I read your letters to Wormwood years ago. Years ago when I thought I understood life and temptation and the follies of self. I was so very wrong.
Now, not really understanding life and temptation and the follies of self all that much more but certainly having lived more of each of those, I am re-reading your letters. Whatever emphasis Mr. Lewis' writing had in my life the first time seems more greatly underscored this time. In bold, even.
You and Wormwood are a dastardly duo! And we, your patients, seem to do nothing but make your work easy. There is our propensity to depend upon feelings for security, our willingness to examine self for admiration and others for analytical criticism, and our serious as at work play at being and seeming spiritual---well, no wonder we are become objects desirable for consumption.
Seems that you and your fellows have a veritable feast day in and day out. My skin feels a bit crispy as I consider my own faltering faith.
But for God. Those three little words tether me to the Anchor that holds. Those three little words speak to the Covenant that is Remembered by God when I forget and wither in my circumstances. Those three little words echo of His marvelous works and wonders to be told from one generation to the other. Those three little words picture the Cross, Calvary, and an empty tomb.
So, Screwtape, for I will not call you Uncle or claim any kinship to you, I know myself to be a child of God and not for your consumption. I know myself to be warned by your tactics that Mr. Lewis has so cleverly let me read about. And this weekend when I watch the theater of this correspondence, I will not look for you as the one in red tights with a pointed tail, but as the one who lurks waiting to devour.
Feast elsewhere, Screwtape, for I am invited to the Feast of the Lamb and on Him will I feed.