Summary: What are the tactics of the "White Witch" in today’s battle between Christ and Lucifer? Second in a series from "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe."


December 10, 2005 / Upper Room Fellowship

Two weeks ago I enjoyed a Thanksgiving weekend with part of my family back in Louisiana. And of course, Grandpa only had eyes for his little Kira, who’s now eight months old. When my wife and I first got married, and her young daughter, Kami, entered my life, I joked to her how my own mom essentially lost all interest in me. Kami was everything. Kami was the princess. Kami was the center of the universe. We would drive over to Grandma’s house and she would come rushing out into the driveway like a freight locomotive. “Kami! Kami! Kami!” Kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss. She had a technique called “machine-gun kissing,” and she perfected it on Kami. “Oh Kami! Oh Kami! Oh Kami!” After maybe five minutes of that, she would turn and say, “Oh, hi, David.” “Hi.” “Thank you for chauffeuring Kami here to see me. You may go now.” “Yes, ma’am.”

But as I spent this Thanksgiving weekend machine-gun kissing my own little treasure, I had a sober moment where I was alone with Lisa and I said to her: “You know, honey, I just thank the Lord – humbly thank him – that in his grace and providence, I’ve never had to struggle with the fallen chromosome or DNA that makes a man a child molester.” Of all the sins and evil tendencies that are in this world – and I’ve tasted quite a few of the fruit varieties dangling from Satan’s tree – that’s just one that never got on my menu. I’ve had two daughters; I’ve given them baths. I’ve held them in my lap. I give your little girls hugs and squeezes of affection . . . and praise the Lord that I can do that one thing with holy hands. It’s nothing good in me; I’m an undeserving sinner, just like all of you. But in God’s kindness, he let me be a man and a father and a grandpa and a pastor to small children without my having to struggle with that one desperately horrible craving.

But it’s a sober truth that there are men in this world who would love to come to Temple City and hurt our children. They would love to tease them and touch them and tickle them and tell them tantalizing stories . . . and then use them. There are evil people who would love to see my precious Kira in a little white coffin. There are pedophiles whose battleground turf is the playground and the cemetery.

I’ve always said this: when good people meet up with that kind of sin, it is all right to be angry. I’m not saying it’s all right to form a posse, but it may be all right to pray for the posse and give them road maps and a Thermos of hot coffee.

In Matthew 18, Jesus gives one of his most powerful illustrations. He takes a little child and essentially says: “Listen to me. If you mess with this treasure, if you hurt this kid – sexually, physically, or especially morally – you know what? Do yourself a favor and drown yourself. Get a big rock and drown yourself. Because that’ll be easier than what happens to you when me and my dad get a hold of you. And that’s no joke.”

I was teaching in a Christian school many years ago, when one of the tenth-grade boys was out in the playground horsing around with the little kids. I happened to wander by and found out that this role model, this tall, good-looking hero, was instructing them on how to say the F-word. Man, we almost had an old-style execution right there. We were only about two miles from the beach, and I was ready to find a rope and a millstone and some deep Pacific Ocean water.

Yesterday afternoon people around the world began to line up to go into that wardrobe closet where the back door opens up into Narnia. Lucy is the first to make the trip, and almost immediately as she gazes around at all the snow and ice she meets a sweet little creature called Mr. Tumnus. He’s a Faun – which C. S. Lewis informs us is a half-goat, half-man. He says to her, “Should I be right in thinking that you are a Daughter of Eve?” And as they’re talking, getting acquainted, he suddenly bursts into tears. Sobbing with heartbreak. “Dear Mr. Tumnus, why are you crying? Whatever can be the matter?” And he gives this wrenching confession. “I’m crying because I’m such a bad Faun . . . I’m in the pay of the White Witch.”

Well, what’s that all about? And we find out that this Lucifer enemy, this White Queen of darkness – ironically – is out to destroy. Mr. Tumnus admits in his shame that it’s his job to lull little children to sleep and then turn them over to the wicked queen. “I had orders from the White Witch that if ever I saw a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve in the wood, I was to catch them and hand them over to her.”

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