This upcoming week I’ll have the opportunity to present and defend my Doctor of Ministry dissertation before a panel of professors at Houston Theological Seminary. It’s the final step for me in what has been a long and fruitful process. I’m very grateful to all those who have prayed and wrestled with me as I’ve explored the central role of the imagination in spiritual formation. 

I say it’s been fruitful, which is another way of saying that at first it was quite painful. There was the diligent collecting of seeds, the watering, waiting, and watching. Tilling and cultivating with the blood, sweat, and yes, many tears, that accompany labor in a vineyard. Moments when I thought it might be more efficient to just bury myself instead. And then, the thrill of hope: signs of life bursting from the seedbed of scholarship. 

As many of you know, I’ve focused my research on the work of C.S. Lewis, whose approach to fiction was the result of his robust academic understanding of the way human souls are shaped by image and story. It was Lewis who highlighted for me the central significance of Jesus’ words, that “unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.” He said that this principle lies at the very heart of creation for a reason: the Creator makes after his own image. God in his very nature is one who descends in order to ascend, and he has given us a world that sings this glorious song over and over again in myriad ways, so that we might be formed to recognize him by the works of his hands. 

This week, we see Micah making use of the image for Israel’s sake. They feel fruitless and forsaken. The prophet points to the core idea of creation, reminding these farmers of the hope of the harvest before they are scattered like seeds into exile. It’s a great text to consider as we turn our own faces to the events of Holy Week. The King enters triumphantly because he knows he’s being planted in order to rise. He descends in order to ascend. So, we can follow him with faith.