The Stone Table

I saw The Chronicles of Narnia: the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis last night. The PG movies satisfied the child in my nineteen year old body, as well as all the other five to ten years olds in the theater. But, what moved me most was Aslan and Edmund. Edmund is the kid asking for more. Edmund wants Turkish Delight, wants hot chocolate. Most people found Edmund to be the annoying brother who looks out only for himself. But, he is more: he is us. The deep magic demands his blood, but Aslan decides otherwise. Trading himself for Edmund, Aslan deep with grief walks up stone steps to his death. The witch and her minions shave him, humiliate him, and bind him tightly. This will be his death. He is put on the stone table, and the witch, pale with hatred and white without life, plunges the dagger into Aslan's side. Aslan dies.
Most people don't realize how moving this scene is to me. To me, this is Jesus dieing for me. This is his death on the cross. Aslan on the stone table. This is the idea I live behind. That something is bigger than me, that something is taking care of me. It gives me rest that nothing in this world has given me, not even family or my closests friends. Leaving the theater, I saw a little boy and girl. Their tiny hands wrapped about their parent's pinkies, and their eyes wide with curiosity. They saw kings and queens, fairy tale action. Aslan and the stone table like chid's play. I wonder if they will ever question it?