To give oneself devoutly to a principle in exchange for a clean conscious is like getting married without making love. It’s to conform to a structure and not feel the warmth of a person. It’s to break bread and swallow a thorn, to crush the grape and drink the bitters.
To not ever wonder -in our rushed existence- why stars twinkle, and the grass grows, is to square the cross, sharpen the nail, balance the hammer and never understand the love flowing from the Christ.
Every moment of life pulses with the throb of Christ’s bleeding sacrifice. His divine substance, given in epic love, shapes our world and colors our life. And we yawn and see nothing.
I have no question, but that pain and disappointment, anguish and tribulation, are tugs from the cross, beckoning us to feel the love and see the color. For once.
When our man-made righteousness and the success of our hands wears the thinnest, we are the closest to the epic of the cross. But we go on to another pill, another loan, or the next wizard and they help us live the normal life.
A life without Christ.