeare. If there is a God, he wouldn’t be another object in the universe that could be put in a lab and analyzed with empirical methods. He would relate to us the way a playwright relates to the characters in his play. We (characters) might be able to know quite a lot about the playwright, but only to the degree the author chooses to put information about himself in the play.
In his book, Reflections on the Psalms (Chapter ix), C.S. Lewis outlines how he came to understand the necessity of praising God:
I had not noticed either that just as men spontaneously praise whatever they value, so they spontaneously urge us to join them in praising it: “Isn’t she lovely? Wasn’t it glorious? Don’t you think that magnificent?” The Psalmists in telling everyone to praise God are doing what all men do when they speak of what they care about.
Below is the full excerpt (edited)
Jesus of Nazareth, without money and arms, conquered more millions than Alexander, Caesar, Mahomet, and Napoleon; without science and learning, He shed more light on things human and divine than all philosophers and schools combined; without the eloquence of schools, He spoke words of life such as never were spoken before or since, and produced effects which lie beyond the reach of any orator or poet; without writing a single line, He has set more pens in motion, and furnished themes for more sermons, orations, discussions, learned volumes, works of art and sweet songs of praise, than the w