@media (max-width: 768px) { #nav:before {content: "\f0c9 More";} } When truth was... | ref()rm please… | pilotingpastor

When truth was...

[reading time 5 minutes]

Truth is not just a victim of lies but of inadequacies. Truth-concepts of reality which are simple and cozy… are often simply and cozily wrong. They're not wrong because they are necessarily portraying a falsehood - in part, maybe even for the most part, they're probably very right - nonetheless they are still wrong in a totalising sense because they are small-hoods.  Cozy truths, small truths and isolated truths, left as they are with a full stop, are just as false as a lie because insomuch as they fail to show how one subset of reality interacts with another they fail to show reality. 

In Christian circles this is seen only at the edges of great doctrines - never at the centre. In the centre far from the interacting edges all seems calm and real. It’s only at the edges where the turbulence of one great truth interacting with another speaks the great totalising truth that there is one great big comprehensive sophisticated reality that only one one great big comprehensive sophisticated God can understand. 

Of course this is no excuse not to know truth  - we can know what we need to live and thrive and believe and be changed. It is an excuse though, to excuse ourselves from truth diminishing ‘word-arguments’ that seek category over reality, dichotomy over actuality.  Smallhoods can be seen from those who speak lots about love but very little about reason. Or those who speak of reason but seem to have no friends… 

This poem is my dodgy effort to capture the sense of what happens when truth is merely love (full-stop, without reason or courage) or when truth is courage (full-stop without love) or when truth is reason (full-stop, without love) and then what happens when, in very only Christian terms, truth is a person and that person comes for me...


When truth was love,
rose-petal romanced or cuddly warm. 
We were all a-flush,
With across-room gazes and finger-tipped tingles.
But when truth turned assassin,
Love, yellow-bellied, and haemorrhaging sincerity,
Refused to fight and so drowned in a shallow puddle,
of pathetic irrelevance.

When truth was courage,
High-calibred, warrior-ed and chemically pale,
We got all het up,
With over-the-horizon first and second strikes.
But when truth went beserker,
Courage, steely-eyed, cluster-bombing and fratricidal,
Refused to love and so drowned in the blood,
Of it’s own furious ricochets. 

When truth was reason,
Square-numbered logic or binary blue,
We were binarily excited,
With saucy science and peer-reviewed reviews. 
But when truth invented gas chambers,
Reason, synapses firing, empirical and homicidal,
Reasoned away reason and so died, 
in the disinfections of her own dissections.

But when truth was a person,
That beautiful person,
(The only beautiful person.)

Truth, person-able:
Logically fierce, affectionate, compassionate,
Cosmologically sweating, quantumly bleeding,
Stared me in the eye,
And there…


In the apple of His eye, 
I drowned, bled out, died, 
in the disaster of my own,
failed and failing...

truth.

And there,
In the apple of your eye.
Love and truth, 
Two crossed beams of an artificial tree.
Arms outstretched for me….
Reached bloodily hard for me...

So keep me there.
In the apple of your eye

(please.)

It’s the Truth.


hand reaching

 © pastoringpilot@reformplease.com