Myopic and repetitive creatures we remain,
prizing the logic of man over
the Truth of God.
We begin nobly enough,
but fast fall to the temptation
of too many words to say
nothing at all —
Words we stuff in God’s mouth,
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 . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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
and call it good?