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Doug Blair and Family

Possessing All Things

It’s a story
That came to me,
Late spring, early one
Thursday evening.
We were walking
The university grounds.
(Still hoofing it
Or busing or taxiing-
No car in the driveway.)
We had been to the
Main Library.
Hilary dabbling in Huguenot history,
Celtic folklore,
Charles G. D. Roberts’
Animal stories for the kids.
I, following the canoe
Of Grey Owl,
Or the letters of
My beloved Rutherford
And Scottish Covenanters.

The evening was
Lazy-warm and the
Leaves on the maple and oak
In full splendour.
The little campus stream
Was trickling toward
The duck pond,
And the two of us
Leaned on the aluminum
Bridge rail,
Arm-in-arm, silent, contented.
Watching Mother Mallard
Convoy her paddling brood of nine
Toward overhanging bushes.
No students passed.
(Campus population at
A seasonal minimum.)
Waterloo traffic noise
Muted through
Surrounding wood-lots.
I was impressed by
A suggestion from within:
“All things are yours,
And ye are Christ’s
And Christ is God’s.”

(A morning’s reading
Had prompted this thought
Some days before…
Seems a little house-maid
Worked in a large mansion.
Many rooms, exquisite.
Lots of dusting, cleaning, polishing.
She reserved a special time
Each day to enter
Her employer’s study to work.
There it was.
Four-by-five oil-painting
Of the Scottish Highlands.
For him, “a good investment
Picked up on tour overseas
With his wife.
Last appraisal – hundred and twenty-five
Percent jump in value.”

To the maid, this scene
Was Heaven. Multi-coloured
Heather, dramatic variable skies,
Distant snow-capped peak,
Ruddy little Highland cattle,
And one old Jock following
With plaidy and staff.
With such a feast for the eyes
Work became a luxury,
Day’s chores completed with joy.
Now who owned that painting?)

Hilary tapped my elbow:
“This is nice, isn’t it.”
The two of us headed down
The path,
Fragrance of lilac from
Somewhere up ahead.

Sometimes, Strange Help

Oh, I could not touch the process
As you neared the Living Fire,
As He pained and purified you,
As He raised your standards higher.
Though I heard your cries of quandary,
And I saw your tears of shock;
It was clear you were His project.
(I refrained from soothing talk.)

There was only my prayer corner
Where I dared to let it out.
Where I got beneath your burden,
First with moaning, then with shout.
And His Spirit reassured me
This was how it had to be,
That you might receive your treasure
And a gracious victory.

It must all be of His working,
Measured out to challenged trust.
Marvelous, such metallurgy!
Making gold of baffled dust.
Dare I frustrate such a Craftsman,
As He works His glorious art?
As He gives the form and purpose?
As He re-creates the heart?

No, I could not, and I would not,
For I had my times alone.
When the arm of flesh was absent
And I had to storm His throne.
And the bounty from the battle
Seems my richest gain to date,
Which the Living Fire had purposed
In His mercy, as my fate.

Oh, I love you brother, love you,
And it hurts so much to stand
At the outskirts of your struggle
Clenching tight the helping hand.
But the Master sits beside you
As your bark braves wind and wave;
And the passage proves Him able
To the uttermost to save.

Our High Priest

I am troubled by what I see these days of Kingdom Now attitudes challenging the Church. There is a new kind of citizen, they say, on the planet, neither Jew nor Gentile, but rather Kingdom worker.

This person purportedly has been redeemed by the blood of Calvary, indwelt by the Spirit and is exercising remarkable gifts to bring to completion the agenda of Jesus. He is not looking for the imminent return of the Saviour in glory, because his community must first win the battle of correcting this world in righteousness. Use politics if necessary. Then and only then will Jesus arrive to take the reins.

At first blush the ambition of it all sounds admirable. Better to be working in obedience to Matthew 25 than to be found idle, cloud gazing on the “rapture watch”. It is flattering to think that we might literally be the hands, voice and power of Jesus bringing His Kingdom to fruition.

Sorry friends, although redeemed, we are still made of the “flesh stuff” which fell in the Garden. Our challenge is to lean more on the sweet influences of the Spirit and thereby to have our minds renewed day by day, walking out a living likeness to the Gospels.

The ultimate victory will only come as forecast in Ephesians 5: 27:

“That he (Christ) might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish.”

This full “cleaning up of the fish” is only accomplished at the time of His miraculous gathering of His own:

1 John 3:2 - Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is.

I tremble when I consider the description of Jesus’ present day ministry in the mind-set of Kingdom Now. Jesus has become the mystical head of the Kingdom Now Body. They say that the only Jesus one will get to see or hear now is the sum total of the corporate members. In effect they are deputizing many little gods.

Here they are messing with the trinity, as difficult a concept as it might be. They are denying that the glorified God-Man, forever liberated from death, our wonderful High Priest is seated at the right hand of the Father, constantly making intercession for us, and preparing even now for the glorious reunion. (Mark 16: 19; Acts 7: 56; Romans 8: 34; 1 Corinthians 15: 24-26; Philippians 3: 21; Hebrews 1: 3; Hebrews 7: 24, 25; Hebrews 12: 2; Psalm 110: 1)

Beware. Without Him we can do nothing.

Robert Moffat

Gang awa frae tha Glen
Tae a fearsome place;
Where tha darkened souls
Hae na gleemps o’grace.
Where tha work must fit
A new tongue and race.
Gang awa frae tha Glen for a wheel.

“Tis for certs He has ca’d
Ye, and ye must roon;
Tae a land o’ plagues
And o’ blastin’ sun,
Where tha rule o’ richt
Hae just sceerce begun.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, Robbie, chile.

There be muckle tae ken
O’ tha people’s need;
O’ tha crops that thrive,
O’ tha life they lead;
O’ tha daily thirst;
O’ their warfare, greed.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, and be wise.

Tho’ tha ship be worsted,
Tho’ tha trail be long,
Tho’ tha beasts be awful,
Ye’ll arrive anon;
And commence tae cant
Tha sweet Gospel song.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, in His love.

And ye’ll spot tha dee
When it starts tae click.
As they bring their young,
And they bring their sick;
For o’ Jesus’ kind
They ken nae sic lik..
Gang awa frae tha Glen, tae be used.

An’ it’s nae sa muckle
That their needs ye know,
Whuch’ll fan tha flame,
Cause your strenth tae grow;
But tha confeedence
“Tis your Laird says, “Go!”
Gang awa frae tha Glen, ‘til you’re gone.

(Robert Moffat, Pioneer Missionary to South-west Africa)

Note: The story is told of the early day in the mission of Moffat when his camp was confronted by a prominent chieftain. The man demanded to know the purpose of the missionary's visit and the authority who sent him.

Through an interpreter, Moffat advised that he represented the greatest of all Chiefs and that he was bringing news and help for the best in life. The native said that he would kill Moffat and his chief. The territory was under his absolute control. He brandished a menacing spear. His retinue stood at the ready.

Calmly Moffat loosened the breast of his jacket. Striding to within inches of the man's face, he pointed to his own heart and said, "My Chief lives here. If you intend murder, do it now, for I will not be held back from my purpose."

The other's jaw dropped. His spear hand faltered. His bluff had been called. The two would soon become fast friends.

Setting Captives Free

I’ll have to think about it.
Something is happening here.
This morning,
H Block’s exercise period,
East-side fitness yard.
Usual pick-up basketball,
Games of catch,
Half-hearted aerobics.
Twenty minutes out.
Kipper got into trouble.
Dealer Kipper, old-timer,
The Joint’s entrepreneur.
Smokes, bandages, magazines, canned treats.
(No rumours of hard stuff.)
Went long for a pass.
Still pretty fit.
Lost track of where he was;
Barreled into Dutch’s corner.
Dutch, the Man.
Protection boss. Double-lifer.
Hand in every trick in the Joint.
Favours, payments, or else.
No love lost between the two.
(Something about a disputed “tariff”.)
Dutch’s corporals,
Lonzo, Turk and Kruger
Slammed him against the chainlink.
Flurry of arms, feet and
Shimmering steel.
Kipper, down, motionless,
Twisted in frightening posture.
Bleeding from the nose, throat, shoulder.
Hands on the abdomen.


“Doc, get over here, now!”
Call me Doc.
(Short stint as a para-medic
In Philadelphia.
Before the armed robbery career.)
The scene, heavy:
Guts spilled, shoulder perforated.
Expert shiv work.
Tower guards not moving.
Kipper, unresponsive to my efforts.
Five terrible minutes.
Buddy pressing torn jacket against open wounds.
No vital signs; plodding C.P.R.
Somewhere behind me
Voices- the guards?
Sounds like praying.
Parson Eddy on the scene
With his hallelujah bunch.
Bible class-“born-againers”.
I step back.
Circle of prayer moves in:
“We rebuke death.
Devil, Kipper will not be taken!
Raise him, Lord, raise him.
For your glory.”
Variations on this rap continue.
Hands on our fallen friend.
Three guards, Ed, Nelson and Donny
At the periphery,
With the stretcher,
Watching.
“Devil, you have already lost.
Our Lord whipped you at Calvary.
We rebuke you, in Jesus’ name.
We plead the blood of Jesus.
Lord, now, like Lazarus.
Bring him back.”
And then it happened.
I swear it.
Kipper inhaled.
Long and beautiful.
A smile graced the bloody lips.
The rascal-eyes blinked open.
Alive! Jesus!
Had to be thirty-five men around,
Between us and Dutch’s
Dark corner.
Bible class will never be the same.
Stretcher work underway.
Eddy’s hand placed on my shoulder:
“Check out John Chapter Eleven,
Doc, John Chapter Eleven.”

Lazarus

Is there news of his arrival?
Have they seen him on the way?
How we need his hand of healing,
How we need his strength to pray!
Yet this waiting, wretched waiting,
While our brother slips away.

Was the message given promptly?
Was he begged to make all speed?
Was he told our fears for Lazarus?
Was he made to see our need?
Oh be coming, please be coming,
Jesus, hasten! Intercede!

Down the road at last, his figure,
But alas, then much too late.
“Had you been a little sooner,
Lord, you might have changed his fate.
But our brother, precious brother
Has already passed death’s gate.”

Then he asked that we might take him
To the place where Lazarus slept;
And we passed through friends and family,
All who tearful vigil kept;
And we heard the Master groaning.
And we watched as Jesus wept.

At the tomb door, still our champion,
Praying through our wicked doubt,
He addressed the bitter fact of death
With victory and a shout;
There the Master, still the Master,
Crying, “Lazarus, come out!”

And the place of death was shaken
By the challenge which he hurled.
And the soul of him once taken
Was recovered to our world.
Thank you Jesus for our brother!
And the graveclothes were unfurled.

How I pale now at the memory
Of my thoughts and words of fear,
And of pitiful self-pity
Which would deem Christ insincere.
He was caring, deeply caring,
Ever strong and ever near.

He had purpose in delaying
Which was far beyond our view;
And when everything seemed lost he proved
Both trustworthy and true
To a mighty love that neither
Grave nor death could e’er subdue.

Lord Willing

I have been bothered by this expression. A friend states a plan or intention and adds the comment “Lord willing”. It has sounded religious and affected. I have thought to myself “of course I will see you next weekend” or “you will most certainly get to do what you are so eagerly planning”.

But events within the last couple of weeks have caused me to re-examine, once again, how I look upon “tomorrow”:

1. My son nearly collided with two moose after dark in his drive to a new job in Thunder Bay. A passing transport’s lights alerted him.
2. My daughter has watched her place of employment dwindle to a tenuous skeletal staff in a couple of months in a threatening economy.
3. A friend had his two daughters involved in a head-on car collision, which totaled their new vehicle. They walked away with only seat-belt bruises.
4. An over-looked expense turned my month-end budget into a bird’s nest of juggling and excuses.

Consider the message in James 4:13-15:
Go to now, ye that say, Today or tomorrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell, and get gain: Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this or that.

So there I am, realizing myself and loved ones, in the hand of God, day by day. Accept it, Doug. Be humbled by it. Trust in this loving Lord by whom “all things consist”. (Colossians 1:17b) We still are operating in a hazardous fallen world.

Hidden Treasure

Psalm 119 is the longest psalm. It speaks repeatedly of the wisdom, guidance, comfort, correction, challenge and assurance which David receives from the Word of God.

He looks to scripture as his main teacher, trainer, moralist, therapist, encourager, protector and reward. Seemingly every verse heaps praise and thanksgiving upon God’s ‘laws, statutes, commandments, ordinances, testimonies, ways, precepts, etc’. Every verse except three.

I would suggest that in these verses one finds hidden the message not of law but of grace:
Verse 90: Thy faithfulness is unto all generations: thou hast established the earth and it abideth.
Verse 122: Be surety for thy servant for good: let not the proud oppress me.
Verse 132: Look thou upon me, and be merciful unto me, as thou usest to do unto those that love thy name.

What is being said here? God is eternally faithful. I am trusting in the Almighty Creator and not in myself to reach the finish line. He will guarantee or stand as surety for the supply of all righteousness in my life. I will be forever deficient. He will be forever sufficient. Neither oppression nor condemnation will be able to do me irreparable damage. Such a God compels me through love into obedient service. He is always fondly aware of my state and He constantly extends to me His mercy. This is the heritage of the faithful, of those who seek His face and love to consider His nature/name.

Did David realize that he was foreshadowing all of this some hundreds of years before the Gospel? The Holy Spirit did. (1 Peter 1: 10-12)

Loaves and Fishes

The crowd had his blessing,
The desert place too.
The teaching refreshed like the early morn's dew.
The sun now was setting,
The homeward trip long.
And Jesus took pity upon the dear throng.

He’d given them wisdom,
He’d given them power,
He’d spoken the Word of God hour after hour.
And not a one waivered
At what he had said.
Their spirits still hungry, their flesh needing bread.

And so he had sent us
To gather up food;
To feed the five thousand, his dear foster brood.
And doubting, we set out
To meet the appeal,
But I of the twelve alone spotted a meal.

“What have you got, Andrew?
Bring it to me.
Fetch your resources, lad, that we might see,
How now the multitude
All will be fed.
Gifts from a faithful lad, fishes and bread.”

Sheepishly I conveyed
What I had found.
How could this boy’s treat be passed all around?
Look at their numbers, Lord.
Look at this snack.
How now will plenty be made from such lack?

Then from my hands he took
All that I had.
Two little fishes, five loaves from the lad;
Blessed them and broke them
And called us to share
Portions abounding with all gathered there!

Now where it all came from
Not one of us knew,
But faith’s little offering just grew and it grew,
Once given to Jesus
To meet the demand,
With blessing surpassing what men could have planned.

What have you got, Andrew,
Bring it to me.
Time or resources, your own ministry.
Give without sparing.
Leave all in my care
And find it sufficient with ample to spare.

Note: What an image is here! The food blessed, broken and distributed. The same is true of Christ's life. Will it be true of ours?

Point of Combustion

The day will come.
Incontrovertible truth
Presented.
The messenger’s face
Bright, direct
With sincerity,
Thanksgiving
And assurance;
The sufficiency
Of Christ.
His noble service.
His victorious ethic.
His blood-letting.
His invigorating Spirit.
The words are
From God;
Seeds of life
Through the ages.
Your arguments
Dissolved.
Your idols
Cracked and
Tarnished.
Your tradition
Picayune.
The trying moment
Comes.
Lab-testing
Of alloy.
The metal strip
Presented to burner.
Ignited and red,
Rushing to flame?
Flash of light?
Ethereal wind
Unleashed?
Or charred and limp,
Refusing transformation?
Lacking the inner
Accelerant.
Such a day
Will be yours.
Expect it.
Pray for
Christ’s constitution.
His agenda.
Disparage the
Experiences of
Soiled self.

Neighbours

The pigeons around
The Old Court House
Know nothing of
Issues at stake.
No money nor marriage
Nor murder
Disturbs all the cooing
They make.

The pigeons beside
City Council
Know not if the
Tax rate is high.
Nor whether last winter’s
White deluge
Had pushed traffic
Costs to the sky.

The pigeons at
Cenotaph Corner
Will rest on the
Soldier’s bronze gun.
With no sense of
War’s devastation,
Or what was the cause
Or who won.

But down at the
Park’s peanut corner,
A woman comes
Daily at four,
With treats for her
Fine feathered neighbours,
Who gather around
By the score.

Made for Storms

The storm’s approach
The eagle sees.
He waits for it
Atop the trees.

The meadow runs.
Retreats in fear.
The wily fox,
The fallow deer.

And skies grow black.
And crack with light.
And wind careens,
As day turns night.

The smell of rain
And topsoil stirred
Are ancient clues
To this great bird.

That soon will come
An upward rush.
His pinions locked.
A mighty push.

To launch the prince
Of loftier skies
Above the storm.
Or else he dies.

While far below
In gopher towns,
In flash-flood’s flow,
A partridge drowns.

Northern Night

The lake is calm,
Without a breeze.
Bedecked with stars,
Above the trees.
And Ursa Minor
Points the way.
While moonbeams
On the ripples play.
And standing on
The dock, I hear,
Kathunk, kathunk,
As boat bunts pier.
Some plashing faintly
Down the shore.
A creature lands
To rest once more.
The birches rustle
Just behind.
A single puff
Of cooling wind.
And peeper frogs,
With chorus sweet,
Perform where grass
And lilies meet.
Then basso bull,
In search of love,
With thunderous throat
His troth to prove.
Mosquitoes skim
The fluid face;
And waterbugs
Their etchings trace.
But then a hush,
A freeze, a pause;
Some recess called
By Nature’s laws.
And dimly, faintly,
He is heard.
The eerie voice
Of diving bird.
A plaintive low,
And yodel sighs.
Raised far out there
To Northern Skies.
Primordial scene,
And timeless tune.
The concert of
The Common Loon.

Holy Ghost, Indweller

Peace, be still, little heart,
I am here.
Now you have Christ as Lord-
Cease from fear!

I am your promised help,
Draw from me.
My sure wisdom is yours,
You will see.

As the mysteries of God
Are made known,
And the scriptures bring life
From his throne.

Did I not once inspire
Holy men
To record the Lord’s will
By the pen?

Will I not open such
Truths to you,
In a way just as clear
To your view?

We will grow in friendship
As you pray.
Simply ask for my help
Each new day.

I have kindled my spark
Deep within.
Please, permit it to burn-
You’ll not sin.

Once, my task was to claim
You from Hell.
Now, praise God, you have come.
All is well.

I will lead, I will check
‘Long the way.
Lest you err, I’ll be there.
Come what may.

Can you see, I am sent
As a pledge?
Just as deep calls to deep
‘Cross time’s edge.

There are fruits of my love
For each day.
Please, dear heart, do not grieve
Me away.

And, of course, you may ask
For my best!
A baptism of power,
You’ll be blessed!

Just as Peter emerged
From all fear,
In a Pentecost blaze
Of good cheer.

You will witness on fire
To God’s Word,
With a joy that is strength
From your Lord.

I will consecrate you
For the task.
And take charge of your tongue
If you ask…

As the finger of God
I will point.
And with ministry gifts
Oft’ anoint.

Thus equipped, you may serve
Much like Paul,
Who abandoned all else
For Christ’s call.

Learning sin had no hold
O’er one dead
To the flesh, but alive
Where I led.

Please, accept me as your
Inner guide.
Let us witness to Christ
Glorified!

I will offer help as
You allow.
Bold adventures in love
Begin now!


Note: I hope that this poem illustrates the humble behind-the-scene posture which the Holy Ghost always takes. He is primarily interested in bringing glory to Jesus and in guiding the believer progressively into spiritual truth and comfort. He never grandstands.

The Outing

It is a cooler
Late-summer Sunday,
When grand-daughter finally
Gets the time to take
Rose to the Park.

The two cross
The lawn slowly (walker included).
Shaded picnic tables
Invite to a comfortable
Vantage point.

Before arrival,
Half-dozen ducks
Amble toward them,
Chuttering welcome.
To Rose’s laughter and surprise.

Once seated,
Grand-daughter suggests
Cold drinks,
If that would be all right.
Leaving elder, in broad sun- hat.

Five-year old blonde,
In long braids, crying
For lack of sandbox toys.
Soothed by Rose’s reassurance
And peppermints.

Young couple, bicycling
Along cinder path,
All smiles and small-talk.
Reminding her of John
In that first summer after the war.

Grand-daughter back
With refreshments,
And apology for taking so long.
Rose gestures a “de nada”.
“It’s a good time for ice-cream line-ups.”

Distant, muted loud-speaker.
Rise and fall of children’s cheers.
Sunday-school picnic.
Cavalcade of colours - towels,
Marquis tent, sun-hats.

Grand-daughter feels no need
To struggle at conversation.
Rose’s eyes are everywhere,
Twinkling.
Wringing spotted hands, habitually.

The younger pulls out
A pocket novel.
The older swings her legs
Up and over the bench seat,
To face the park’s edge.

An open vista of
Beautiful blue and clouds,
Rustling poplars and
Two elegant ancient willows.
Hosting purple finches.

Ninety minutes is enough.
Back to the car, the apartment.
She will tell John about it for weeks.
He will smile back,
From the photograph.

Did I Clobber?

Ruddy-cheeked, white-shirted and back-packed, the two young men got me in their sights about a block away. Latter Day Saints on a mission. It seems that in the warmer months our region hosts many of them.

They wander, knock on doors, confront and woo with their little blue book. Self-supporting. Courteous. Far from Mom and Dad. Calling themselves “elders”. I never see a Testament, only Joseph Smith’s book. This is the text which presumably he pulled out of the ground and had the angel interpret for him. A history of lost tribes of Israel dispersed to the New World and visited uniquely by Christ.

I smiled and asked them of the progress in their mission. Only three days here. I told them of my hope in Christ, a present assurance of salvation, needing none of my own striving to be held secure. I spoke of election and my responding wonder and love for the Man of Galilee.

They sensed that I had a firm set of beliefs. They had been trained to suggest a certain commonality in our positions, but all the while they were setting things up to throw in a couple of inspiring shots from the Book of Mormon. I told them that I did not consider it to be reliable scripture. The portion which they read to me sounded like plagiarism from Matthew 25: 31-40.

That is when I fouled up and really started to joust with doctrine. Perhaps I could persuade these young men, so seemingly loyal to the faith of their fathers. WRONG! Better to have simply affirmed the sufficiency of Christ, then give a clear single portion of scripture and state that I would not be drawn to their way. Confidence. Courtesy. Calm.

The Lord did not need my advocacy or sales spin. If they are His, the process is already in motion. I had been presented to them, simply as one more testimony to the praise of Christ, to "the faith which was once delivered unto the saints" and to the hazard in any purported New Gospel. Confrontation was a mistake.

I will know better next time.

At the Summit

The eyesight still is dazzled
And the thinking not too clear,
And the three of us amazed, Lord,
That you ever brought us here.
For the stillness of the setting
And the call to join in prayer,
Neath the vastness and the freshness
Of the silent mountain air,
Gave no warning of the wonders ,
Lord, that you would have us share,

As we drifted into comfort,
You had moved to yonder space,
And the fervency of prayer, Lord,
Soon came gleaming from your face!
How this stirred us from our drifting,
From our flagging in the fight,
As alone, atop that mountain
We were stricken with the sight
Of your face, you clothes, your person,
All awash with inner light!

Not alone now, but in session
With some other-worldly men.
Were they Moses? And Elijah?
Sent to you? To earth again?
How could we so undeserving,
Dare to look upon them so?
Or to catch their words of courage?
We just had to see, to know.
There were you, the Law, the Prophets
And the summit all aglow!

Then as quickly, they had vanished
And the power began to fade,
And our brother muttered out
That some memorial be made:
“You have walked and talked with Moses
At this heady, holy height.
You have shared prayer with Elijah;
Been transfigured in the light.
We must fashion some mementos.
Surely that would be alright!”

But no sooner had he spoken,
Than a brilliant cloud appeared,
Which engulfed us in its glory.
Falling on our face, we feared.
And a voice not heard by mortals
To our impudence decreed:
“This is my belov’ed offspring.
Hear ye him and him ye heed.”

James' Farewell Song

Galilee,
A strange new urge sweeps over me
A pull now stronger than the sea,
And I a son of Zebedee,
With ships and gear reserved for me,
With knowledge of rich fishery,
Through years of wooing azure sea,
Now casting off my bark for free
To follow Christ who beckons me …
Oh Galilee.

Galilee,
The gentle hills surrounding thee
Resound with news of folk set free;
Of sicknesses healed instantly,
Of torment turned to sanity,
Of guilt and shame absolved for free;
All this our privilege to see,
And Christ reserves a job for me?
And to his course I will agree.
Have you now lost your hold on me,
Oh Galilee?

Galilee,
Your moods can change so suddenly,
One moment calm as calm can be,
The next one pitching dreadfully,
Our small craft swamped with foaming sea,
While Jesus sleeps aft peacefully.
We’ve reefed and bailed in vain ‘gainst thee,
Safe harbour but a reverie.
Has Christ’s call brought this storm to me?
Is this your plan to reclaim me,
Oh Galilee?

Galilee,
What strange deep evil lurks in thee,
Provoking now to jealousy?
What raging winds and waves I see,
Where once you rolled so peacefully.
At last, Christ rises to our plea
And mounts the prow where all might see;
Commanding you to let us be!
Commanding such tranquility!
Displaying his supremacy!
Oh Galilee.

Galilee,
For years you lured me out to sea,
Bewitching inconsistency;
Your song, your spray, your scent to me
Were tokens of some deity,
Some Mother Nature thought to be
The essence of eternity,
Yet somehow fickle, fancy-free.
But now I see, Christ masters thee, oh Galilee;
No other helmsman now for me, oh Galilee;
And from your charms I am set free, oh Galilee.


MATTHEW 4: 21, 22, 23 - And going on from thence, he saw other two brethren, James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother, in a ship with Zebedee their father, mending their nets; and he called them. And they immediately left the ship and their father, and followed him. And Jesus went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people.

Only the Shepherd

Such a memorable day
In the pastures of May,
And the brook sparkles
Just past the green.

And the flock is at rest
Where the grazing is best.
And the gambolling
Young can be seen.

On a prominent rise
Where the plover oft’ flies
Seated, handsome and
Strumming his lyre.

‘Tis the shepherd they see
With a new melody
Which the day and the way
Had inspired.

Now the trek had been steep
And his pace they did keep,
Till the luscious uplands
Had been gained.

And the grass was so sweet
Glistening under their feet,
For the previous night
It had rained.

Soon with grazing all done
And the warm mid-day sun,
There were many who
Stretched out and slept.

But a few cautious rams
Proudly eyeing their lambs,
Caught a glimpse of the
Dark shape which crept.

Oh the wolf had been keen
Smoothly agile and lean,
As he shadowed the
Flock in ascent.

And if he had his way
On this blissful spring day
Many young would be
Cornered and rent.

But the rams simply eyed
Their sweet singer and guide
To confirm that he
Saw the threat there.

And he, taking the sling
To deter the foul thing
Reassured there was
No need for care.

(Let us heed this tale well
Ere the forces of hell
Try to topple our
Climb to the height.

That when Evil comes on
Threatening slaughter and wrong,
We keep only the
Shepherd in sight.)

Look Up!

And again I say rejoice. The letter to the Philippians is full of rejoicing. There is always cause to be encouraged “in the Lord”. Whatever the circumstances or trials He remains constant, capable, true, equitable, merciful, just, fatherly and on course.

Since writing the poem “Ziklag” I have turned my thoughts often to David’s situation at the end of the book of First Samuel. In chapter twenty-nine it appears that his feigned support of the Philistines will bring him into battle against his beloved Israel, Jonathan and Saul. In chapter thirty, graciously spared from this encounter, he is sent back to Ziklag to find it in ruins and all loved ones taken captive by the Amalekites. “But David encouraged himself in the Lord”

I love what F.B. Meyer the beloved Bible expositor says about this:
“But this was the hour of his return to God. With the charred embers at his feet and anxiety gnawing at his heart, with the threat of violence in his ears and bitter compunction of conscience, 'he encouraged himself in the Lord'. From that hour he was his old, strong, glad, noble self. After months of neglect, he bade Abiathar bring him the ephod, and he enquired the will of God. Then with marvelous vigor he went in pursuit and recovered all. He had been brought out of a horrible pit, and again his feet were on the rock, Psalm 40:2. His ‘goings’ could now be established.” (F.B. Meyer Bible Commentary, Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. 1984, previously entitled, Through the Bible Day by Day)

In chapter thirty-one we find that the Philistines have defeated and killed Saul and Jonathan. David is now on his way to a throne at Hebron and an anointing as head over Judah. No longer the self-doubting fugitive. Indeed the darkest hour had been just before dawn.

Are you discouraged? In a valley of dire circumstances? Your faith feeble and dry? Go yet again to God.

P.S. I post this comment at the end of a really lousy week after writing "Ziklag".
I hope that I can take this pep-talk personally. I will spend some time in Philippians and in thanksgiving over the next few days. D.B.

Ziklag

Pursuing Amalekites
With the image of their
Scorched village
Still fresh in their minds.
And angry, so angry
With the leader
Who had bade them depart from Ziklag.
Families left vulnerable.

Forgotten the times
Of his mastery,
His music,
His memories of
Meadow, stream and flock.
Of how he gathered them,
Some distressed, some in debt
Some discontented.

The trail and the camp
Had knit them.
He ever offering
Counsel and courage,
Just leadership,
Command with example.
Stores never failed.
Their shield and portion.

Receiving their rebuke,
He withdrew silently.
Alone with the
God of his sheepfold.
Gentle music perhaps.
Refreshment arrives.
Hope against hope
Glowing in his face.

There is nothing
But to follow him.
(Though murder had been
In their hearts.)
He also sorely misses
Wives and loved ones.
"There might yet be victory.
Let us be up and active."

1 Samuel 30:6 - And David was greatly distressed; for the people spake of stoning him, because the soul of all the people was grieved, every man for his sons and for his daughters: but David encouraged himself in the Lord his God.

Wings of Praise

Morning is up!
Whate’er the weather,
Night yields to praise,
Singing in feather.

Chorus of joy
Starting the day’s chores.
Still heard at dusk
Thanking for day’s stores.

Might all our ways
Copy the wee bird,
Filled with God’s praise,
Ever by Him heard.

Then so much more
Bless’ed a sojourn,
Would we but sing;
His tune of trust learn.

Life is a thrill,
Vivid and stirring,
Join in the song
Each day occurring.

Father in Heaven
Waits with rich treasure,
Loosed by our praise,
Giving Him pleasure.

Sometimes the sun
Warms all our heartstrings,
Bursting with song
For gifts His love brings.

Other times, praise,
Sacrifice dearest,
Meets cloudy days,
Singing faith clearest.

Whate’er befalls,
Music uplifted
Always enthralls
The breast so gifted.

Yet ours much more
Gladsome a chorus.
Jesus prepares
Endless spring for us!

PSALM 92: 1, 2, 3
It is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord, and to sing praises unto thy name, O most High: To shew forth thy lovingkindness in the morning, and thy faithfulness every night, Upon an instrument of ten strings, and upon the psaltery; upon the harp with a solemn sound.

Providence - Mine and Yours

I thought that I knew
What you’re going through.
I thought that I knew…
I was wrong.

I once had a bout
Of similar vein,
Of similar pain.
But not yours.

I sensed that the world
Had turned on me,
A cruel destiny,
Without hope.

And even my prayers
Met brazen skies.
The tears, the cries.
Where was God?

But one day the blue
Returned above.
I felt His love,
And it passed.

I now see the test
Had made me grow;
Christ’s heart to know.
I was changed.

And this was to be
My providence,
Of little sense,
‘Til I learned

That God has a plan
Which must use loss,
To show the Cross
To each child.

So I will not dare
Say what to do,
‘Til His work’s through,
And you’ve won.

But I will be here,
A needed friend,
An ear to bend,
Like the Son.

I thought that I knew
What you’re going through.
I thought that I knew…
I was wrong.

The Meek Win

Psalm 37: 11 – But the meek will inherit the land and enjoy great peace. (NIV)

Who are these meek? Moses was called the meekest of all men (Numbers 12) yet he was wise and accomplished in all the wisdom of Egypt. You saw the movie! Charlton Heston was amazing at science, mathematics, architecture, construction, horsemanship, warfare, plant science, leadership of men, diplomacy, etc.

Jesus described himself as meek and lowly (Matthew 11). He was clearly an accomplished craftsman, an outdoors-man, a man instantly attractive to rugged fishermen and other tradesmen, a captivating storyteller, a tamer of storms, an attention-getter able to arrest and fascinate large crowds, etc.

I have heard meekness described as controlled strength, channeled to God-ordained purposes. Imagine a busy farm-yard and a mighty Clydesdale work-horse gently moving his way through numbers of chickens and ducks and harming none with his huge feathered hooves. Talk about controlled strength!

The Beatitudes affirm that the meek will inherit the earth (Matthew 5). The Spirit offers the fruit of meekness (Galatians 5). Isn’t it astonishing that simply because our Lord encourages meek ones to turn the other cheek, they are perceived by the world as weak and somehow un-manly? This seems very far from the truth.

Move of God

I remember seeing a painting of George Whitefield (1714 - 1770) preaching to a crowd in an English village. The faces of those in attendance registered every possible reaction – mild interest, polite boredom, awkward smirks, heckling, distraction toward the activity of others and some in heavy conviction and mourning for sin.

The face of the preacher showed only severe focus on the Word being preached. He was not scanning the crowd for their reaction or trying to tailor his presentation for sake of persuasiveness. He modeled the dedicated, humble messenger of the simple seed of the Word. I saw nothing of debater, salesman or distinguished celebrity.

How often do we hear of the ministries of “great men or women of God” wielding some “mighty anointing”. It is as if the sweet ministry of the Holy Spirit and His fruit have been reduced to a commodity like baking powder available for better effect.

I am convinced that we are seeing the eclipse of “great personalities” in ministry. God is jealous for His glory. One of a messenger’s greatest fears in service or testimony should be the fear of the praise of men and its debilitating effect. The sower simply, obediently and faithfully scatters the seed. God gives the increase.

I am expecting a groundswell of grass-roots love and sharing to be in the next outbreak of revival. We must all be prepared to give the glad report and to offer hands of help.

Come Down Now, Zacchaeus

I have scrimped and saved,
I have used the law,
I am now the richest publican around.
I have pressed for tax,
I know each excuse,
I am quick to confiscate and to impound.

Strictly business, yes,
Ranked among the best.
I am proud that I have risen to the top.
Men all know my name,
They seek my advice,
But I simply cannot make my conscience stop.

I have heard of one
Who heals all the sick,
And who speaks of Heaven’s blessings for the poor.
He has warned the rich
Not to lust for gold,
Just to lose to thief or death outside the door.

He has called all souls
To eternal goals,
And to do good neighbour’s deeds to each in need.
He seeks character,
This great judge of men,
And I sense his righteous standards have me treed.

In his presence now,
I’m a little man,
Yet I sense he holds out hope I might amend:
“Come down now, Zacchaeus,
I must sup with you.”
He is one before whom no one can pretend

Now I hear myself
Speaking from the heart
For the first time I recall in many years:
“I will settle all;
I will mend the hurts.”
I sense joy and great relief washed in my tears.

I am broken now
By the truth of Him
Who insists abundant life must start within you.
I’ll become His man,
Restore all I can;
Surely no work grieving Jesus should continue

PSALM 34: 18
The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.

Solemn Spires of Rock

With blood and breath
They sealed the Oath,
Though parchment bore the gist
Of Covenant with Christ their King,
Whose court was moor and mist.

The shields of power
Had spewed a law:
That every soul must heed
The pulpits of the puppet-priests,
By worldly throne decreed.

But hearts enthralled
By Spirit’s touch,
And cleansed with Christ’s own blood,
Must have the shepherd-hearted prince
To preach to them God’s Word.

Now banned from kirks
And presbyteries,
The faithful shepherds fled;
To holy haunts on heathered hills,
To preach life from the dead.

And whispers thrilled
The villages,
And sought the lonely farms;
As secret calls to worship meant
A secret call to arms.

Though empty sat
The kirks of stone,
And empty sat their pews;
The glens and rills were filled with psalms
‘Neath grand celestial views.

And times would come
Of sacrament,
Of searchings-out of sin;
And fateful times when king’s dragoons
Would scatter to the wind.

And legends grew
Of gallant men
Evading musket-fire;
And matrons bold who harboured them,
To raise some villain’s ire.

And prophets saved
By providence
From Bloody Clavers’ men,
Would vanish into cave or fog,
Or stream, to preach again.

And gallows bore
The testament,
And prison glooms the tale;
And children saw the cost of truth
In those who walked death’s vale.

But still they sought
The sacred heights,
Where Grace did much abound;
Where bleat of lamb and lilt of bird
Were mixed with Gospel sound.

Still constant proved
The shepherd-heart;
And constant proved the flock;
And faithful proved the King of Kings,
‘Midst solemn spires of rock.

Rutherford's Glimpse

The congregants of Anwoth in the south-west of Scotland were deprived for a time of the services of their beloved pastor, Samuel Rutherford. He had refused to pledge allegiance to an episcopalian order in the land and was banished to house arrest in Aberdeen in the far north-east.

No longer able to preach, he devoted his shepherd energies to correspondence with the flock, the famous “Letters of Samuel Rutherford”.

In one letter to Lady Ardross dated February 24, 1646, he gave a foreshadowing of the conditions in Heaven. For me it poses a more desirable promise of happiness than any of the pictures drawn by today’s prophecy teachers concerning future glory:

“A very considerable land, which hath more than four summers in the year. Oh, what spring-time is there! Even the smelling of the odours of that great and eternally blooming Rose of Sharon for ever and ever! What a singing life is there! There is not a dumb bird in all that large field; but all sing and breathe out Heaven, joy, glory, dominion to the High Prince of that new-found land. And, verily, the land is the sweeter that Jesus Christ paid so dear a rent for it. And He is the glory of the land.”

With Mary At His Feet

I cannot beat the trails,
Or trim the wind-taut sails,
Or pitch a camp beside the dusty road.
I cannot tame the crowd,
Or reprimand the proud,
Or offer strength to bear your heavy load.

I have a woman’s heart,
And play a woman’s part,
Attending to the tasks of house and fare.
I hunger for some way,
Some gesture just to say,
I love you Jesus, and I truly care.

You’ve shown us so much life
And spared us all your strife,
Retreating from our home to pour your heart
Out in the hills of prayer,
To meet your Father there,
To gain His strength before you must depart.

I grieved your love before,
When you had planned much more
Than simply curing Lazarus’ ill health.
I wept that you came late,
That you would hesitate,
But you were bringing resurrection wealth!

And here we are again
At table with you, friend,
And I can sense the heaviness of sin
Weighs doubly on you now,
As you reflect on how
The final ministry will soon begin.

The ointment in my hand,
A rare and precious brand,
Seems all I have right now of worth to share.
And so I wash your feet
With fragrance rich and sweet,
And wipe them clean and dry with my long hair.

I know this is not waste,
Though Judas jeers with haste:
“The money could have gone to feed the poor!”
But you have read my heart,
My urge to play some part
In love’s anointing ere you reach death’s door.

Again I’m at your side,
While others harp and chide:
“There’s much work to be done, no time to rest.”
But here your eyes meet mine
In fellowship divine,
Assuring that in this I share your best!

MARK 14: 8, 9
She hath done what she could: she is come aforehand to anoint my body to the burying. Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached throughout the whole world, this also that she hath done shall be spoken of for a memorial of her.

The Man With The Book

I remember borrowing from the University of Waterloo a tiny, dusty volume entitled “The Man with the Book: John Ross of Brucefield” (1821 to 1887).

Brucefield is little more than a rural corner in Huron County west of Seaforth. This citizen was a hard working, neighbourly son of Scotland whose family had emigrated to Ontario after the Great Disruption which birthed the Free Presbyterean Church of Scotland.

His was an agrarian life with many a hike or buckboard ride down long country roads to help neighbours. He was known for always carrying with him a pocket New Testament and Psalms. He would often stop to ask a stranger whether he might offer a word of scripture providing special blessing. The testimonies of hearts touched by such simple witness were numerous.

John Ross was privileged to offer homespun sermons in many country churches. One quote of his I copied in the margin of my Bible:
“The Lord was heard to say, ‘This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased.’ What are you thinking about this free gift? What is the answer you are sending back to Heaven about Him? Here is the answer the Father is watching to hear from every one of us: “This is my beloved Saviour in whom I am well pleased.” Can you say it? Will you say it? He is God’s free gift to the world. If you will have Him as your Saviour, take up God’s words and send them back to Him...God and you are at one; You have come to an agreement about the most important matter in the universe; You are both well pleased with the Son of God; There is peace between you.”

John, rugged forefather, perhaps another wandering soul will hear your words today.

The Shantyman

It is good to toil
With the men I know;
And to trim the trees
And to lay them low;
And to haul their bulk
To the stream below;
I am glad that the Lord sent me here.

And from time to time
When the mood is right,
In the vaulted wood
With its dappled light;
Where the bluejay’s flash
Quickens shrill and bright;
I can sense that the Lord meets me here.

There’s a constant strain
From the whistle call;
As we scale the heights
Making giants fall;
And we swing our steel
And our chain and maul.
And I know that the men test me here.

But the dusk does come,
And the campfires burn;
And the grub is good,
And our thoughts will turn
To the ones at home,
And for those we yearn;
But for weeks we must still labour here.

Yet another time
The alarm will sound;
That a trunk has split;
That a man is downed.
And like mother birds
We all gather ‘round.
And I sense they are glad I am here.

Then the Sabbath day
Brings some extra rest;
And a few will come,
And by that I’m blessed;
And we search the Book,
And I share Christ’s best;
For the Lord of the harvest is here.

Oh shantymen sing!
In the golden field;
In the fishing hull;
In the mineshaft’s yield;
In the factory’s pulse;
Sing of grace revealed;
And the joy of the Lord finds us here.


Note: Canada recalls many work situations in which humble servants of the Gospel got into the workplace, rubbed shoulders, earned trust and simply prayed and helped.

The Road Home

The land looks much the same
And the peaceful country lane,
Winding gently past the fields my youth had known;
And again I feel the breeze,
Hear the birds, smell the trees;
But I wonder if a welcome waits at home.

Much too long ago it seems,
I had yielded to false dreams
And embarked a self-sufficient prince, I thought;
On a pleasure-seeking quest,
With a yearning for life’s best.
Oh what woe and waste my birth-right soon had bought!

All the women and the wine
And the friends I thought were mine
Quickly stripped my purse and pride down to the bone,.
Then, quite destitute of aid
In the mire my ways had made,
I remembered bye-gone family times, alone.

How the father of my youth
Had displayed a love for truth,
And for righteous work and ways to chart one’s course.
And no doubt reports had come
Of the folly of his son,
Of the family riches lost without remorse.

Could I somehow still return?
Could I live and lose and learn?
Could I yet retrieve the joy which I once had?
But, unworthy as a son,
Let me just return as one
Who will toil at servant’s chores and still be glad.

As I pace the final mile,
I am haunted all the while
By the thoughts of how to say what must be said.
It seems much too much to me
To expect their sympathy,
And the look upon my father’s face I dread.

But my homecoming is this!
First my father’s hug and kiss
And his ring and robe placed on my wasted frame.
Ere I barely can repent,
All the house-servants are sent
To prepare a lavish feast held in my name.

Oh, the depths of mercy shown
By my father for his own;
And what patient faith and prayers had led to this.
I just had to turn around
And abandon wayward ground
To receive such sweet forgiveness and such bliss.

(What had started out so fine
But had left me tending swine
Was a selfish heart beguiling me to roam.
Thank you, Father God above
For the chastening of your love,
That I might find celebration in your home.)

Let Tears Begin

We weep at our incarnate frailty.
We weep at confusion and sin.
We weep at the selfish agenda.
We weep at the tiger within.

We weep at the child-life departing.
We weep at the blush off the bloom.
We weep for the ones we offended.
We weep at the guile and the gloom.

We weep knowing Holiness watches.
We weep knowing better was planned.
We wonder if Holiness offers
The curative touch of His hand.

We weep lately sensing His presence.
We weep so unworthy of Grace.
We weep at the startling discovery
That Holiness died in our place!

Compassion

T.L. Osborne, missionary-evangelist tells the wonderful story of his wife Daisy after a tent meeting in the Far East.

The crowds had been dismissed after a long session of praise, preaching and personal ministry, but Daisy could not leave the tabernacle because the presence of the Lord had been so rich. She walked the rows meditating until she noticed a young mother seated with blanketed baby in arms and sobbing quietly.

When approached, the young woman could only blurt out, “She has died.” Daisy saw the limp form of the little girl and asked to take it from the woman. She began to walk around gently hugging and rocking the child, praying softly for the Father’s mercy and citing reasons why she believed that this innocent little one should be given back life.

When prayer with the understanding seemed finished, she launched into quiet prayer in the Spirit, sensing an inner leading to continue. After several minutes the baby stirred and cuddled closer for warmth.

Daisy returned the child to her mother, whereupon the woman let out an exhausted, breathy scream. “What was wrong?” “Oh, woman of God, assuredly my baby lives! But my baby was blind. This one sees!”

Here we have it! An example of the Lord doing “exceedingly abundantly above all that we might ask or think.” This marvelous grace had been preceded by compassion, submission, courtesy, some uncertainty and the absolute acknowledgment that only God could work.

By comparison, how brazen, insensitive and man-honouring some of our so-called revival or renewal meetings appear.

Wasn't That A Service?

Older Woman to an acquaintance after service:

Wasn’t that a service?
Didn’t praises ring?
Couldn’t miss the Spirit.
How that choir can sing!

Weren’t the children eager,
Coming at their time?
Marvel how that teacher
Keeps those kids in line!

Wasn’t that a challenge
For the mission field?
Have to raise the money
For a heathen yield!

Wasn’t that a sermon?
Could have raised the dead!
Have to get a copy.
Must know all he said.

Wasn’t that a prayer line?
Elders all in white.
When will Sister Sarah
Ever get her sight?

Wasn’t that a grand call
At the closing hour?
Preacher got three sinners ;
Fell beneath the power.

Really, dear, so quiet;
All’s not well with you?
Tell me, girl, your problem;
Quickly now, we’re through.”

Younger Woman, thinking to herself:

(Oh that I had someone
With the heart to show
How to keep my husband,
When he wants to go.

How my son is hurting,
Failing at his school.
Only needs some guidance.
Really, he’s no fool.

Landlord gave me notice.
Have to leave my flat.
Are the foreign missions
Only where it’s at?

Job is getting tricky.
Boss is always right.
Can’t betray my problems.
Mustn’t seem uptight.

Heart and soul are hurting.
Is there no relief?
But the truth, we’re skirting,
As it’s time to leave.

Preacher’s at the doorway,
Shaking hands good-bye.
Couldn’t interrupt him.
Couldn’t bear to cry.)

And then speaking to the other:

“Really, there’s no problem.
God’s still on His throne.
How I praise and thank Him
For this fine church home.

Yes that was some service.
Time just goes so fast .
See you Tuesday evening
At the ladies' class…”

GALATIANS 6: 2
Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.

Thomas Gets It Right

Oh, the sting of my reluctance,
Ever doubting Jesus’ words!
Had I not been in that dry place
Where he fed the hungry hordes?
Had I not been there at Bethany
As Lazarus left the tomb?
Had I not been in the Lord’s High Feast
Within that Upper Room?

Oh, the shame of my denial
At the news of Easter-tide.
Was it crucial that I test truth
With my hand thrust in Christ’s side?
Was I so bound to five senses
As to claim the others erred?
Was I so steeped in self-pity
As to doubt if Jesus cared?

But Christ came by special measure
Just to put Thomas at rest;
And he offered up his body
For my eyes and hands to test.
It was true, my Lord had risen;
How my spirit was relieved;
Yet I know of greater blessing
Had I, seeing not, believed.

Oh, the joy down at the seaside
In that breakfast with the Lord,
As he fed our hunger and our faith,
While Peter was restored
To a confidence that Jesus
Knew his love for him ran deep;
To a challenge and a hope of
Fruitful years feeding Christ’s sheep.

Oh, the promise as he left us
In his bright ascension hour,
Of baptism in the Holy Ghost
With fire and with power.
Then the angels’ bless’d assurance
As Christ left our dry terrain,
That in this same way from Heaven’s clouds,
He would return again!

My Lord and my God! I shall believe with faith’s eyes now!

Dare I Venture?

Could one ever confidently and briefly summarize the major themes of scripture? Probably not. Nevertheless, I offer the following six recurring messages which have often come to me:
1) God is love. (1 John 4)
2) When I see the blood I will pass over you. (Exodus 12)
3) I have found a ransom. (Job 33)
4) In wrath remember mercy. (Habakkuk 3)
5) I have called thee by name. Thou art mine. (Isaiah 43)
6) Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse. (Song of Solomon 4:9a)

It is also interesting to note that the middle verse of the entire Bible is Psalm 118:8 - "It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man." (NIV)

Deutero-Isaiah, chapters 40 to 66, has often been called the Fifth Gospel because of its many foreshadowings of Jesus as servant-redeemer. The middle verse of this section of prophecy is Isaiah 53:6 which reads as follows:
"All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all."

Mary Magdalene's Song

Just one word,
Yet it released me
From the heaviest dismay,
In the resurrection garden
Where I heard my Saviour say
Just one word: “Mary”.

Just one soul,
So undeserving,
And besieged by demon power;
Now become his little garden
And expected yet to flower.
Just one soul: Mary.

Just one gift,
Has changed the history
Of the followers of Christ.
Bless’ed blood’s redemption mystery,
We need never pay sin’s price.
Just one gift: Calvary.

Just one hope
To light the future,
And the world must know it yet,
Ere the lover of the sinner
Treads again on Olivet.
Just one hope: Jesus.

Just one life
Now worth the living,
And its thrill will never wane.
Bearing witness to his rising
And his coming back again.
Just one life: Jesus.


JOHN 20: 15, 16
Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away. Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which is to say, Master.

Landseer Remains

It was true
The great artist
Had come to the croft.
Breathtakingly.
The Husband had
Set it up with
The Interior Man.
Margit’s * cooperation
Implicit.

Scarcely the time
To lime-wash
The plaster walls
Of guest-room.
And soak, pound and
Breeze the bed-clothes,
Before arrival of the
Chronicler of heather,
Nature, heritage, race.

Other women would
Not get the news
‘Til Sabbath Meeting.
Margit was near
Explosion
The singular
Honour of it all!
Though He was not
Overmuch with her fare.

Of a day’s outing,
Whatever the sportsman’s
Dress or kit,
Or eyeglass or brushes,
It was always His
Sky blue eyes
‘Neath craggy gray brows,
Probing, dancing,
Which fascinated.

The Man was noble,
Cautious with words,
Sensitive in commendation.
Enrapt by the land.
(If only Husband had
Responded to her many
Requests to fix the
Horrid fissure in
Guest-room plaster wall!)

Daily, Husband and dogs
Would escort “Sir”
To some edge of the heath,
Arrangements made
For rendez-vous point
Seven hours distant.
Husband then busied
With endless demands
Of the wee farm.

Waning rays
Would highlight the form
Of returning “Sir”.
Swinging the walking stick.
No longer leaning.
Daily enlarging in
Colour, gait, height
And spirits.
Canvas agenda still hidden.

Then came the rains.
An embarrassment to hospitality.
But strange delight
To the guest who
Requested only
A season of quiet
In His room to
Formulate the work.
Mid-day bites left at the door.

Three days’
Hushed anticipation.
Only an hours’
Evening fellowship, hearth-side,
With a spot of tea,
Shortbread, Scott, Burns
Or Rutherford.
Light farm talk.
Or village happenings.

The fourth morning,
Sunshine brightening
The guest-room interior.
“Sir” beckoned Margit visit
For a wee look
At the rendering.
Her examination yielded
No easel, no canvas, frame.
“Sir”only, standing, arms behind.

Non-plused, Margit wheeled
To her point of humbling.
The faulty plaster wall,
Now animated with
Richest of Highland scenes:
Hills, heather, cloudy vault.
Distant twelve-point stag.
And fissure placed as sparkling
Rill where once two lovers kissed.


(*A fictitious name)

(Painting by Sir Edwin Henry Landseer, 1802-1873)

1 Timothy 3:2b "...vigilant, sober, of good behaviour, given to hospitality..."

It's That Easy

I was doing my part-time stint at the grocery store, stacking milk, rotating stock, guiding customers to desired purchases. It was a holiday season and particularly busy. The little woman shuffled past me trying to remain invisible but obviously troubled about something. Clothing simple. Hair grooming simple. Facial expression simple. Obviously she was not used to drawing attention. Neither was she used to smiling. I noticed her teeth.

A moment or so later, I approached her to render the company’s “May I help you find something?” She did not want to make eye contact, but I was determined. I have made it a point to establish with customers that they have my time and attention.

I could see her warming just a little and I carried on to enumerate her options and guide her to various locations. I suggested that she take her time and give me a shout if there were any other questions. Standard procedure.

A few moments later I was surprised to hear a resounding “Happy Easter!” and I turned to see the woman smiling broadly and giving me full-faced attention. I returned the greeting and waved. Friends. To be frank, I was disappointed with myself. Was it really that easy to light up a life? Simple courtesy? Simple affirmation? Were there not dozens of opportunities to do the same in any day? It came as almost a slap in the face.

Simultaneously I had a flashback to my dear old high school English teacher, Miss Wyatt. She had a knack for affirming students. I would see her shuffling down the hall to class stooped over with her bundle of books. If I called, or any other student, she would stop, look up, establish eye contact, smile in a sparkling sort of way and give of her time. I never forgot her. She went to our church. She roomed for a time in hospital with a relative of ours. She let her light shine, and others were changed.

A Courtroom Someday

The judge is so stern.
He frightens me.
The case is my life-
What end shall be?

The gallery is filled,
An angel crowd.
The docket is called-
My name read loud.

Accuser declares,
His brief is packed
With evil I did,
With grace I lacked.

All constables stand
Alert today.
Strong chains are in place
To lead away.

I turn from my box
To seek a face.
Friends out of my past?
But not a trace.

The clerk of the court
Asks me to rise:
“Which lawyer serves you
At this assize?”

I tell him of One,
Jesus, by name,
Who came to my cell,
My case to claim.

I called for His help
Upon arrest.
My case was severe;
He was the best.

He asked for no fee,
Just trust in Him.
The judge was quite fair;
Our case would win.

I told Him with tears,
With grief and shame,
The charges were true.
I was to blame.

But somehow, this man,
With eyes so clear,
Commanded my trust,
Relieved my fear.

“Jesus the Christ
Argues today.
See, His arrival;
Hear Him, I pray.”

The great Advocate takes his place.
(Accuser looks nervous and frowns.)
This Jesus- light shines from His face,
Makes challenge on primary grounds.

“My Lord, there is precedent here.
A case can be tried but one time.
The charges at bar were all cleared.
Remember the trial, it was mine…

On Calvary’s hill I was nailed;
And judged in your eyes as all sin.
In Hell’s dungeon halls, Light prevailed,
And you ruled: ‘Enough for all men’.

This dear contrite soul has my plea,
By taking my name for his case.
And justly, you must set him free,
For, Father, I died in his place!”

His Lordship then smiles to the court
And looks upon me with changed eyes:
“Your faith has brought this good report,
A friend of my Son never dies.”

Note: This poem takes me back to the early 1980's. I was a young lawyer in a small community doing a considerable amount of court work and real estate and having an over-inflated opinion of my capabilities. Going to a liturgical church. Serving on the Board. Having just fathered a beautiful baby daughter. But suddenly my wife was depressed. Looking for answers with a few caring women in a small Bible- believing chapel. My momentum was jarred. My churchianity was threatened . I was angry. My wife was praying, reading scripture and smiling like never before.

I was convicted. A woman friend of Hilary's, a client of mine, got me cornered on a business trip and sweetly told me of man's fall in a garden, of Jesus' obedience in a garden and of faith's ultimate destiny in a garden paradise. I had little of this, I sensed. Other people, men, business-men started putting in a word for Christ. Off the pages of scripture leapt Job 9:32,33 "For he (God) is not a man as I am, that I should answer him,and we should come together in judgment. Neither is there any days-man (advocate) betwixt us, that might lay his hand upon us both."

There was I, a rookie lawyer, looking for an advocate for my offences. Jesus was available. Soon the door of revelation was opened. Grace was extended. I asked Jesus to forgive my sins, to take over my life and to dwell within me. I take no credit for this. God had a plan.

How about you?