Conference on the Atonement

Over the weekend I attended a church conference in the city. It was called over a doctrinal issue of highest importance, and those attending were intense, fervent, and contemplative. Literature coming out of our seminary seemed to be striking at the core of one of our basic beliefs and we were compelled to investigate and see if this were indeed the case, or if we were simply misunderstanding poorly written textbooks.

The seminary was well represented there as were our churches in this district. We were cautiously kind to one another, explaining, tiptoeing, and examining.

Beneath those high-ceilings and within those brilliantly windowed walls, I felt like one of many little mice, scurrying around on a marble floor, examining a cat track--discussing at length the depth of the footprint and whether we could live with scratches on the floor.

Meanwhile, no one was allowed to bring up the subject of the large cat--the one sitting in the middle of the floor and smiling.

Good Friday

I lowered my face and cried, there in the dark
The shame was palpable, and long I stood.
My highest shot had somehow missed the mark,
And furthermore, I knew it always would.

Is there no exit from this wretched place?
Must I embrace despair and call it mine?
I know there must be higher and better ways,
But I can't see them. Lord; you know I'm blind.

I stretched for Heaven. He bent down to Earth
In a feat that seemed impossible, yet stood
And, paying a price beyond what I was worth,
He sanctified this day and made it good.

He took my guilt, so say whatever you will.
He took my hand. He leads. I follow still.




jc-a sonnet--4-2-2010