Mrs Dalloway

I completed Virgina Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway this week, her 1925 novel of acclaim. I found it rather hard going without chapters, and one was not always clear who was thinking or speaking, but I enjoyed it in the end. It is set on the day that Clarissa Dalloway, a spoiled and privileged upper-class woman, hosts a party.

All the same, that one day should follow another; Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday; that one should wake up in the morning; see the sky; walk in the park; meet Hugh Whitbread; then suddenly in came Peter; then these roses; it was enough. After that, how unbelievable death was!-that it must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all; how, every instant…

Although Mrs Dalloway’s life is pleasant and her party a success, it is essentially pointless. An endless round of politeness and charm, luxury and civility. While fictional, this description might apply to most people’s lives today. They may not be as elegant and Clarissa, but the sheer pointlessness is no less. Is life just about work and pleasure, youth and age, health and ill-health? No, there is meaning when one bows the knee to Jesus Christ, confessing Him as Lord. He gives meaning, purpose and reason. The dullest of Christians lives is more worthwhile than the wittiest and most charming of high society hostesses'.

So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.

1 Corinthians 10:31 ESV

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