All We Know

I am reading a good book called "The Last Word and the Word After That" by Brian McLaren. I highly suggest it to all who haven't read any of his books. It is the third book in a trilogy, the first being "A New Kind of Christian", and the second, "The Story we Find Ourselves In". Pick them up and read from the first through the third.

I came across a poem that he wrote in his latest book, and I thought it would be good to post it. Sometimes art is the only way to approach theology. I mean, there are times when art (poetry, sculpting, or painting) come closer to telling the truth of a matter than any other form of communication. The poem is entitled "All We Know".

All We Know

All we know is but a spark,
Rising from the blaze of mystery,
A falling star in the dark,
Descending from a height we cannot see.
In mists that rise from woodland streams,
the way that we could fly in childhood dreams,
Truth comes in on winds that blow,
From beyond the the rim of all we know.
I have my doubts about certainty.
Its not all that its made out to be.
I trust in things I cannot see,
And reach out for the love that's reaching me,
In mists that rise from woodland streams,
The way that we could fly in childhood dreams.
Truth comes in on winds that blow,
From beyond the rim of all we know.
The secret things remain concealed,
But this good news has been revealed.
(And thats a gift): the rift is healed.
And there's a trusure hidden in this field,
In mists that rise from woodland streams,
And the way that we could fly in childhood dreams.
Truth comes in on winds that blow.
From beyond the rim of all we know.