I am the truth, but you will not believe me,and
I am the city where you will not stay.
I am your wife, your child, but you will leave me,
I am that God to whom you will not pray.
So for a day, let’s stop arguing about metaphors and together acknowledge that, while all of them fit, none of them fit. While we are all right, none of us are right.----
The cross is a mystery we can grasp but not tame.
What happened on the cross was never meant to fit into words
-- the former lines are the middle stanza of a poem, "From a Normandy crucifix of 1632," by Charles Causley, which Jane Stranz posted in its entirely, for meditation, here.
--the latter words and sentences are the end of Rachel Held Evans's post, "We argue over metaphors..."