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?

Return to Glory

He is coming,
Hear the chorus:
“Jesus, Saviour
Of men’s race.”

Now the victor
Over evil;
Routed, Satan,
Face to face.

Clear the pathway
Here in Glory,
That Messiah
May pass by.

Note the emblems
Of his suff’ring
Now are dazzling
To the eye:

In his pierced hands
See the vessel
With the blood of
Matchless worth.

Precious off’ring
Of his passion,
With the power
To ransom earth.

And the cruel crown
Of a mock king,
Left those thorny
Tracks of shame.

Now agleam with
Regal splendour.
What a Saviour!
Praise his name!

Angels singing
Hallelujahs
To their God
Who left such bliss.

Never dreaming
That a conquest
Could be half
As grand as this. (PHILIPPIANS 2: 5-11)

Father waiting
To receive him,
And to bless him-
Glorified!

Thrilled by total
True submission
Which descended, lived
And died.

Spirit Beings
Stand in wonder
At the zenith
Of God’s Plan.

That the Son
Called Ageless Wisdom (PROVERBS 8)
Should return
To them, God-Man.

With assurance
That a family
Would be coming
In his train.

Singing, praising
God their Father
And the Lamb
For sinners slain!


JOHN 17: 4, 5
I have glorified thee on the earth: I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do. And now, O Father, glorify thou me with thine own self with the glory which I had with thee before the world was.

He Paints Hope

Rainbows have always held a special place with our family. There was the rainbow over Niagara Falls as I job- searched after a business failure in Chatham. There was the rainbow over our Waterloo neighbourhood as placements for a time seemed to change with jarring rapidity. There was the rainbow over the Kitchener factory where I learned cabinet-making. There was the double rainbow out in Wellesley Township as Hilary and I struggled through a time of relationship issues. There was the rainbow leading with a storm all the way to Stratford from the funeral of a family friend in London. And so it goes…

Rainbows seem to give us hope. God is in them. Sun is returning. I would suggest that the message of the Gospel is also clearly stated in this spectrum phenomenon:
“A noble King (Violet) left Heaven (Blue) to come to earth (Green) to present the Light of Life (Yellow) to Human Flesh (Orange) at the cost of His Blood (Red).”

Nifty. He is in charge. He cares.

Palm Tree Gospel

John Williams was dispatched by the London Missionary Society to French Polynesia in the Pacific (@1827). Eventually he died at the hands of cannibals.

He relates one incident where he came across a farmer peasant, named Buteve, who through trauma had lost both his legs. Garden farming was a tedious matter of crawling around with the aid of some rudimentary assist. When assemblies were called by Williams, Buteve could only make it as far as the pathway by his lot, where he would inquire of passers-by as to a song, a scripture or any short message shared.

Williams heard of this simple, devoted man and paid him a visit in which he asked of the nature of his faith exercises:
Answer: “Oh yes, I very frequently pray as I weed my ground and plant my food, but always three times a day, besides praying with my family every morning and evening.”
Question: “What do you say when you pray?”
Answer: “I say, Oh Lord, I am a great sinner; May Jesus take my sins away by His good blood; Give me the righteousness of Jesus to adorn me, and give me the good spirit of Jesus to instruct me and make my heart good, to make me a man of Jesus, and take me to Heaven when I die.” (John Williams, The Martyr Missionary of Polynesia, by James J. Ellis, 1889, S.W. Partridge and Company)

The gardener got it! Simply by prayer, song, bits of scripture, meditation and dialogue. How much other “stuff” seems to occupy our pulpits these days. How many commentaries, testimonies and DVD’s keep us from the purity of this man’s experience of Christ?

Bird Watcher

There must have been
Some sunny days,
In golden meadow fair;
When free from crowds
And free from toil,
You sought the purer air.
And as you strolled
The verdant paths,
The wee birds met you there.

Did not they sing
At your approach
Their fanfare, clear and sweet?
Did not they peer
From wayside nests
To note your passing feet?
Or else display
Above your head
Some agile, aerial treat.

Oh, villager,
Oh, carpenter,
Oh, rabbi to the meek.
‘Twas you who reached
From Unseen Halls
To form each wing and beak.
‘Twas you ordained
The feathered friends
So delicate and weak.

Then from the fields
And azure skies,
You passed to City’s din.
To show to powers
Their shallow hope,
Perhaps, their souls to win.
In temple halls
Where Paschal doves
Were slaughtered for men’s sin.

Passed By

A single-lane bridge
In the country.
The Mennonites
Use it the most,
With corn fields
Surrounding,
And cattle,
And wire-fences
Nailed to old posts.
A resting spot
North of the suburbs,
With black buggies
Easy to spy.
The horses all
Glistening and clopping.
A hint of a time
We passed by.
The father, broad-brimmed,
Stately teamster.
His bonneted wife
At his side.
The purple-dressed
Daughters behind them,
Enjoying the change
Of the ride.
Politely, they
Honour my presence,
Alone at the road-side,
By car.
I’ve come here to
Listen to nature.
Just out of the
City, not far.
With Bible and
Note-pad beside me,
A chance to see
Life on the wing.
As blackbirds explode
From alfalfa.
And plovers so
Fretfully sing.
Some rooster proclaims
From a barnyard,
His kingdom extends
To the lane.
A collie comes
Over to greet me,
With broad grin
And soft, flowing mane.
I’m thankful
For slow Woolwich
Township.
Its Mennonites,
Back-roads and corn.
And marvel at God’s
Orchestration
Of this sunny
Sabbath-day’s morn.

Nicodemus By Night

In the evening I approached him,
In the secrecy of night;
For I knew that he was wisdom,
And I knew that he was right;
And I knew he held the answers
And was guided by the light.
So I came to Jesus just to get it straight.

I had power in the Council
And was held in high esteem,
But I sensed the Jews had missed it,
Missed Jehovah’s grander scheme;
With our rules and regs ad nauseum,
Lost the sight of mercy’s theme.
So I came to Jesus when my hour was late.

I had struggled with obedience
To a host of holy laws.
But I couldn’t beat my failures,
And I couldn’t beat my flaws.
All my earnest resolutions
Couldn’t bolster my lost cause;
So I came to Jesus, life to illustrate.

There was something fundamental,
Yes, a change which must be wrought;
And it couldn’t just be studied,
And it couldn’t just be bought.
It was of the Spirit’s working,
Some strange new birth to be sought.
This was how the Father planned to change my fate!

But so simple, Lord, now really!
Can this be for older men?
That they must dare to be child-like,
And by faith renounce their sin?
Seek some Holy Ghost infusion,
And by grace be born again?
Here’s the truth which I must now appropriate!

Market-place Mission

There is such a need for patience
In the army of the Lord;
When to sit, and pray, and listen,
When to stand and wield his sword.

All around a world is hungry
For the seed we have to sow,
And our hearts are fixed on serving,
Once the Lord will let us go.

But some common task compels us
To a tiny post or trade,
Where the eager harvest-worker
Seems quite useless and waylaid.

Where the daily round of testing
In a market-place of sin,
With its callous cuts and curses,
Often wears our patience thin.

Was it not the same for Jesus,
Though he felt an early call,
To be toiling in the sawdust
Years, with rule and plane and awl?

To be bearing with the wicked
In their lust to get ahead;
To be praying for their cleansing,
But to see their filth instead.

Yet the patience which he practiced
Had her perfect work to do,
In the shaping of a servant
Who would see God’s purpose through.

Comes a day, oh faithful warrior,
When the chiseling is done;
When the perfect path is opened
In your mission for God’s Son.

And you may be quite astonished,
In reviewing by-gone days,
At the hearts and lives affected
By your patient Christ-like ways.

Love's Cleanser

Henry Drummond, Scottish bachelor, professor, naturalist and lay evangelist has been given credit for one of the most widespread of Christian writings apart from scripture. It is his message on “The Greatest Thing in the World”, thoughts on “1 Corinthians 13” love. Delivered with minimal preparation, when he was asked to substitute for D. L. Moody one evening during the great English/Scottish revivals of the 1880’s. (google@www.jesus.org.wk/vault/library/drummond)

Here was a man always willing to lend an ear, a word of wisdom or a comforting bit of scripture to any troubled or inquiring student. Many would testify to their rescue by the grace, meekness and message of Drummond.

Recently, and again from my devotional, "Show Me Your Love" (Barbour Publications, 2004), a quote from Drummond caught my attention:

“There have been times when I have had an unspeakable heart-hunger for Christ’s love. My sense of sin is never strong when I think of the law; my sense of sin is strong when I think of love. It is when drawing near the Lord Jesus Christ and longing to be loved that I have the most vivid sense of unsymmetry, of imperfection, of absolute unworthiness, and of my sinfulness. Character and conduct are never so vividly set before me as when in silence I bend in the presence of Christ, revealed not in wrath but in love to me.”

I am reminded of Jesus' conversation with Peter on the shore of the lake after the resurrection. The question which he asked repeatedly was, "Peter, do you love me?"

Good Stories Help

There was a time early in my faith experience when it appeared that the stories of the world would have to be forgotten. Certain teachers suggested that so-called Christian fiction, or any other kind of fiction, was a sad distraction for our leisure hours. Better to concentrate on biographies of the heroes of the faith and good Bible exposition.

Heeding the suggestion, I considered the lives of the likes of David Livingstone, William Carey, George Whitefield, Robert Moffat, Mary Slessor, D.L.Moody, Charles G. Finney, Charles Cowman, Hudson Taylor, John G. Lake, Watchman Nee, Oswald Chambers and others. All of this was exciting and inspiring.

Older now, I am moved to consider the human condition in all manner of stories (excepting of course those which cross the line in immorality, violence or bigotry). Fiction on the page or on film will enlarge our range of experience and insight for presentation of the Gospel and for help to our neighbours, churched or unchurched.

As proponents of the “emerging church” suggest there is great power in the story, as there was great power in the parables of the Lord.

Christian writers of the past included George MacDonald, Ralph Connor, George Eliot and Fyodor Dostoevsky. Today one might take a look at some of the titles of John Grisham:

The Street Lawyer – Ivory tower attorney joins a poverty law clinic where the Gospel is given flesh and bones for the poor of Washington, D.C.
The Testament – Alcoholic attorney is assigned to track down a missionary heiress in the Brazilian jungle, and has a salvation experience in the process.
The Last Juror – Small town journalist covering the local scandal gets samplings of southern faith with baked treats on a neighbourhood matron’s front porch.
The King of Torts – The folly of riches hastily gained is examined in the fury of class actions.
The Appeal – The religious right as a political force is used in the election of a judge meant to be a pawn for big business.

Surprised? Give them a try.

Down From The Cross

Take him down,
And please be gentle:
He has suffered much today.
Spare those hands
From further tearing,
As we pull the spikes away.

Lift the crown
From his cold forehead;
Never was a King so slain.
Oh, to think
Our laws, our people,
Could have caused him so much pain!

Curse the thought
Of twilight justice
In that court of hate declared.
Oh, that one
Had better argued,
Better fought, to have him spared.

Not a rule
Of our procedure,
But was broken in the sham.
Jesus held
By ruthless slayers,
Silent, sacrificial lamb!

Brother, grief
Is now our portion;
Counsellors to crime are we.
Rue the day
Of our proud calling
To Sanhedrin’s vanity.

Carry him
As best we’re able,
Not a jostle, nor a jar.
He has borne
Our griefs and sorrows;
Friend, his tomb is not too far.

Thanks to God
For Pilate’s ruling,
For the right to take him there.
Hasty work
In cloths and spices,
Winding death ‘round one so fair.

All is done,
And none too early,
As the sabbath rest draws nigh.
Gentle Lord,
So long awaited,
Was it planned that you should die?

Reform School Reformed

I read a moving article on the power of love in a delightful devotional of classic Christian writings entitled “Show Me Your Love” (Barbour Publications, 2004).

A friend of evangelist Charles Finney (1850’s) ran a reform school in his town. He was called away and struggled with how to leave his charges for a short while.

Approaching the town fathers, he pledged that if any of his boys ran away or caused trouble he would forfeit his town lot and property. A meeting was called at the school and the boys were told the extent of his trust, and the cause of his family which was now left to the boys and their honour. He departed.

The commitment in the other community ended earlier than expected. The principal arrived at the school late Saturday evening. One of the boys shouted “It is Father”, and the entire school gathered, clean, orderly, smiling and overwhelmed with the transformation of trust.

This is also how Christ’s love and sacrifice draws us to service and obedience.

Peter's Lament

He has prayed for me,
And how I know his nights
Were given much to prayer.
On struggling priestly heights,
He sought my blessing there.


He has prayed for me,
And often while with us,
Upheld me by his power;
Though I would storm and fuss
And rush and fret and glower.


He has prayed for me,
While I refused to think
That any wicked plan
Would cause my heart to sink
In fear of any man.


He has prayed for me,
Yet I too quickly slept,
When asked to pray with him
In darkness while he wept,
Awaiting capture grim.


He has prayed for me,
And all I did to help
Was lash out once with sword,
A useless little whelp,
While troops removed my Lord.


He has prayed for me,
Who sought the High Priest’s home,
His fate to better view;
But fearing Jews and Rome,
Denied him, ere cock crew.


He has prayed for me,
‘Though I fled in the night
To luxury of tears,
Not knowing how to fight
My frailty, flesh or fears.


He has prayed for me,
And all has come to be.
The tomb now holds my friend.
Has Satan sifted me?
Is infamy my end?


But Jesus prayed for me,
His eager little rock.
Did any prayer get through?
Will I yet tend his flock?
Oh, if I only knew!

Easy Sundays

Are you caught in the snare
Of the preacher?
In the logical loop
Of his art?
In the comfort and ease
Of the teaching?
In the flow of his
Overhead chart?


Is the God you now serve
Proving pliant?
Are His ways now within
Mortal span?
Has the Bible become
Less a mainstay.
As you harvest the truth
From one man?


Will it prove your escape
From the struggle?
From the bleary nights
Given to prayer?
From the battle with
Concepts of scripture?
And the sense you are
Getting nowhere?


Does the Cross now appear
Isolated?
And “reproach” just a word
From the past?
As you perch on the
Threshold of victory,
Reassured current clear
Skies will last?


Such a joyful, new-found
Revelation.
And a quicker ascent
To the height.
And a confidence one
Now is certain
Both in grasp of the
Good and the right.


But I doubt such convenience
Is Holy.
Nor the path which, before,
Saints have trod.
For the trials which they bore
In the night-time,
Brought a richer sun- rise
With their God.

Woman, Behold Thy Son

My Jesus tortured! Why?
Oh that a sword should pierce my heart
And rip it from my breast!
My son brought here to die!
A Roman gibbet follows hard
The trial and false arrest.
So few would mourn and cry,
That mercy, boundless reaching love
Should meet such boundless hate.
Will no one answer why
My gentle Jesus’ coming here
Deserves a robber’s fate?


Forgiveness is his plea
For every mortal gathered now
To mock him at his end.
Suspended on this tree,
With only one repentant thief,
Apparently his friend.
Could I but rescue thee!
Sweet infant, searching, sturdy child
Who took a joiner’s trade.
Am I here forced to see
The final handiwork that you
So selflessly have made?


It’s Mother! In this crowd!
But do your eyes discern the one
Who comes to share your grief?
And John, beloved, allowed
Henceforth to render me instead
A loving son’s relief.
Cruel barbs come from the proud,
Who jeer at one who ever dared
To call himself a king.
“How low this king is bowed!
Or does he yet expect his God
To show, escape to bring?”


Noon sky turns black as night!
And does the God who blessed my womb
Now curse the Light of day?
Oh, deep and dreadful sight,
That dearest Father now forsakes
The Son, though hard he pray!
Come now, Celestial Might,
And help the One who spread your name
Through this poor hurting land.
Show Him both just and right.
Descend somehow! Deliver this,
Our Child, with outstretched hand!

Take Now Thy Son

“My Lord God, is that you,
This strange thing must I do;
In taking my dear son unto Moriah,
To have him harshly bound
And flung upon the ground,
A sacrifice consumed with holy fire?”

“Yes friend, that was my voice.
I’m giving you the choice
To render all according to my will.
The child you had from me,
And now I plan to see
If you intend to trust my wisdom still.”

We know the glad outcome,
Young Isaac rescued from
His father’s hand poised high with gleaming blade.
An angel halts the knife:
“Take not the young lad’s life.
Your precious faith in God has been displayed.”

And do we all not yearn
In each our ways to earn
The thrilling blessing of the Lord’s “well done”?
Who knows what test will try
Our mettle bye and bye,
In giving up a treasure, dream or son?

For no delight on earth
May jeopardize the worth
Of growing in the Lord’s love, hour by hour.
Perhaps He may require
That loved thing for the fire,
To give it back in resurrection power.

Forgive and They Are Forgiven

If we lead with grace
We may set the pace.
And to take no ill
Leaves the waters still.
Simply break the chain
Of your right to blame.
And a friend arrives
And the Gospel lives.

A friend at house church told a story of a remarkable reversal at her workplace. Swamped with tasks, she had asked a workmate for a helping hand.

The other woman snapped back that she was busy enough and wouldn’t be told what to do. This kind of task-sharing was intended to be the norm at the clinic.

Our friend simply apologized and quietly withdrew to handle the assignment another way.

Next morning she arrived to find the co-worker already in tears and admitting that “she had had no business responding in such a harsh manner.”

No problem. Perhaps a friend had been gained. Oswald Chambers, in remarkable nuggets of truth, has often encouraged us to give up our rights to be right.

He Will Do It Again

A popular female television personality in our city was afflicted with a cancer-like complication of the throat. Her voice was gone. Not a good development for an accomplished newscaster. She submitted to demanding treatments for over a year. Experienced a roller-coaster ride of swelling, weight changes, set-backs and small victories. But gradually the blue sky re-appeared. Part-time, light-duty assignments were allowed off-camera, and voice exercises.

There were some people of faith at the TV station and a multitude of friends and concerned viewers who got under her burden with prayer. My Sunday morning coffee club buddies and I were among that number.

Her recovery was remarkable, and again she appears with the local news and community events. Many have said that she is one of the “lucky ones”, but for them the Big C (cancer) remains an indomitable force. The inference is that the twin-cities have a quota on supernatural blessing or lucky breaks.

But listen up! We are told in the scriptures that our Heavenly Father is “plenteous in mercy”. A rousing Gospel tune which has brought me to tears proclaims, “He’ll do it again”. It is ours to plead for mercy, to undergird the afflicted one, to thank God for His unfailing loving-kindness, to watch our confession and to await His timing. John Wesley went as far as to suggest that God does not move on this planet except in agreement with the sincere prayers of his children.

I might venture to add that in Jesus’ ministry sincere compassion preceded every miracle or blessing. He operated by the “finger of God”, the Holy Spirit. So may we.

Love Gives Rest

It was an extraordinary time in Prince Edward Island provided for us out of an inheritance gift to Hilary. I got up from the hotel in Charlottetown and walked down the street to a nearby Tim Horton’s, still stunned from the metamorphosis of air travel. It seemed almost as if I did not deserve the break.

I did my usual 6:30 A.M. people watch and turned to a delightful devotional classic on Psalm 103, “large double-single in hand”. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by a sense of blessing and of the Father’s presence. Words, unexpected words which did not follow in an orderly fashion from previous thought, arrested my consciousness:

“Doug, you are happy in this. I am happy that you are happy. I am Father.”

Friends, do we often forget this in our faith watch? Holiness. Growth. Submission. Chastening. Service. Testimony. Grand issues. But what about the Father who simply wants to bless? He was there for me and He decided that day to make it abundantly clear.

Are you in a place right now where you need to hear the Lover of your soul say that you should come apart and rest awhile. Perhaps this note is the trigger

A Watch of Turtledoves

Lovely evening,
Lovely garden,
Just the setting
For some rest.

At the outskirts
Of the city,
Peaceful bower
For my nest.

Comes a human
With his following,
Hardly making
Any sound.

Three are with him
In the darkness,
Kneeling lowly
On the ground.

Coo-coo-ah, now
He is weeping,
With his face raised
T’ward the sky.

While the others
Nestle, sleeping;
Surely they must
Hear him cry?

All else quiet,
But his pleading
With someone I
Cannot see.

Oh, dear human,
Were I able
To flit down
And comfort thee!

Coo-coo-ah, yes
He’s the same one,
Who comes often
To this place.

Yet I hardly
Recognize him,
For the tension
In his face…

Comes a breaking
In his pleading,
And the strain now
Turns serene.

Just as if
Some bless’ed answer,
Has arrived from
Him unseen.

Coo-coo-ah, look!
Men are coming,
Of a harder
Rugged kind!

Coo-coo-ah, flee!
They mean trouble
For whomever
They may find!

Coo-coo-ah, Man,
Do not stand there
Just as if you
Do not mind!

For a moment,
Hesitating,
They examine
What they’ve found.

Then he speaks;
His words of power
Send them reeling
To the ground!

Here’s your chance, Friend,
Head for cover!
While they stagger
In the dust.

All your youngsters
Seized the moment,
They are fleeing
As you must!

But he simply
Stands before them
As the fetters
Are applied.

Oh, you could have
Kept your freedom,
Oh, if you had
Only tried!

Troops and torches,
Disappearing,
With my human
Well in hand.

Children saved, while
He is taken.
Yes, I think I
Understand.

Coo-coo-ah,
Coo-coo-ah,
Coo-coo-ahhhh…….

A Voice for Him

I am troubled Lord
By what you would
Have me announce.
It is jarring,
Sobering,
Quite unlike former
News of encouragement,
Edification, comfort.
Often I have visited
Your Body
With thrilling
Words of destiny,
Agenda, untapped potential,
Giving the faithful
Glimpses of
The ‘greater things that
They might do’
Because You have gone
Unto the Father.
Harvest, Healing,
Reconciliation,
Prosperous venture.
Many platforms.
But now I see
Straightenings, reproach,
Desertions,
A little flock
And I tremble.
Is this moment your
Time to show
The assemblies
That without You
They can do nothing?
To weep at
The World taken in?
To repent again
With wiser eyes,
Multiplied scars?
From self-assurance
Which years back
Had evicted
Pure, holy,
Precious, child-like
Beggar’s faith
From their midst?
Submission to Sovereignty?
Compassion for the unlovely?
Worship without shopping lists?
Will this be the time
For serious harvest?
In a dark and perverse
Generation?
Without honest answers.
May we find again
Your Sabbath? (Isaiah 58)
And delight in
And through You?
Only?