Much Ado About Something

The strife between our church and the presbytery continues, with harsh words and hurt feelings on both sides, I am sure. Although we stand firmly (and thankfully) with the Kirk, I cannot help but rue the ugliness of the entire ordeal. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, here's my synopsis: In response to the denomination's decision to allow individual presbyteries the freedom to overrule ordination requirements they might deem "non-essential" and its further plans to quash any disagreement through fear and heavy-handed control tactics, our session voted to separate from the PCUSA. Our former presbytery has sent letters to congregation members requesting us to meet with them at another church in town, where they, ostensibly, will tell "their side." They then made plans, since thwarted, to send another pastor to take over the worship services that took place this morning. We are not going to the presbytery-called meeting tomorrow. I cannot fathom that they could say anything that would interest me, the more so since my one hesitation in joining the Kirk was its affiliation with the liberal PCUSA. We are, however, going to the congregation meeting on Wednesday, when the membership will vote on a new affiliation with the Evangelical Presbyterian Church denomination.
That's my summary. I've been keeping up with events on Pastor Tom's blog (see links), but many of the comments and criticisms there are disheartening, even though many of them are not from within our congregation. When I read the poem below on the "Wittingshire" blog today, it seemed very relevant.

His Savior's Words, Going to the Cross

Have, have ye no regard, all ye
Who pass this way, to pity me,
Who am a man of misery!

A man both bruised, and broke, and one
Who suffers not here for mine own,
But for my friends' transgression!

Ah! Sion's Daughters, do not fear
The Cross, the Cords, the Nails, the Spear,
The Myrrh, the Gall, the Vinegar:

For Christ, your loving Savior, hath
Drunk up the wine of God's fierce wrath;
Only, there's left a little froth,

Less for to taste, than for to show,
What bitter cups had been your due,
Had He not drank them up for you.

--Robert Herrick (1591-1674)