Every time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part that chooses, into something a little different from what it was before. And taking your life as a whole, with all your innumerable choices, all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing either into a heavenly creature or a hellish creature… — C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

Advertisements

The Very Children of God

From a report of George MacDonald's sermon:

"He was not here to make a fine sermon; he scorned that kind of thing; he was there to persuade them if he could to be the disciples of Christ, the very children of God; less than that was loss and ruin to the very essence of their being . . . True obedience to the word of Christ was the only bond between Him and those who called themselves Christians."

Thou Art my Home

"That man is perfect in faith who can come to God in the utter dearth of his feelings and his desires, without a glow or an aspiration, with the weight of low thoughts, failures, neglects, and wandering forgetfulness, and say to him, 'Thou art my refuge, because thou art my home.'"

-George MacDonald

Because Thou Knowest

I cannot tell why this day I am ill;

But I am well because it is thy will—

Which is to make me pure and right like thee.

Not yet I need escape—’tis bearable

Because thou knowest. And when harder things

Shall rise and gather, and overshadow me,

I shall have comfort in thy strengthenings.

Till my Love Loves Burningly

Lo, Lord, thou know’st, I would not anything

That in the heart of God holds not its root;

Nor falsely deem there is any life at all

That doth in him nor sleep nor shine nor sing;

I know the plants that bear the noisome fruit

Of burning and of ashes and of gall—

From God’s heart torn, rootless to man’s they cling.

Life-giving love rots to devouring fire;

Justice corrupts to despicable revenge;

Motherhood chokes in the dam’s jealous mire;

Hunger for growth turns fluctuating change;

Love’s anger grand grows spiteful human wrath,

Hunting men out of conscience’ holy path;

And human kindness takes the tattler’s range.


Nothing can draw the heart of man but good;

Low good it is that draws him from the higher—

So evil—poison uncreate from food.

Never a foul thing, with temptation dire,

Tempts hellward force created to aspire,

But walks in wronged strength of imprisoned Truth,

Whose mantle also oft the Shame indu’th.
Love in the prime not yet I understand—
Scarce know the love that loveth at first hand:

Help me my selfishness to scatter and scout;

Blow on me till my love loves burningly;

Then the great love will burn the mean self out,

And I, in glorious simplicity,

Living by love, shall love unspeakably.

—George MacDonald

But a Fool

Who sets himself not sternly to be good,Is but a fool, who judgment of true things

Has none, however oft the claim renewed.

And he who thinks, in his great plenitude,

To right himself, and set his spirit free,

Without the might of higher communings,

Is foolish also—save he willed himself to be.
— George MacDonald