About F. Buechner
Post 10:
It’s probably overwhelmingly obvious that these posts aren’t appearing as parts of some overarching strategy. Right now I’m establishing a kind of footing, peering out into the unknown. Really, I’m finishing a novel and working up a short story that will soon be all yours. Bear with me on that—if you’ve voyaged alongside or simply dipped your toe, I’m forever grateful.
That said, I’m going to talk about another writer today. Frederick Buechner. Specifically a little book called Godric. By little, I mean not long. If measuring brilliance was possible, this puppy would break the proverbial scale. One of my college roommates was good enough to pass it on and it’s one of the only books I’ve never put in a box or even let someone borrow. There’s too many notes in it, too many life lessons. Anyway, I’m just gonna—
“Would it be right that you’re a ghost then, Father, and you haunt this place?
“Ah well, and if it comes to that,” he said, “your shadow fell here long before your foot, and that’s a kind of haunting too. Farne had long been calling you, I mean, before you heard at last and came.”
“I heard no call, Father,” I said. “I came here as a stranger, and I came by chance.”
“Was it as a stranger and by chance you wept?” he said, then let me wonder at his words a while before he spoke again. “When a man leaves home, he leaves behind some scrap of his heart. Is it not so, Godric?”
I thought of Burcwen waiting with her basket in the rain and how I kissed my father’s head, and nodded yes.
“It’s the same with a place a man is going to,” he said. Only then he sends a scrap of his heart ahead.”
“It’s true there’s something fetching here,” I said, “but I had no aim to come, Father, nor have I any aim to stay.”
“Nor shall you either,” he said. “Your heart’s no guillemot to make this isle your rookery. It was right you came to fold your wings a while and get your bearings for the flight to come. But your true nesting place lies farther on.”
“Lies where?” I asked.
He said, “Godric, this much at least I know for sure. Until you reach it, every other place you find will fret you like a cage.”
To summarize, this excerpt describes a conversation between two guys on a place called Farne. Where Farne is doesn’t matter. There are bigger questions being asked here, some of the biggest. “Your shadow fell here long before your foot” is a beautiful way of saying that your destiny is, well, your destiny. The “ghost man” hurls some serious bolts here. He tells the other guy he’s a bird. A bird at rest. But birds aren’t really ever at rest until they are. Nor shall our character be. You know—the old nest vs. rest quandary. Yeah. That one.
So there’s some lovely writing. I think lovely's the right word for it. Elevating, words chosen well, etc. It works on two levels. It’s just an interesting conversation with imagery and weight, and still, there’s a deep river running underneath the whole scene through.
The kind of thing that makes me love words. Thanks person who invented words! See you after.
