That Spot, That One Spot Vantage Points Around His Cross Doug Blair, Waterloo, Ontario, 2013
So Christ Must Suffer
Be it far from thee, Lord To consider That the City holds nothing but pain; That the welcome this time Will be bitter As you enter their streets once again. Be it far from thee, Lord, This is foolish; All such talk of rejection and rage. Thou art Christ and our hope For the future. Usher in your foretold Kingdom age! (ISAIAH 11) Be it far from thee, Lord To provoke them, Though religion is made cheap display; Though the temple is filled With their barter,
Please, discreetly keep out of their way. Be it far from thee, Lord, Look for better. Set your mind on the sceptre and throne. Quite enough talk of mockings And scourgings And of us leaving you all alone. But the Christ turned a deaf Ear to pity; Willing still to endure sin’s full load. For the hates and the hurts Of that city, He was bound to the Calvary Road.
Out of Pilate's Hands
It escapes me, How when given choice between the two, They took the lesser chap. Quite escapes me, For Barabbus walks, but Jesus takes the rap! It escapes me, How when given chance to speak his case, He had few words to say. Quite escapes me, Truthful teacher, king; he will not rule today! It astounds me, How the mob could cheer him into town Their Galilean friend. Quite astounds me, Now in spite of kindness shown, they seek his end. It astounds me, How the privileged ones who guide their faith Incite the murderous cry. Quite astounds me, Not a stitch of evidence to fairly try! It eludes me, Charges cannot change from black to white, If he must answer make.
Quite eludes me, Must I risk my place with Rome for mercy’s sake? It disgusts me, But perhaps they would accept some blood To quench their frenzied lust. Quite disgusts me, Must I flog this gentle man in shame and dust? It escapes me, I am called to task, for Caesar’s sake, To stop this curious coup. Quite escapes me, When their leaders threaten so, what can I do? It escapes me, So, a crucifixion they will have. Farewell to this poor fool. But it haunts me, How in fear I’ve acquiesced to those I rule! JOHN 19:10, 11, 12 Then saith Pilate unto him, Speakest thou not unto me? Knowest thou not that I have power to crucify thee, and have power to release thee? Jesus answered, Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above: therefore he that delivered me unto thee hath the greater sin. And from thenceforth Pilate sought to release him: but the Jews cried out, saying, If thou let this man go, thou art not Caesar’s friend: whosoever maketh himself a king speaketh against Caesar.
Lifted Up Better to See
It has come to this. In a way, I'm glad. The dank, dark days In the cell. My partner's constant Rehearsal of our Foul-ups. The robbery gone bad Midst the uprising. So quickly To the street. Wooden beams thrust On our backs. Rome's disgust shown, Block by block, Curses and floggings. Onlookers puzzled. Faces without mercy. Out of town, The hill beneath Glowering skies. The "skull place" Where justice leers. The drop, the stretch, The pounded nails, The screaming shock. Crucified! ...Passing time Stupefies. Another is with us, Quiet wretch. With a following, No less. (No women wept for us. No rabbis scurrying.) Who can he be? He shares the pain, The taunts, the shame. His face is peace, His battered frame Puts up no fight. What's that? His name Is Jesus. Princely sort. I'm drawn to Him!
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!
My God, My God!
The cry comes from the darkness of an execution. The accused has called himself a King. He has said that he is truth incarnate. He has said that he could easily summon a host of angels to the scene if that would further his peculiar plan. But instead he hangs there listening to the groans of his two colleagues and the jeers of a mob out of control. His mother is front and centre, trying to restrain the tears and deliver a gaze of courage and compassion to the jewel of her heart. His dear friend wraps arms of protection around her, shielding her from the jostling and the raised arms. The friend thinks to himself, "Master why cry, My God, my God why hast thou forsaken me? Better to cry, Peace be still. Or give the people to eat. Or take up your bed and walk. Or come out of him you foul spirit. Or fools, hypocrites you make a mockery of religion. Or come unto me and I will give you rest. Or look for me from the clouds of heaven with the angels." (Note: But "My God, my God!" That is the cry of vulnerability and trapped desperation, of human doubt and wincing pain, of bewilderment in a man beside himself with anguish. Yes, a man who had come this low from the majestic corridors of heaven. Now each breath gets harder and harder. The shoulders and the extremities scream. See Philippians 2: 5-8Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn't think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn't claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion. 9-11Because of that obedience, God lifted him high and honored him far beyond anyone or anything, ever, so that all created beings in heaven and on earth—even those long ago dead and buried—will
bow in worship before this Jesus Christ, and call out in praise that he is the Master of all, to the glorious honor of God the Father. - The Message by Eugene Peterson He "gets" our pain.)
Blood and Water
Aye, there was a death alright. Sent me back to finish off The three of them. Clubbed, smashed legs For the two rogues. Breathing becomes impossible. Third one looked already gone. They told me He’d been different; Calm, connecting with some Spirit. Eyes closed, serene Like a worker in a well-earned sleep. Seemed out of place. Nasty business for One Who had taught peacefully in town. So I’m told. Feeling the ugliness of my job I thrust with spear, Bringing on a queer eruption Of blood and water. Happens sometimes. Convulsive internal rupture Confirming death. We spared His legs. The ones who remained
There Came a Rich Man
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?
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! LUKE 22: 31, 32, 33, 34 And the Lord said, Simon, Simon, behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat: But I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren. And he said unto him, Lord, I am ready to go with thee, both into prison, and to death. And he said, I tell thee, Peter, the cock shall not crow this day, before that thou shalt thrice deny that thou knowest me.
Thief
So glad that I could do it In fleeting gasps of pain With arms outstretched On Roman beams And clouds begun to rain. The One beside me Shows no hate His Mother down below And eye meets eye As oft before They held each other so. But this is not a common crowd The holy men preside And urge the rabble's Thirst for blood Most likely they had lied. "A King", they mock, "And is your Court A bloodied perch and crown?" Oh Saviour, time to save yourself Display your power Come down! But death is part And parcel yet You have your Father's word And you beseeched the darkening sky And He most surely heard. And I with scarce the breath to spare And justly here for crime Turn to you King And gladly sing Your pardon, Kingdom mine. Luke 23: 43