Love is Holy

From George MacDonald’s lecture on ‘King Lear,’ regarding Cordelia’s response when asked to declare her love for her father in

order to inherit a portion of his kingdom:

“She loved her father far too much to be able to tell it out in that fashion. Even the best things she could say would have been as nothing compared with their eager protestations. Love is not to be measured by a dictionary. Love is holy, and loving hearts cannot lay themselves out for the asking. We don’t want to hear our children speak of their love; the look, the manner, the action–these are the language of the heart.”

– George MacDonald

Advertisements

To Understand

“We are all very anxious to be understood, and it is very hard not to be. But there is one thing much more necessary.’

What is that, grandmother?’

To understand other people.’

Yes, grandmother. I must be fair – for if I’m not fair to other people, I’m not worth being understood myself. I see.”

― George MacDonald, The Princess and the Goblin

Every Hair and Feather

“There is no escape. There is no heaven with a little of hell in it – no plan to retain this or that of the devil in our hearts or our pockets. Out Satan must go, every hair and feather”

– George MacDonald, Unspoken Sermons II

How the Great Wind Came to Beacon House

How the Great Wind Came to Beacon House

A wind sprang high in the west, like a wave of unreasonable happiness, and tore eastward across England, trailing with it the frosty scent of forests and the cold intoxication of the sea. In a million holes and corners it refreshed a man like a flagon, and astonished him like a blow. In the inmost chambers of intricate and embowered houses it woke like a domestic explosion, littering the floor with some professor’s papers till they seemed as precious as fugitive, or blowing out the candle by which a boy read “Treasure Island” and wrapping him in roaring dark. But everywhere it bore drama into undramatic lives, and carried the trump of crisis across the world. Many a harassed mother in a mean backyard had looked at five dwarfish shirts on the clothes-line as at some small, sick tragedy; it was as if she had hanged her five children. The wind came, and they were full and kicking as if five fat imps had sprung into them; and far down in her oppressed subconscious she half-remembered those coarse comedies of her fathers when the elves still dwelt in the homes of men. Many an unnoticed girl in a dank walled garden had tossed herself into the hammock with the same intolerant gesture with which she might have tossed herself into the Thames; and that wind rent the waving wall of woods and lifted the hammock like a balloon, and showed her shapes of quaint clouds far beyond, and pictures of bright villages far below, as if she rode heaven in a fairy boat. Many a dusty clerk or cleric, plodding a telescopic road of poplars, thought for the hundredth time that they were like the plumes of a hearse; when this invisible energy caught and swung and clashed them round his head like a wreath or salutation of seraphic wings. There was in it something more inspired and authoritative even than the old wind of the proverb; for this was the good wind that blows nobody harm.

Excerpt From

Manalive

Gilbert Keith Chesterton

https://books.apple.com/us/book/manalive/id498683671

On a lovely windy afternoon on a lake in Texas, this intro couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. With it came strains of George’s At the Back of the North Wind, and Lewis’s bit on the wind that blew through St. Anne’s in That Hideous Strength, and of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Eve. It even brought to mind the aria that soared among the captives in Shaw Shank Redemption. Most certainly these are winds that blow nobody wrong, and more. They are winds that lift men up out of our mundane and troubled little world, up and into a larger space. A space where men are free in heart and mind, even though we may be as the Apostle said, troubled on every side. Yet we are not in despair, for the star of hope shines bright, and it’s song has got into our hearts. And so long as there is hope and a song in his heart, no man can ever be a slave. 🌟💛🌟

Room to be Home

For Sunday, from a report of George MacDonald’s sermon in Edinburgh, reprinted in ‘Wingfold’ Spring 2006:

“What human nature needs is the humanity of its fellows. It has not room. You may have all the world your own; you may clear man about you till you dwell alone in the earth, and your soul will have no room. The room, the peace, the sense of well-being, the comfort that a man needs, is when another unseen world, the world of another human soul, has opened up for him to walk abroad in and be at peace, and be at home there.”