I have lately acquired, but not yet read, the somewhat controversial book of theology by Elizabeth A. Johnson that bears the same title of this poem. I anticipate being challenged and edified by Johnson's important work.
She Who Is
The worship of a Woman God
is rankest blasphemy
according to the mitred squad
that guards Divinity.
But when they bid me kneel ("you must!")
to figures male and white,
my foremost feeling is disgust
with a touch of childish fright.
God is not gendered, fem. or masc.,
that much they will concede;
but call Her "she" and see how fast
they'll launch a bitter screed!
I'm sorry, but I've had enough
of Scowling Old Greybeard:
a potentate who can't be loved
but only meekly feared.
My Sovereign Queen, my Joy, my Song,
forever may You reign!
For years and years, I have been wrong:
please pardon my disdain.
My Life, my Light, my Saving Grace,
I gladly bow my head;
with grateful lips, I kiss the trace
of Your exultant tread.
I praise you, Wisdom, bold and sweet,
compassionate and fierce:
there's peace and solace at Your feet;
I shower them with tears.
Poetry by Thomas D
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Written on 2020-12-31 at 14:01
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