Dabar [theme]

He shall cover thee with His feathers, and under His wings shalt thou find refuge: His truth is a shield and buckler
Psalms 91:4

Be it ours,when we cannot see the face of God, to trust under the shadow of His wings. C.H. Spugeon

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

The Gap of Belief

Did Jesus live? And did He really say
The burning words that banish mortal fear?
And are they true? Just this is central, here
The Church must stand or fall. It's Christ we weigh.


All else is off the point: the Flood, the Day

Of Eden, or the Virgin Birth - Have done!

The Question is, did God send us the Son

Incarnate crying Love! Love is the Way!


Between the probable and proved there yawns
A gap. Afraid to jump, we stand absurd,
Then see behind us sink the ground and, worse,
Our very standpoint crumbling. Desperate dawns
Our only hope: to leap into the Word
That opens up the shuttered universe.


I choose to believe in the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost - in Christ, my Lord and my God. Christianity has the ring, the feel, of unique truth. Of essential truth. By it, life is made full instead of empty, meaningful instead of meaningless. Cosmos becomes beautiful at the Center, instead of chillingly ugly beneath the lovely pathos of spring. But the emptiness, the meaninglessness, and the ugliness can only be seen, I think, when one has glimpsed the fullness, the meaning, and the beauty. It is when heaven and hell have both been glimpsed that going back is impossible. But to go on seemed impossible, also. A glimpse is not a vision. A choice was necessary: and there is no certainty. One can only choose a side. So I - I now choose my side: I choose beauty; I choose what I love. But choosing to believe is believing. It's all I can do: choose. I confess my doubts and ask my Lord Christ to enter my life. I do not know God is, but I do but say: Be it unto me according to Thy will. I do not affirm that I am without doubt, I do but ask for help, having chosen, to overcome it. I do but say: Lord, I believe - help Thou mine unbelief.

The Soul for comfort holds herself to be
Inviolate; but like the blowing sands
That sift in shuttered houses, Christ's demands
Intrude and sting, deny her to be free.
She twists and turns but finds it vain to flee,
The living Word is in the very air,
She can't escape a wound that's everywhere,
She can but stand or yield - to ecstacy.
Her Lord is seeking entrance; she must choose.
A thickening callus can withstand the pain
Of this rough irritant, the sands that swirl
Against her thus defied. But if she lose
Her self, Christ enters in - the sharp-edged grain
Of sand embeddd grows a shining pearl.
Quoted from A Severe Mercy

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