Myopic and repetitive creatures we remain,

prizing the logic of man over

the Truth of God.

We begin nobly enough,

I suppose,

seeking wisdom

but fast fall to the temptation

of too many words to say

nothing at all —

Words we stuff in God’s mouth,

to explain,

to rationalize,

to defend

the Almighty who needs not our flimsy defense —-

it is absurd that we try.


But we fear this merciful, loving Sovereign King

who commands an old man to sacrifice a beloved son

who claims the life of an infant as penalty for a father’s adultery

who loves Jacob, yet hates Esau

who chooses me, but does not choose . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

someone else?

What is the nature of this King’s mercy and salvation?




He threatens the limits of our reason —

Death to our familiar.

We wield doctrine like a sword and shield

against doubts and fearsome questions,

desperate to save our faith by clinging

to the wisdom of men —–

the wisdom of men, such a paltry thing really.


My heart whispers

that I hold the Truth in my hands —

I have read it before —

the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.

Even now, I stand beneath the branches of Life

in the Garden of the Inscrutable Mystery of God.

Will I spurn what I have been given,

reaching instead for a

tainted philosophy

and call it good?

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