MacDonald Through Chiastic Structure

 

Chiastic Structure

How discovering an ancient literary structure changed the way I read the Unspoken Sermons.

 
MacDonald was overwhelming.

I loved reading George MacDonald, but there was something that puzzled me.

His sermons were overwhelming. He would move from one story to another, from one image to the next, and I sometimes found myself wondering, “Where is he going?”  I never doubted there was a plan. I simply couldn't always see it.

Then one evening I learned to read him differently.

 

Baxter Changed Everything

As it is with many truths discovered along my journey, Baxter Kruger was once again the source.

During one of our Tuesday evening discussion groups, Baxter decided to spend several weeks exploring what most people simply pass over—the Prologue of John's Gospel. Instead of reading John 1:1–18 verse by verse, he laid it out in what is called a chiastic structure.

As he worked through the passage, he pointed out how the references to John the Baptist appeared on opposite sides of the center, mirroring one another. He called them the point and the reflection—one of the clues that the passage had been written as a chiasm.

That evening introduced me to an ancient way of thinking and writing that has changed the way I read both Scripture and MacDonald.

Learning to See a Chiasm

What I first assumed was simply an interesting literary device slowly became something much more.

A chiasm is built around a center.

Instead of presenting Point One, Point Two, Point Three, and then drawing a conclusion, the writer moves toward a central theme. Once that center has been reached, the same ideas are revisited in reverse order, reflecting back on the theme from the other side.

>   Point One

> >    Point Two

> > >    Theme!

< <    Reflection Two

<   Reflection One

The center is the point—the theme is the tip of the arrow. Everything before it points toward it. Everything after it reflects upon it, deepens it, and helps us understand its meaning.

The structure itself simply tells us what the author considered most important.

 

More Than a Literary Device

At first, I thought I had simply discovered another method of literary analysis.

I no longer think that.

Structure is not merely an embellishment. It is a key to meaning. To overlook the structure may be to miss the point entirely. Once I began looking for chiasms, I found them everywhere throughout Scripture—in John's Prologue, in many of the Psalms, and throughout the Old and New Testament narratives.

The structure itself became another way the author guided the reader toward the heart of the message.

Example of 1 John 1:1-5 The Message in Chiastic Structure

"From the very first day, we were there, taking it all in—we heard it with our own ears, saw it with our own eyes, verified it with our own hands, the Word of Life.

The Word of Life appeared right before our eyes; we saw it happen! And now we’re telling you in most sober prose that what we witnessed was, incredibly, this:

The infinite Life of God himself took shape before us. We saw it, we heard it, and now we’re telling you!

So you can experience it along with us, this experience of communion with the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. Our motive for writing is simply this: We want you to enjoy this, too. Your joy will double our joy! *

This, in essence, is the message we heard from Christ and are passing on to you: God is light, pure light; there’s not a trace of darkness in him."

* Note: Most translations end this segment after verse 4. The bookends reveal its boundaries and point to its Theme.

 

MacDonald Opened Up

Once I became aware of this way of thinking, I began seeing it everywhere in the Unspoken Sermons. What had once appeared to be long, wandering discussions suddenly revealed a remarkable order. MacDonald wasn't wandering at all. He was carefully leading his readers toward a central truth and then reflecting back upon it on the other side.

Whether he consciously planned every sermon this way, or whether it was simply the natural rhythm of his thinking, I cannot say. My guess is that it was simply how he thought. Recognizing this changed the way I read him. Instead of asking, “Where is this sermon going?” I began asking, “What is he pointing me toward?”

The difference was profound.

I realized the problem had never been MacDonald. It was the way I had been reading him.

 

The Bookends

The discovery didn't stop with individual sermons. One of the easiest ways to recognize a chiasm is by its bookends—the opening point and the closing reflection.

For me, those bookends are The Child in the Midst and The Inheritance. The first sermon introduces us to the child and the Father. The last reflects that beginning by revealing our inheritance as His children in the Father Himself.

Between those two bookends unfolds the entire Divine Narrative.

At the center stands Abba, Father! And suddenly the collection no longer felt like thirty-six independent sermons. It became one unfolding story. Everything before Abba, Father! points toward it. Everything after it reflects upon it.

That simple discovery transformed the way I read the entire collection.

 

The Kite Story

One small story illustrates this difference.

In The Inheritance, MacDonald tells the delightful story of a boy flying his kite. At first, I simply enjoyed the story. Then I saw its arrangement in chiastic structure. Suddenly the movement became obvious.

The boy...

    God as his playmate...

        Truth of self-giving love…

    Heaven...

Love and the perfect Law of Liberty.

What had first appeared to be a collection of beautiful thoughts revealed itself as one carefully crafted whole.

Once I saw it, I could never quite unsee it.

What boy, however, willing to be a disciple of Christ and a child of God, would prefer a sermon to his glorious kite. A kite is the most divine of toys, . . .

and with God Himself as his playmate, watching it together in the blue wind, tossed hither and thither in the golden sky! . . .

He might be willing to part with his kite, the wind, and the golden sun, and go down into the grave for his brothers, but surely not to be admitted to an eternal prayer-meeting! . . .

For my part, I rejoice to think that there will be neither church nor chapel in the heavenlies. . . 

Yes, in heaven there will be nothing of religion but its Love and no law but the perfect Law of Liberty.

 

Why It Matters

This discovery did more than help me understand George MacDonald. It changed the way I read him. I stopped reading isolated sermons and began seeing one grand Divine Narrative.

Each sermon became another step along the path. Each reflection cast new light on what had come before. The bookends defined the journey. The center illuminated the whole.

Perhaps most importantly, I stopped trying to follow MacDonald's thoughts and began following his vision. As MacDonald himself wrote, "I do not say this as some doctrinal truth... Rather than prove, I aim to show."

Once I recognized the structure beneath his writing, I found myself seeing what had been there all along.

And I have never read him the same way since.