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The latest issue of Time calls C.S. Lewis "arguably … the hottest theologian of 2005." Not only is the first installment of his beloved Chronicles of Narnia series about to hit the big screen, but sales of his popular works have also jumped. What is remarkable about Lewis, though, is not that his popularity has been rising through a pre-movie advertising blitz, but that it never really waned in the first place.

His influence spreads to major Catholic, Orthodox, and evangelical thinkers, even though the Anglican Lewis was none of these. U2 lead singer Bono recently advanced Lewis's famous "fool, demon, or Son of God" argument from Mere Christianity to a secular interviewer, becoming perhaps the first rock star to employ Lewis's apologetics as a witnessing tool. And, reflecting a fundamental level of popularity and influence, not one of his published works has ever gone out of print.

Lewis clearly doesn't need this movie in order to endure as one of the most important Christian figures of the previous century and someone who remains relevant even today. So why exactly do Christians everywhere love him?

"Get 'em young," the old adage goes, and Lewis certainly did that. The Chronicles of Narnia remained bestsellers even without a movie to boost them. Now, the major motion picture is led by Shrek director Andrew Anderson and aided by the special effects gurus at Weta Digital. It's hard to argue with Anderson: "Making a film that crosses generations is a far easier task when the source material resonates such themes as truth, loyalty, and belief in something greater than yourself." The outright eagerness of secular production companies to distribute Christian allegory shows the Narnia popularity is not merely a Christian phenomenon.

There was and is considerable fear that the movie—produced by Disney, no less—would whitewash away the books' Christian witness that nonbelievers might find objectionable. Much ado was made about the 2001 report that new Narnia books proposed by HarperCollins would not be Christian. Since the source memo referred to a documentary on Lewis and not the proposed books themselves, much of the criticism was misinformed. Nevertheless, some still fear that producers will de-claw the distinctly Christian Aslan.

Responding to the 2001 report, Christianity Today suggested that Lewis wouldn't have a problem with marketing. It scarcely matters if we announce from the rooftops that Narnia is a Christian tale if children explore the world for themselves. Lewis knew what he was doing: "stealing past watchful dragons" to Christianize the imagination. So long as the message of the books themselves remains intact—and Anderson assures us it will be—the packaging can attend to itself. Lewis didn't write, "This is Christianity in book form." He wanted us to let the story capture our imagination. The millions taken captive don't regret it.

If Lewis had just written Narnia, however, he would be known only as an excellent children's author. His apologetics round out his substantial influence.

Philosophy professor Victor Reppert argues that, if anything, we don't take Lewis's apologetics seriously enough. Instead of paying attention to Lewis's deep philosophical arguments, some commit the "personal heresy" of looking at Lewis himself and ignoring what he told us. Reppert points out that many Christians encounter their first philosophical arguments through Lewis. This way each new Christian generation begins to form their minds.

More importantly, Reppert critiques the conventional wisdom that Lewis "realized" the folly of apologetics after losing a 1948 debate with Elizabeth Anscombe. Reppert suggests that neither that debate nor Lewis's grief at losing his wife made Lewis stop arguing for his faith. In fact, they actually helped him form better arguments.

There's also something uniquely interesting about Lewis himself. Despite Reppert's admonition that "We should resist … focusing on Lewis himself, rather than what he had to say," his story is too fascinating to simply ignore. Famous or not, we wouldn't see a glut of books about him published every year unless we could mine much from his—dare we say—enchanting life. It's a life that continually defies expectations.

Evangelical heavyweight J.I. Packer wrote nearly a decade ago about his debt to Lewis. Packer did so even while acknowledging Lewis's several nonevangelical views, particularly baptismal regeneration and purgatory. On the other end of the aisle, many Catholics, particularly Catholics who came to their faith through Lewis, struggle to understand why Lewis never became Catholic himself. Everyone wants to grab Lewis for his or her own tradition, but no one can tie him down. Lewis surprises, and this sense of mystery continues to keep us yearning to discover more.

Lewis was himself a great lover of mystery; as Packer points out. He could "suggest ineffable things to our imaginations with overwhelming poignancy." The Last Battle closes with the certainty that what we call the real world is just a shadow of things to come. Lewis's absolute belief in mystery allows him to communicate it so powerfully to us. His lucid writing allows him to communicate it clearly. Remove either, and we truly lose something.

Have we yet to take "the full measure" Lewis? Packer, in saying "no," probably has it right.

Will Reaves, a recent Wheaton College graduate, works as a freelancer for Christianity Today International and Tyndale House Publishers.