You say: "love is a temple, love a higher law
Love is a temple, love the higher law."
You ask me to enter, but then you make me crawl
And I can't be holding on to what you got, when all you got is hurt.
From the song "One." I've often thought about these lyrics, especially whenever I'm contemplating the inbreaking of the new covenant, in anticipation of the return of the crucified God, the risen Messiah.
Betraying more of my idiosyncracies than is probably wise, I fancy this excerpt to speak against much of the church at large. "Love," they say, "in this new covenant, is a temple, a higher law. Come. Enter your rest." (All this is true, of course.)
Yet it turns out to be anything but rest. Burdened with guilt and talmudic blue laws (fill in the blank here: drinking, homeschooling, what can and can't be done on the first day of the week, being forced to practice a limp-wristed tolerance, etc.) the forgiveness and thus the peace of Christ has all but vanished.
Binding consciences with the word of man, not of God, such that the one enjoined to enter now must crawl under the oppressive thumb of he who has been called to shepherd the flock is a betrayal most insidious. If all you got is hurt, maybe you should rethink your ordination vows.