Dostoevsky wrote these words to someone, somewhere:
“I believe there is nothing lovelier, deeper, more sympathetic and more perfect than the Savior; I say to myself with jealous love that not only is there no one else like Him, but that there could be no one. I would say even more. If any one could prove to me that Christ is outside the truth, and if the truth really did exclude Christ, I should prefer to stay with Christ and not with the truth.”

Each time I read those words, I think, “I agree with all my heart.” Then my next thought is,

“That sounds insane, like I’m a follower in a cult!”

And yet, there it is. That the proposition will never need to be tested is nearly irrelevant to me. It is, in one sense, a ludicrous argument. For Jesus would never be the One I adore if he wasn’t completely in line with truth. He created truth, as well as the humanity which might try to claim he stands against it. The truth will never exclude Christ. I will never need to choose between the two. But if it was somehow possible, and I had to make a choice, I would only stand closer to Jesus. For I know eventually, he would make sense of all that seemed destructive and vilifying. I have seen too much. I am marked.

I am shaken and set free again at the thought. How has this happened to this rebel? My heart has been so often broken by what others have done to me and what I have done to them. Yet I am fully convinced he will reconcile with truth every choice he has made or allowed regarding me and every other human who has ever walked this planet. Christ is all truth and does only what is in truth. How did this happen to me? What wondrous spell have I fallen under?