beyond reason

The CDB gave me this quote, and it very much applies to my questions. Apparently it is Mr Lewis. All the more reason to quote...
"We believe that the death of Christ is just that point in History at which something absolutely unimaginable from outside show through onto our own world. And if we cannot picture even the atoms of which would own world is built, of course we are not going to be able to picture this. Indeed if we found that we could fully understand it , that very fact would show it was not what it professed to be--the inconceivable, the uncreated, the thing from beyond nature, striking down into nature like lightening you may ask what good it will be to us if we do not understand it. But that is easily answered. A man can eat is dinner without understanding exactly how the food nourishes him. A man can accept what Christ has done without knowing how it works: indeed, he certainly would not know how it works until he has accepted it.
We are told that Christ was killed for us, that his death how it washed out our sins, and that by dying he disabled death itself. That is the formula. That is Christianity. That is what has to be believed. Any theories we build up as to how Christ'’s death did all this are, on my view, quite secondary: mere plans or diagrams to be left alone if they do not help us, and, even if they do help us, not to be confused with the thing itself."

But how is faith real? How do we "accept" it, without it being a pleasent sort of subjective emotional experience? And what is real? I wonder what Mr MacDonald would say to my question. I wrote a little scene as I was listening to Yo Yo Ma and Bobby McFerrin perform Bach's Air from the Orchestral suite #3... And to write was very similar as to have experienced it myself. Only it was through the immagination. But what are visions, after all? or dreams? Reality is a slippery subject if you admit it. Here is the scene.

Bach’s Air.

As we were siting in our chairs she began to play Bach’s Air. Each low cello note resonated with the building and surrounded us with a feeling of something beyond. The painted forrest on the screen, which had served to help the ethos of the concert hall, began to change colours and dimension. A feeling that I had not felt since that night before mother died was there again. The feeling of a life without precautions and experiences weighing down the conscious. The music reminded us there was more. The cello played, and dropped each note which resembled drops of rain on a thick forrest ground. I remember the moment when the trees looked more than a painting, they had changed. They were real trees, framed by the screen and limited, bounded by it. But then, that dew that the cello played.. or did it call it forth, filled the air. And a fresh cool smell of an afternoon in a damp forrest filled the room. I did not believe at first, I was afraid to. But I let myself, and as I did, the forest exceeded it’s bounds and I was no longer in the church auditorium, I was in a forrest, faintly aware of Bach’s Air and cello somewhere. I took a step. The ground was wet, the light was real. My mind gave one attempt to interpret the experience, but then surrendered itself to be carried by my senses.
I walked and found a path. I had no worry, or any trace of fear. Perhaps this was because I was completely out of control. I was in a sense a child again, who had no agenda of what to find and what should happen. I was not even sure the whole experience was not a glorified dream and I would awake to my husband shaking me to awake. Thus I walked, letting what thoughts come, and grateful for the break of life and rest into an entirely different one.
The forrest, mostly cedar, had the effect of being familiar, though I did not recognise it. I found a path and followed it. It led to a little grove of trees and a patch of sunlight. Beyond this was a ruin of an old church. The day was in the late afternoon, and I decided I would take a nap. So I lay down facing the ruins under a tree, on a mossy patch. Eventually i drifted off and dreamed of the sea and ships and light pouring into my soul.

I awoke to applause. The cellist had finished the Air and was taking a bow. I looked over at my husband, who gave me a little smile and kissed my forehead. My mind again began to come to some sort of interpretation and failed, so I began to clap and allowed myself to let the experience be what it was.