I don’t remember the first time I visited Narnia, though that first journey might have been captured in a photo my mom took about twenty years ago. My dad was reading aloud to us on a summer evening, holding a book in one hand and pushing a child on the swingset between sentences.
Since that day, Lewis’ world has been an integral part of my family’s shared language, part of how we understand the world. My siblings and I listened to audio drama versions of the series on countless road trips and rainy afternoons. We wore out my parents’ copies of the books as we read them over and over. We complained when we were assigned The Last Battle for school and didn’t understand the allegory (it’s possible that this was just me).
So, when I was able to reunite with my family after quarantining separately for weeks, we were excited to return to Narnia together. Singing “happy birthday” to my sister and then crowding onto the old couches in the living room to watch The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe truly felt like coming home. Even with the constant commentary that occasionally drowned out the movie’s dialogue, we were traveling together into a world we loved–and that was all that mattered.
We love so many things about this adaptation of Lewis’ first Narnia story. We love the creatures–the fauns and talking beavers and especially the centaurs, all coexisting on screen and looking like they belong. We love the Pevensie siblings and the actors who portray them. We love the way Andrew Adamson returned to his childhood memories of the book to bring every page to life so vividly. We love the adventure and the magic, the humor and the terror. And we especially love Harry Gregson-Williams’ beautiful score. During the final battle, the music soars and at least half of us were conducting or humming along until we were kindly asked to stop. The soundtrack is moving and haunting and perfectly suited to the images on screen, and we’ve listened to it until we have every note memorized.
But, of course, we truly love the story that lies beneath the CGI on screen, the allegory at the center of this film. Lewis’ portrayal of a king who gives his life for a traitor and then rises from the dead to defeat his enemies is a ringing echo of the gospel. No matter what the filmmakers intended, the film highlights the same truth that Lewis captured so beautifully. And, seeing the familiar story played out on screen, we get to delight in it all over again. We rejoice to see a world where good pays a terrible price but ultimately defeats evil. Where God walks alongside us, and chooses to rescue us even when we’ve betrayed Him. Where order is restored and peace reigns. Where even when we find ourselves tumbling out of the wardrobe and back into the hardships of reality, we’re not alone. Where we can look at Aslan and let everything else fall away.
I’m so thankful for this world, and that I get to share it with my family. As an older sister, I find it easy to relate to Susan’s bossy attitude and her practical concerns. Sometimes, though, I worry that my similarities to Susan will extend to her forgetfulness. That even though I’ve been rescued by Aslan, I’ll lose sight of him. That, like her, I’ll let “real life” blind me to the beauty that waits just around the corner. So I’m especially thankful for the magic of this story, for the truth at its center, and for the chance to walk with Aslan again. And for the reminder that I’m not on this journey alone–that my brothers and sisters walk with me as we all seek to go further up and further in, to live abundantly here and now.