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All I Know

“But one last thing,” she asks. “How has Jesus dying on the cross healed you?”

A bunch of words bounce through my head, and I’m not sure what to say. We’ve been discussing atonement theory for the better part of an hour, but those phrases are just a bunch of words now.

Theological phrases fall flat in the empty spaces between incomplete stories.

I know all the Bible verses; I’ve known them as long as I can remember. And the diagram, with God on one side and me on the other and the cross in the middle bridging the gap I could never leap.  By His wounds we are healed, but I don’t know how.

And fumbling around for words, all I can come up with is a line from one of my favorite stories. She’s a worship leader, or an ex-worship leader. She recognizes those words from the song, but I remember them from a story.

He had been blind all his life. A lonely man cut off from the world by the cruelty of eyes unable to see. A beggar, until that miraculous day when Jesus spit in the dirt and made mud. Until that day when blind eyes saw light for the very first time. Suddenly the blind beggar was surrounded by religious people asking big questions with big words. “How did Jesus heal you? Where is He now? Is He really sent from God?” Of course he didn’t know, and he didn’t pretend to. All he had to offer was his own story.

It erupts from a heart full of hope, but no neat answers. It erupts all in capital letters, because this is the internet and that’s how we shout.


In the empty spaces between incomplete stories, this is all I have. And for now, it’s enough.

( If you liked that, read this: “If My Voice Is Heard at All” )

published April 8, 2013

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