the body

I cannot put Christ in the straightjacket called church, although he works through it. I cannot bottle him up, package him, paint a picture that depicts his love, his suffering, his scars, his glory, his work. I cannot explain a theology that represents his character. He’s too big, too broad, too explicit, too perfect. He dwells in a body; he dwells in a temple. The temple has hands; the temple has feet. It breathes. It works. It loves. Oh, how it loves!
But, for all I’m worth, I cannot describe that body. I only know its humanity — its hands — because Christ, working through the body, reached out and touched… me.

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