Beliefnet
The Jazz Theologian

When
I survey the wondrous cross,
I am horrified.  Tattered and torn
skin…blood matted hair…pain induced quivers…the death of God.  A man so battered and betrayed that
words…fail. 

                                                                                                Selah

When
I survey the wondrous cross,
its beauty startles me.  The life…the
love…the compassion…of the death of God. 
It…no, He summons me to feast upon that which I gaze.  For some unresolved reason I accept the
offer.

                                                                                                Selah

When
I survey the wondrous cross,
I am haunted. 

For my soul knows…

my inmost being
bows in contrition…

compunction
convicts. 

My hands, my thoughts, my eyes
betray the reason    
for the death of God.

                                                Selah           

When
I survey the wondrous cross,
I am mystified.  I search for it’s
meaning, for its understanding…for the “why’s” of what I see.  What was God doing on the cross?  There are so many answers.  The more doctrine digested, the more
elusive and yet, simultaneously adjacent the death of God becomes.

Peter, why couldn’t you have kept
it’s meaning to yourself?  “To this
you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps.” (I Pet. 2.21) Why
must you involve us?  Why must you
summon me? 

As if we want to…

as if I am willing…

to follow the
example of Christ and His cross.

The cross is an example, an
intricate design, on which we lay the transparent parchment of our lives and
sketch our feeble outlines. 

The cross is to be followed, like
tracks in the snow.  We step high
and sink in deep to the openings made by The One who has gone before.

Excruciare…Latin
for “out of the cross.” 
Excruciating People–those who live life out of the cross.  Christians–those
who have accepted the invitation to live an excruciating life.
  The cross is a way of life…an
ethos.  Mores not just morals.  The cross is a culture for
pain-absorbing, peace-making, love-wielding, price-paying, cup-drinking people. 

 

When
I survey the wondrous cross,
I am terrified.  For what I see and what I know demands my soul, my life, my all.


(An excerpt from my current writing project which will be a jazz-shaped view of the cross)

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