Wish I'd said that - August 21, 2016

“In the mystery of the end, of course, man hurts not nor destroys in all the holy mountain, and lion lies down with lamb. But before the end, it cannot be, unless the lion becomes a docile bag of air that is no lion at all – a king of beasts with nothing fit for general resurrection but an empty skin: a mangy, risen rug unfit to grace the Supper of the Lamb. There is no way around the killing here that is not less than human in the end; man is what he is: hunter, butcher, carnivore; save him without that and you save nothing – manskins stuffed with sacred sawdust reach no New Jerusalem; the trip is not worth the baggage left behind. Raise him indeed, but raise him in the time of resurrection – and raise him Man – with flesh, bones and all things appertaining to the perfection of man’s nature…. bring him home himself: with hands till pierced by grim exchanges, glorious scars; and with a heart still ready for astonishment at Lion and Lamb In their unimaginable concourse.” Robert Farrar Capon The Supper of the Lamb

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