Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps turn out a sermon.

-- R. Burns Epistle to a Young Friend

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Crossings

“I will go further, Polwarth, and say, I would rather die for evermore believing as Jesus believed, than live for evermore believing as those that deny him.” Thomas Wingfold -- George MacDonald

The context of this statement is that the doubting curate, Wingfold, has been mentored by the dwarf Polwarth (you know this is Victorian literature – there has to be a dwarf). He has dealt to some extent with his doubts about Christianity mainly by studying the Gospels and coming to know about the Christ. Focusing on the four Gospels, especially the Gospel of John, was a favorite theme in MacDonald’s writings. He emphasized knowing Jesus directly and believed the narratives of the Evangelists provided the clearest depiction of the Lord, both in terms of His Person as well as His teachings.

The character is still developing. He does not have the faith that gives him rest. Yet he has seen something that pushes him onward. The life of Christ is a life worth living. Everything else is a shadow, a cheap imitation. While Wingfold does not believe that he possesses that life yet and perhaps does not even know that it is his to possess by faith, he sees that it is real life, true and abundant life. He has seen that, apart from Christ, there is nothing of value.

Jesus asked, “What good is it to a man to gain the entire world, yet lose his own soul?” A soul is worth more than the world. The world is temporary, passing away. The soul is infinite and eternal

Rejection of the world’s value system is a necessity for following Christ. We drop all the accretions of Mammon and take up the Cross. In order to do that one must see the beauty of Christ contrasted with one’s own dark, ugly soul. A traveler must understand that not only is there a wrong road but a right one. Moral teaching is good but alone it is inadequate. A man may treat his neighbor decently yet still possess a twisted soul. We don’t need people who merely act better; we need people who are better.

MacDonald’s curate saw the chasm and he believed there was a Bridge, but he had not yet set his foot upon it to test it.

By contrast there are many who deny that the chasm exists or that it is as wide as claimed. They believe it can be traversed by a mere step or, at worst, a Knievel-like leap. A wise man said long ago, “There is a way that seems right to a man but it ends in death.”

Others admit there is a yawning abyss but have no hope of a bridge. Convinced there is no way to cross, they turn away to find something that will deaden a hopeless existence further.

Wingfold eventually moved forward, tried the Bridge and found it would bear the weight. I was talking to my father a week or two back and he spoke of this same point in his own way. He had come to realize where the road led, saw the promise of Life, but was unsure that it could ever be his. Speaking to his friend and pastor, Dad said, “This will run a man crazy.” The preacher replied wisely, “No. It won’t.” Sunday came and Dad listened to another sermon. A few days later, thinking about some statement the preacher had made, he came to that old Bridge and found it more than adequate for the crossing.

I kind of wonder what the old preacher said. I knew him well myself. Dad can’t remember, but it has been many years. It’s likely that it would not have much meaning for anyone else anyway. Old Jordan probably wouldn’t know either, but he long ago made a different crossing and it may be a while before I get a chance to ask.

6 comments:

robinstarfish said...

I love MacDonald, who can make the dark visible. That bridge is indeed there and does hold us up every time.

mushroom said...

"the dark visible" -- that's good.

Thanks.

Rick said...

“This will run a man crazy.” The preacher replied wisely, “No. It won’t.”

There is no doubt about what he said, or in how he said it.
Great post, Mushroom.

mushroom said...

Thanks, Rick. I'll tell you a story that came to mind about old Jordan (our pronunciation was more like Jurd'-an).

One hot Saturday we went to town. Dad went back into the big cooler in the Exchange and picked out a watermelon. He put it in the back of the pickup. He went back in to pay for our feed and groceries and, of course, the melon. He left me standing on the loading dock behind the pickup. I was just a little kid, maybe eight. Jordan came walking up and spied the watermelon. He grabbed it, pulled out his pocketknife, cut a big piece and handed it to me. Then he started cutting off other slices and handing them to some of the neighbors on the dock. Dad came out about that time.

Jordan said, "Want some watermelon?"

Dad said, "Well, shore."

He took a bite and happened to think. He looked over and saw his watermelon was gone, then looked down at the piece in his hands. Dad just chuckled and shook his head, but the preacher was nearly doubled over with laughter.

Rick said...

Oh man, that is my kind of story, Mushroom. Thanks for that. I’m glad you wrote it down.
Here’s one of my favorites. It wasn’t very long until I tried to write it down:
"About five seconds"

mushroom said...

That is a great story, Rick. You really have a gift.

Memories are so powerful. And those little moments are like communion.
My oldest granddaughter -- a very grownup 13 -- still loves to hear me relate something she did or said when she was "little".