The Sentencing

I Like to Imagine
The Most Reverend
Jonathan Edwards,
Gone Home
to Stand before
His Maker,

Who has Prepared for Him
a Theater,
Formed from The Reverend’s
Own Imagination,
a Courtroom with
a White Throne Called
Judgment.

Our Maker Sits
On The Throne,
Scowling,
then Speaks:

“Sir, on July 14, 1741,
in Enfield, Connecticut,
You Preached that
I Am an Angry God,
and Hold All Mankind
In My Hands,
Prepared to Drop Them
into a Hell of Burning Demons.

Forever.

Unless an Innocent
is Sacrificed and
Blood Is Shed.

Sir, Nothing Could Be
Further from
The Truth.

Stand,
To Be Judged
and Sentenced.”

As He Stands,
The Courtroom Vanishes.

Angels Clad In Light

Lift and Carry Him
To Stand Before
The Maker,

Who Smiles,
Then Pulls Him Close,
an Embrace
Firm In Its
Gentleness,
Spilling Adoration
Into His Every Pore.

“I Forgive Your
Childish Judgments.
There Is No Sentencing.

Only My Love.

Now Go,
and Sin No More.”