This morning, when I went outside to take Hazel on her morning walk, I was greeted with the beauty of snow sparkling on the ground and falling from the sky. I confess that the little boy in me still loves the first snow of the year. And ever since I read the following passage from Buechner a few years ago, it has come to mind that first time each year that I open the door to the wonder of snow:

You wake up on a winter morning and pull up the shade, and what lay there the evening before is no longer there--the sodden gray yard, the dog droppings, the tire tracks in the frozen mud, the broken lawn chair you forgot to take in last fall. All this has disappeared overnight, and what you look out on is not the snow of Narnia but the snow of home, which is no less shimmering and white as it falls. The earth is covered with it, and it is falling still in silence so deep that you can hear its silence. It is snow to be shoveled, to make driving even worse than usual, snow to be joked about and cursed at, but unless the child in you is entirely dead, it is snow, too, that can make the heart beat faster when it catches you by surprise that way, before your defenses are up. It is snow that can awaken memories of things more wonderful than anything you ever knew or dreamed.

Frederick Buechner, "The Gospel as Fairy Tale"

Godric by Frederick Buechner
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I became interested in reading Frederick Buechner’s Godric after reading criticism of the work in The Christian Imagination, Leland Ryken’s outstanding compilation of essays on literature and the imagination.

In this anthology, Buechner, along with Flannery O’Connor, G. K. Chesterton, C. S. Lewis, and J. R. R. Tolkien, is held up as one of the few (broadly) Christian writers of fiction who write with honesty and authenticity, as opposed to the superficial and sentimental "Christian" writers whose books are sold in most Christian bookstores.

As I read Godric, I see why Ryken likes Buechner as a novelist. This book is honest. It’s gritty, full of earthiness and fallenness, yet at the same time, showing the work of grace. The character of Godric himself is the best example. Before Godric’s conversion, the man is as wicked and profane as any, and the book doesn't flinch in portraying his depravity. The young man Godric lives the life of a thief, then becomes a religious profiteer selling fake relics. After that, he becomes a sailor, doing all the kinds of activities associated with that lifestyle.

But then, well into his middle years, Godric is struck by grace and is converted. In this passage, Buechner brilliantly draws on Augustine’s Confessions, making the whole chapter a Confessions-like prayer. And in another touch of genius, Buechner structures the novel so that the waters of the Jordan River are the place where Godric experiences the baptism of his soul.

Yet even after Godric’s conversion, when he lives the life of an ascetic, he sometimes fails miserably in both mind and body—especially in one particularly disappointing incident near the end of the book. And yet as I reflect on what I’ve read, I realize that this is Buechner’s point. Godric is an honest portrayal of the believer's earthly journey. We are people with desperately wicked hearts, and we need God’s grace our whole lives long. Even after we receive Christ, the flesh can rear its head in all of its depravity. And through his portrayal of a man who frequently sins and yet still strives to follow Jesus, Buechner shows that redemption truly is a miracle, a gift of God that involves a sinful, ugly soul being transformed into something completely different, even though at times our sin comes out in all its corruption.

Despite a few passages I didn’t like, I enjoyed the book overall. One reason is that Buechner is an outstanding stylist. He rejects abstraction, choosing instead to get into our imaginations through the senses. Here’s an example:

“Here are the sounds of [the River] Wear. It rattles stone on stone. It sucks its teeth. It sings. It hisses like the rain. It roars. It laughs. It claps its hands. Sometimes I think it prays. In winter, through the ice, I've seen it moving swift and black as Tune, without a sound.

Here are the sights of Wear. It falls in braids. It parts at rocks and tumbles round them white as down or flashes over them in silver quilts. It tosses fallen trees like bits of straw yet spins a single leaf as gentle as a maid. Sometimes it coils for rest in darkling pools and sometimes it leaps its banks and shatters in the air. In autumn, I've seen it breathe a mist so thick and grey you'd never know old Wear was there at all.”

I should mention that although the book is enjoyable to read in these ways, readers looking to find precise theological accuracy in this book (which is usually not a good idea in works of fiction) will be disappointed by elements like Godric’s extreme asceticism, Mariolatry, visions, etc., which are portrayed positively.

Despite its faults, this book is worth reading because it gives us a glimpse of what it means to be human—-to be sinful, sensual, and depraved. And yet the book also shows that if we are willing to receive God’s grace, we can see God at the end of the journey.

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