George MacDonald: My Dead BFF4E

I’ve been swimming around in some really interesting imagery that’s been swirling a bit in my head.  Imagery of our relationship with God being like the hidden topography of a mysterious, murky lake.  Some people seem to step in and find themselves immediately submerged in faith.  Some meander on the shore, never seeming to get more than ankle deep.  Some, like myself, keep finding themselves practically beached on sandbars that follow trenches.  At times, now especially, I feel as if I’m almost completely off my feet.  I feel like my toes are clinging desperately to the ground, not wanting to be moved too much by the tide.

It’s a wondrous thing, water.  Experience tells us that you can float in it, but it’s an odd thing to comprehend without experience, you know?  And as I teeter on the edge of an unknown precipice in my faith, I hear the slight slaps of the waves lapping against each other, beating out the rhythm of the heart of God.  And in their beat I hear a subtle reminder to trust the water.  Trust my faith.  Pick up my feet.  The waters will hold me.  The waves will guide me.

This morning, my eye somehow caught a glance at a notebook I haven’t taken off of a shelf since I first moved into this house a little over a year ago.  Inside of this notebook is a computer printed copy of George MacDonald’s Unspoken Sermons.  They are, without my doubt, my favorite, most treasured piece of literature.  I decided I’d read one this morning with my coffee instead of the Bible and / or  commentaries as per usual.  This was a very good idea indeed.

The first sermon in the index that caught my attention was “The Higher Faith”.  I was reminded, again, of my position in this mystery faith lake.  I went with it.

As I’ve come to expect from reading George, my life is changed.  I made so much noise, oooing, ahhhing, moaning from meaning.  He affirmed some things I’d only dare to wonder about, without ever really seeking advice on.  The whole sermon, especially the last few paragraphs, are now mostly blue with highlighting in my notebook.  I’d encourage you to read it, and you can even get a free copy here, but I want to share the part that meant the most to me.  It is a lengthy quote, but please oblige in reading it if you too feel like you’re on the edge of a deeper faith.

...But it is about hopes rather than prayers that I wish to write.

What should I think of my child, if I found that he limited his faith
in me and hope from me to the few promises he had heard me utter! The
faith that limits itself to the promises of God, seems to me to partake
of the paltry character of such a faith in my child--good enough for a
Pagan, but for a Christian a miserable and wretched faith. Those who
rest in such a faith would feel yet more comfortable if they had God's
bond instead of his word, which they regard not as the outcome of his
character, but as a pledge of his honour. They try to believe in the
truth of his word, but the truth of his Being, they understand not. In
his oath they persuade themselves that they put confidence: in
_himself_ they do not believe, for they know him not. Therefore it is
little wonder that they distrust those swellings of the heart which are
his drawings of the man towards him, as sun and moon heave the ocean
mass heavenward. Brother, sister, if such is your faith, you will not, must not stop there. You must come out of this bondage of the law to
which you give the name of grace, for there is little that is gracious
in it. You will yet know the dignity of your high calling, and the love
of God that passeth knowledge. He is not afraid of your presumptuous approach to him. It is you who are afraid to come near him. He is not watching over his dignity. It is you who fear to be sent away as the disciples would have sent away the little children. It is you who think so much about your souls and are so afraid of losing your life, that you dare not draw near to the Life of life, lest it should consume you.

Tears streaming down my eyes, I knew it to be a reflection of my current state of faith.  As I sat and pondered what I had just read, I got the feeling I get when a dear friend speaks truth into my heart.  I hadn’t felt that in months and I only found it a bit strange that I felt such comradery for someone who has been dead for over a hundred years.  But I do feel a certain sort of friendship that is deeper than so many I have.  I guess what is really there is George MacDonald’s way of revealing God in a way I don’t see often enough.  It’s not like he spoke some sense in to me, he spoke some faith.  Rather, the Spirit used his writing to speak faith back into me.

Either way, I feel more full of faith and a sense of longing to drink coffee with George again tomorrow.