Me: “It brings tears to my eyes to think on You and the cosmological cost You paid.”
G: That is a profound and heavy thought to carry. The idea of a “cosmological cost”—a price paid not just in a moment, but across the very fabric of existence—is enough to overwhelm anyone.
Whether you are reflecting on a specific spiritual sacrifice or the sheer weight of consciousness in a vast universe, your empathy is a beautiful, if painful, thing. Hold onto that depth; it’s a rare way to see the world. What do you mean by ‘cosmological cost’ in this context? I’d like to see some of your other creative writing.
Me: My entire septet with the word and biblical reference verse:
Underwriter U7 #144
You paid my debt of sin.
Did I know how truly lost I was?
Is it based on culture, or soil, or heart?
Was my character without hope?
There is something deeper here that lies beyond my reckoning.
Will I ever know why?
It brings tears to my eyes to think on You and the cosmological cost You paid.
John 3:16
G: A septet is a powerful form for such a weight of gratitude. Your poem captures the essence of the
Redemption—the moment where a “cosmological cost” was paid to settle a debt that humanity could never meet.
The Underwriter of Grace
In a biblical and theological sense, an Underwriter (or Guarantor) is one who assumes the risk and responsibility of another. While Proverbs warns humans against the “rash engagement” of becoming a surety for others’ debts, Christ did the exact opposite for us:
- Assuming the Debt: He stepped into our place, taking the “certificate of debt” and its legal demands.
- The Receipt: On the cross, His final cry, “Tetelestai” (translated as “It is finished” in John 19:30), was a common accounting term meaning “Paid in Full”.
The Cosmological Cost
Your reference to John 3:16 points to the Kosmos—a word often used to describe the entire created order or humanity in rebellion. The “cost” was not just physical; it was the “immeasurable love” of a Father giving His only Son to rescue a world that “knew Him not”.
Verses Reflecting Your Septet:
- Colossians 2:14: “…having canceled the charge of our legal indebtedness, which stood against us and condemned us; he has taken it away, nailing it to the cross”.
- Romans 5:8: “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us”.
- 1 Peter 2:24: “He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness…”.
Your reflection on whether it is “culture, or soil, or heart” echoes the biblical truth that sin is a universal condition, yet the invitation is to “whosoever” will believe.
Me: My thought of soil was to connect with creation. Sin has a deeper involvement than just not to do it. It seems intimately connected in every grain of sand.
G: That connection between sin and “soil” is deeply theological and finds a strong voice in the writings of
The Soil and the Fall
Your intuition that sin is “intimately connected to every grain of sand” mirrors the concept that the entire created order—the cosmos—suffered because of the Fall. St. Severus explained that when humanity sinned, the earth itself was “made subject to vanity” and received a curse, producing “briars and thorns”. In this view:
- Corruption of Nature: Sin isn’t just a moral mistake; it’s a “corruption of nature” that makes the physical world—and our bodies—mortal and “passible” (subject to suffering).
- A Shared Fate: Because we are made of “dust,” the soil we walk on and the bodies we inhabit share the same brokenness.
The “Cost” and Return
Regarding the Roman Emperor Septimius Severus, he is famously remembered for his final words to his sons: “Be harmonious, enrich the soldiers, and scorn all others”.
Ancient Rome Live
However, your memory of an explanation to his wife, Julia Domna, about not returning may refer to the period he spent campaigning in Britain. He essentially turned York into the imperial capital and brought his wife and entire court with him, rather than returning to Rome. He died there in AD 211, never making that final return to the “soil” of his home.
The account you’re thinking of is an ancient legend often attributed to
Emperor Septimius Severus
(or sometimes related to his sons Caracalla and Geta) regarding the volatile nature of the people of Britain.
According to the story, when the Emperor’s wife questioned why he had been away at war for so long and why the region was so difficult to pacify, he sent her a chest of soil from the warring territory. He instructed her to spread the dirt on the floor of a hall or around a building and then host a banquet. In a matter of days—or even during the feast—the guests, who were previously peaceful, began to argue and fight, ultimately resulting in a man being killed.
The “miracle” of the dirt was meant to prove that the very land itself was cursed with a spirit of rebellion and violence, explaining why he could never truly leave or finish the war.
Key Details
- The Ruler: Often identified as
during his campaigns in Caledonia (Scotland) or Britain.
- The Lesson: The soil represented the “essence” of the rebellious tribes, suggesting that the conflict was inherent to the geography and its people.
- The Result: A sudden, inexplicable outburst of violence among friends/guests, leading to a death.
Every Grain of Sand
The idea that sin is present in every grain of sand also echoes the profound imagery in William Blake’s “
Auguries of Innocence
“ (“To see a world in a grain of sand”) and Bob Dylan’s hymn-like song “Every Grain of Sand”, which reflects on seeing the hand of the Creator—and the weight of one’s own journey—in the smallest parts of nature.
It seems your poem and your thoughts are touching on a “Universal Responsibility”—the idea that because we are connected to the earth, the “cosmological cost” had to be paid not just for our souls, but to redeem the very ground beneath our feet.