The following excerpt is from the novel, The Curate’s Awakening, by George MacDonald. At this early part of the story, Thomas Wingfold, a curate, has been confronted as to the sincerity of his faith just the evening prior by George Bascombe, an ambitious, self-assured attorney who thinks it his role to liberate others from their false religious beliefs. By way of the confrontation, Wingfold found himself wholly unable to refute Bascombe’s charges as Thomas found himself without any true convictions, only having absorbed and parroted the Church of England’s traditions and viewpoints over the span of his young curacy. His conscience aroused as a result, Wingfold takes upon himself the charge to see if there be a God worth believing in with all his heart.

I find in this brief exchange things worth noting.

First, that challenges as to our personal faith are not without value. They serve to reveal to what depth we believe what we espouse.

Secondly, it hints at the value of doubts—something which, at times, is scorned as a measure of weak faith by some but which are helpful prods to a rich relationship with God and are a part of every sincere follower’s experience.

Lastly, the exchange between the two men highlights the advantage of showing God to others who reject him out of hand through the witness of our lives over any kind of verbal debate, as well-intended as our speech may be.

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The curate’s search had already greatly widened the sphere of his doubts. But if there be such a thing as truth, every fresh doubt is yet another fingerpost pointing toward its dwelling. So reasoned the curate with himself as he rounded the corner of a street and met George Bascombe.

The young lawyer held out his large hospitable hand and they went through the ceremony of shaking hands.

“I have not yet had an opportunity of thanking you for the great service you have done me,” said Wingfold sincerely.

“I am glad to know I have such an honor, but—

“I mean in opening my eyes to my true position.”

“Ah, my dear fellow! I was sure you only required to have your attention turned in the right direction. Are you thinking of resigning, then?”

“Not yet,” replied Wingfold. “The more I look into the matter, the more reason I find for thinking the whole thing may be true after all and I may be able to keep my appointment to the church.”

“But what if you find it is not true?” pressed Bascombe.

“What if I should find it is true, even though you might never be able to see it?” returned the curate.

After a somewhat uncomfortable pause, each of the two men continued on his own way. Bascombe had said nothing more, for his mind was only directed at finding holes in another’s consistency rather than seeing whether truth had anything to teach his own self. Meanwhile, Wingfold’s honest heart continued its quest for truth, wherever and however he could unearth it.

“If I can’t prove there is a God,” said Wingfold to himself, “then surely just as little can Bascombe prove there isn’t.”

But then came the thought, “But the fellow would say that, there being no sign of a God, the burden of proof lies with me.”

And with that he saw how useless it would be to discuss the question with anyone who, not seeing God, had no desire to see him. The only good to be gleaned out of any discussion would have to come by sharing doubts and conjectures with another who shared the common desire of knowing and finding the truth. Otherwise, discussion would be but the vain exchange of differing viewpoints, leading nowhere.

“No!” he concluded at length, “my business is not now to prove to any other man that there is a God, but to find him for myself. If I should find him, then there will be time enough to think of showing him to others.”