In honor of the extra day at the end of the month, the theme for February’s CW Blog Chain is “leap.” In keeping with this spirit, then, I’ll jump right in.

I think the first intractable force we come to understand in our earliest years is gravity. It is, after all, how we come by the designation “toddler” during our first stages of walking. The word aptly describes the wobble-walking of little ones in their uncoordinated but determined defiance of gravity. They toddle that they may not fall. Around this time stairs become something to be both conquered and feared. Heights take on new and unexpected implications.

This knowledge, and the anxiety that goes with it, stays with us throughout life. It revisited me with a vengeance when I was about seven years old, the first time I ventured up the tall ladder to the blue diving board that seemed—when perched on it—to stand roughly half a mile above the pool. I got nearly to the end before what I like to think was common sense brought me back down again. (We understand the force of gravity long before social forces begin to have their way with us. At that age, we’ll take humiliation over death any day.)

My fear lay in the innate grasp of the absolute nature of the decision I’d been about to make. Once I made that leap off the high dive, there would be no coming back, no changing my mind. You can’t “try out” the first few feet of a fall before thinking better of it. Even a child understands that. The first steps toward the edge of anything higher than a few feet from the ground are always taken hesitantly.

And that never really changes, whether it’s our first attempt at skydiving, bungee jumping, or something more symbolic or spiritual. We approach the lip of any chasm in our lives with due caution.

I’ve spend a great deal of time on this blog drawing connections between the writer’s pursuit of his craft and a believer’s walk with Christ. This is one instance where the two take altogether separate paths. There are times when I could wish that becoming a writer took only a single, blind, even terrifying leap. But that’s just not the case. You can always reconsider. You can stop anytime (even all the time). That little, discouraging voice whispering reality into the corners of your mind has all the time in the world to convince you there are more productive ways to pass your time.

That’s not, however, the case with Christianity . . . though lately I’ve been reminded there are those who don’t recognize it.

A recent afternoon spent in a nearby bookstore found me thumbing through a shelf of novels published by local writers. One particular author caught my eye when he described himself on his bio page as “an evolving Christian” (among many other things, including a naturalist, an astrologer, and a short-order cook). I couldn’t help but grin, even as the phrase jarred me in the same way a mixed metaphor or contradictory statement would.  How exactly does one define such a term? Divine selection through random spiritual mutations?

Ironically, the same week I encountered Mr, Pious Piltdown in the bookstore, I read two quotes from C.S. Lewis that would’ve answered his misguided notions directly. The first came from “Christian Apologetics,” an essay published in his anthology God in the Dock: “One must keep on pointing out that Christianity is a statement which, if false, is of no importance, and, if true, is of infinite importance. The one thing it cannot be is moderately important.”  Calling yourself an “evolving Christian” is like saying Christianity is “moderately important,” which is like hoping you can “gradually” work your way from the diving board down into the pool.

A couple of days later, I recognized the motive behind this man’s reasoning in the preface to Lewis’s classic The Great Divorce. The steady, measured movement from darkness into light appealed to him because he was hoping “. . . that mere development or adjustment or refinement will somehow turn evil into good without our being called on for a final and total rejection of anything we should like to retain.”  That’s what he was after. Not mere Christianity. Only mere development. A slow and slight adjustment that would make him a better man while sparing him from the ravages of real crucifixion.

That’s not how it works, of course. Christ will always meet us where we are, but he’ll never let us come only halfway. We have to take the leap. We have to give up the safety of the ledge if we’re to find out whether grace can really break our fall.

This would’ve been a great place to bring up my favorite cinematic illustration of faith in action . . . but since my good friend and fellow writer Lynn Mosher already made use of in her CWBC post last month, I’ll have to get by with another one. During a “moment of truth” scene in The Untouchables, Sean Connery’s character, Malone, asks Elliot Ness (played by Kevin Costner) how far he’s willing to go to take down Al Capone:

“What are you prepared to do?”

“Everything within the law.”

“And then what are you prepared to do?”

Sound like a familiar exchange? Even if you haven’t seen the movie, you’ve heard it before. It’s nearly identical to a conversation Jesus had with a certain rich man in Luke 18. “What are you prepared to do?” he asked. The rich man proudly replied, “Everything within the Law.” “Right,” Jesus answered. “And then what are you prepared to do?” He then drove his point home by identifying the one thing the man wanted to retain: his wealth. The man went away disappointed. He’d hoped for a more gradual road, one that would allow him to bring his riches along with him. Like anyone, he was ready to live forever. What he wasn’t ready to do was leap.

I’m pleased to report that, not long after my first failed foray, I did screw up the courage to jump off the high dive. (The moment, more than 30 years ago, is one I still remember vividly.) A few years later I made the much more significant leap into life with Christ. Most of you reading this have done so yourselves. But we’ve all encountered people who would rather “progress” into it, who want to test the waters of eternity with a cautious toe before easing their way in. How would you answer them?