An excerpt from the Bicentennial Edition of George MacDonald and His Wife
One day at the end of June 1852 the deacons formally waited upon the minister. Pretending, since he was contemplating a larger house, that his stipend was unnecessarily generous, they found herein apology for the subterfuge they had agreed to adopt. They came, he was assured, with the unpleasant duty of informing him it was no longer possible to pay him as much as £150 a year. It was hard enough to make both ends meet, but for him such a matter was in the hands of God.
“I am sorry enough to hear it,” he replied; “but if it must be, why, I suppose we must contrive to live on less.”
The answer surprised them: “O, but—er—we thought—” stammered out the minister’s landlord,”—er—we thought you would take it—er—as a kindly hint, so to speak—”
“Of what?” asked George MacDonald.
“That your preaching is not acceptable, and that you should resign,” was the reply.
Then it appeared that there were two charges against him. The first was a sermon he had preached from the text, “He that doeth my will shall know of the doctrine,” in the course of which he had expressed his belief that some provision was made for the heathen after death.
The second was even more shocking, and probably originated in his Songs of Novalis: he was tainted with German Theology.
Though he accepted without demur the deacons’ reduction of his stipend, which was within their rights,1 he determined to submit the question of resignation to a meeting of the whole congregation by whom he had been called. Of the number that responded there is no record, unless the resolution, of which the official copy is before me, was passed at this meeting after the pastor had retired; in which case there were but twenty present. Such a small number suggests either that the active objectors were few, or that the majority had not the pluck to stand up to the deacons.
My father read a concise address, of which I have the draft copy in his own hand:
It having been represented to me that a small party in the church has for some time been exceedingly dissatisfied with my preaching, it has become my duty to bring the matter before the assembled church. My first impulse was at once to resign, as the most agreeable mode for me to be delivered from the annoyance. On mentioning this to some of my friends in the church, the proposal was met with no opposition, although it drew forth expressions of sorrow, and the declaration of benefit derived from my labours. But from the advice of two of my friends engaged in the same work, and from the awakened perception in my own mind that, as I came at the invitation of the whole church, it would be unfair to the other members of the church to resign unconditionally on account of the dissatisfaction of a few, I resolved to put it in the following form: Will you, the Church, let me know whether you sympathize or not with the dissatisfaction of the few? Such a communication from you will let me know how to act: I put it thus from the feeling that this is my duty. With my own personal feelings I have nothing to do in this assembly. I retire and await your decision.
Read more in the bicentennial edition of George MacDonald and His Wife, by Greville MacDonald. originally published in 1924.