Reading Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis has been a deeply personal and transformative experience. This isn't just a book of theology or apologetics. It's a mirror held up to the soul, challenging every assumption I thought was safe. Through these reflections, I hope to share how Lewis's words cut deep, lifted high, and reminded me what it truly means to live out my faith.

Who Gets to Call Themselves a Christian?

Lewis dismantles the idea of using the word "Christian" as a vague, all-pleasing label. When he writes, "It has every available quality except that of being useful," I laughed—because it's true. In trying not to offend anyone, we empty the word of meaning. He challenges us to preserve the weight of what it means to follow Christ. Faith isn't branding; it's allegiance.

This line haunts me: "It is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit." It reframes everything. Every interaction carries eternal weight. Every person is destined for eternity, either glorious or dreadful. That reminder reshaped how I see people—from family to strangers—as sacred souls, not just background figures in my life.

It is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit.

The Moral Law: Conductor of Our Instincts

Lewis's analogy of the Moral Law as the sheet music and our instincts as piano keys is brilliant. Morality isn't just following our strongest feelings—it's knowing which instinct to follow and when. The Moral Law doesn't silence our impulses; it orchestrates them into right action. That image changed the way I view conscience, discipline, and spiritual maturity.

Who Is This Jesus, Really?

One of the most challenging moments in the book came when Lewis confronted the comfortable claim that Jesus was simply a great moral teacher. He pushes back hard on that idea, and rightfully so. If Jesus really said the things the Gospels record—claiming to forgive sins, calling Himself the Son of God—then He wasn't just being kind or wise. He was either telling the truth… or completely mad.

There's no room for polite admiration from a distance. Lewis forced me to consider: if Jesus isn't a liar or a lunatic, then He must be Lord. And if He is, then everything changes—including me.

Why God Had to Step Into Our Skin

Lewis's explanation of the Incarnation struck a deep chord with me. He writes, "God can die only by being a man," and suddenly, the Gospel felt incredibly raw and real.

It's not just about believing that Jesus died—it's about understanding why He had to. Only someone who was fully God and fully man could carry the weight of our sin and still overcome it. This wasn't a distant rescue plan. It was love that bled. And it's the only reason I can live a new life today.

The Weight of Forgiveness

Another moment that stopped me was Lewis's reflection on forgiveness. Jesus didn't just forgive people who wronged Him directly—He forgave people whose sins didn't "involve" Him at all.

And that only makes sense if all sin, in the end, is against Him. That truth humbled me. Jesus didn't just offer forgiveness—He is forgiveness. And realizing that made me want to fall to my knees in awe and gratitude.

The End of the Play

Lewis paints a gripping picture of the Second Coming with a single line:

"When the author walks on to the stage, the play is over."

We often ask, "Why doesn't God intervene?" But Lewis reminds us—He will. And when He does, there won't be time to choose sides. That day will reveal the choices we've already made.

Reading that ignited urgency in me—not fear, but clarity. Now is the time to decide who I follow, before the curtains close and the Author steps in.

Real Generosity Should Cost Something

Lewis challenges us with uncomfortable truth when it comes to giving. He says if our giving doesn't "pinch" us—if it doesn't interrupt our comfort—it's probably not enough.

It's not about guilt. It's about love. Love that chooses others over luxuries. His words made me look at my own giving and ask, "Is this costing me anything at all?" Because true generosity is supposed to reflect the Cross, not just convenience.

The Longest Way Round

Near the end, Lewis shares a line I'll never forget:

"The longest way round is the shortest way home."

We can't build a truly Christian society by starting with politics or policies. We have to start with our hearts. Real transformation begins not with social change—but with becoming fully Christian. That means obedience. That means surrender. That means letting God change me before I try to change the world.

Final Thoughts

Reading Mere Christianity wasn't a gentle stroll through theology. It was a soul-deep excavation. Lewis didn't flatter or soften. He told the truth—boldly, clearly, and lovingly.

Here at Vita Nova, we believe in new life, renewed faith, and eternal hope. And this book reminded me that all of that starts now—with repentance, trust, and the daily decision to follow Jesus.

Because one day, the Author will step onto the stage. And when He does, may He find me already on His side.