“Oh, you of little faith,” He said to me, His voice gentle and reproachful. “Why did you doubt?” As He speaks, He reaches out a hand—even though mere moments ago He was a dozen feet away across a roiling field of waves—and grasps mine, His grip is firm and strong, He stands legs splayed and back straight, lifting me bodily out of the water with one hand as if I were a child, me, a heavy, thick-muscled fisherman. When He grasps my hand my fear abates instantly and I know I was foolish to doubt Him…He would never abandon me, never allow me to sink beneath the waves.
I slammed back into the present and I saw Him across the courtyard with blood stinging His sinless eyes, loving me silently, perfectly, and I realized that I had failed Him. I stumbled blindly out of the room, heart beating to burst in my chest, crushing guilt in my gut, tears burning my eyes and dripping like liquid shame down my face. I felt gazes on me as I ran sobbing from the court of Caiaphas.
I cannot think on the hours that followed, the scourge ripping His back and sides, the inch-long thorns of the mock-crown digging into His skull, the dull thud of the hammer driving spikes into His wrists…oh my Lord…how can they do this to You? Why do You let this happen? You commanded the very wind and waves to be still, and they subsided, You commanded Lazarus to rise from his days-old grave, and he rose, You can command a host of angels to rescue You, but You remain hung there on the cross, laboring for breath, blood painting You crimson. They mock You, they jeer at You, those godless, vicious Romans. We disciples sit around your feet, weeping silently. You comfort us with Your eyes even as You die.
The sun stood at its apex, full and burning hot…then shadows crept from beneath the horizon and stole over the land, covered the sun as if to hide the earth and the sun and the moon and the stars from the shame of what mankind was doing to its Savior. The crowds murmured and made signs to ward off evil, knowing in their hearts that something momentous is occurring.
We still do not understand completely why You do this. How can we?
You call out in a voice loud enough to reach the farthest of the crowd of thousands who gathered to watch You crucified; You call for Your Father, ask Him why He has forsaken You, and it is then that I begin to glimpse a fragment of what it is You do, there on the cross. I remember the sacrificial lambs on the altar and I see You there on the cross, and I understand. It staggers me. I cannot completely comprehend it. How could I? Is this for me? Because of my sin? Did I do this to You? I look to my left and see my brother Andrew, and I can tell he is wondering the same thing, and there are James and John and Mary Magdalene, of all us…all thinking, is this because of me, my Lord?
The Sea of Tiberias was calm that day, the day He came to us for the last time. We sat on the beach, still full of marvel at His death, and full of wonder at His resurrection. As the day came to an end, however, I simply couldn’t sit still anymore.
“I am going fishing,” I said. I didn’t know what else to do. I had to do something, anything at all to make sense of the roiling thoughts and emotions that gripped me. I am a simple man, a fisherman: being out on the water has always been a place of solace, a refuge, a place to go and think. The difficult, rhythmic work of casting out the nets and pulling them in has always helped me think. The others all looked at me blankly for a moment. We hadn’t fished nearly at all since the day He called us to be “fishers of men,” and now, in the midst of events that promised to change everything, I wanted to go fishing. “Typical Peter,” I heard someone mutter, probably James, son of Zebedee. But in the end they all put shoulder to hull and shoved off with me. We caught nothing all the night through. I didn’t care, I was just glad to be physically exhausted, so tired and sore that I couldn’t spend any more energy trying to come to grips with the import of His sacrifice.
Dawn was breaking, our nets were empty, and we about to beach the boats when we heard a voice from shore saying, “Children, do you have any fish?”
“No,” we answered.
“Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” We exchanged baffled glances, but did as the figure on the shore had suggested. John and James and I cast the net on the right side and pulled it in, only to find it so heavy with wiggling, flipping, silver-skinned fish that we could not manage it alone. Thomas and Nathanael of Cana lent their strength to the pull. When we had the net in, we slumped to the deck, exhausted. John, however, was peering at the figure intently. He turned to me, gripping my shoulder, and said, “It is the Lord!”
I turned to look again, and saw that John was right. I jumped in and swam to Him. I do not know how to express with this pen the joy that thrilled through me when I crawled from the water and threw myself into His arms. It really was He! He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt a burst of peace rise up inside me. He held me like a father, and I heard, as I had when first He called me, “you are mine.”
We ate fish and broke bread, and for a little while all was as it had been, before, an early breakfast under the light of dawning day. Then, He turned to me and said, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” He asked, gesturing at the disciples. How could He ask me that? It broke my heart to hear Him doubt me. I hung my head, knowing I had earned it.
“Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” My voice trembled as I spoke.
“Feed my lambs,” He said to me. I opened my mouth to speak a promise, but He spoke over me, gently but firmly. “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Now my heart was cracked and falling apart. I loved Him with all that I am. I had failed Him once, but never again. Surely He, the Messiah, could see in me how much I loved Him. Couldn’t He?
“Yes Lord; you know that I love you.” Now my words came thick and slow, heavy and sad.
“Tend my sheep.” Once more, I took a breath to speak, but He didn’t give me a chance.
“Simon, son of John,” He began, a third time, and now tears fell from my eyes, and I struggled to stand from the weight of my grief. “Do you love me?” I couldn’t stand any longer; I fell to my knees in the sand, weeping.
I could barely speak, so the words emerged as a broken half-sobbed whisper. “Lord, you know everything, you know that I love you.” Oh, I was broken, then. I struggled to meet His gaze through my tears, and I saw…I saw so much there, in His eyes, such infinite love, such forgiveness, and I understood with lightning-swift clarity why He had asked me, three times, if I loved Him. Each time, He was forgiving me for each denial. Each time He asked me, “Do you love me?” He was wrapping His arms around me and whispering in my ear, “you are mine,” and making me eternally His.
“Feed my sheep,” He said, once more. His next words reverberated in my soul, echoed deeply. “Truly, truly I say to you, when you were young, you used to dress yourself and walk wherever you wanted, but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and carry you where you do not want to go.” To the last, speaking in riddles. The parables, the stories, the lessons, they seemed so clear, but always there was an element that we knew we were missing. What did this mean? It seemed frighteningly like a prophesy of my death. At last, He turned to me and told me to follow Him…
And I followed Him across the whole earth, speaking of Him, preaching His message with words given to me as I needed them. I followed, I kept the faith in all circumstances. I vowed that I would never again fail or deny Him, no matter the cost.
So now, here I sit in a jail cell beneath the Holy City, Jerusalem, waiting for the guards to take me up and take from me the ultimate cost. I am old now, and tired. I do not go willingly, for I would spend my last breath, my last shred of strength bringing the good news of His life, death, and resurrection to all people. I was never so at home as when aboard a ship plying the seas, rolling with the swells, climbing up and crashing down, sail bellied out with a strong wind, a new place drawing near, new people in need of His joy. He has been beside me all the while, down every road, across every sea, whispering to me, “you are mine,” and “follow me.”
I am H
is, so I followed Him.
I realize now what His very first words to me meant. I never understood it until this moment, as the guard’s key turns in the lock. “Come,” He commanded, “and I will make you fishers of men.” I put aside, then, the nets and ceased casting for fish. I took up a net of His message and cast it for men. He truly made of me a fisher of men.
They will stretch out my hands, and dress me, and carry me where I do not wish to go…I know this. I am afraid. This will be my last test, my last sermon.
Lord, you know I love you.
They took him, one at each arm, half-dragged him up the mossy stone steps into daylight, dressed him, brought him before a tribunal. “Deny this madness,” they commanded him. “Deny this false prophet, this Yeshua of Nazareth.”
“Deny Him, and we will set you free,” they promised him. They stood before him, resplendent in polished silver mail, bright crimson cloaks and crested helmets held smartly beneath arms, pila gripped in gloved hands. He was old, bent, gray, wrinkled, but he bore the marks of a man once mighty. He pulled himself erect, grimacing with the effort, spread his feet apart as he had for a lifetime to balance against the rolling deck of a fishing boat. He closed his eyes, briefly, lips forming a silent prayer. He opened his mouth to speak, and when he did so, he gained new life, imbued with a spirit of vitality and eloquence. He spoke one last message to a crowd gathered to watch the execution of this man, Peter, who had walked with the Christ.
“Yeshua of Nazareth,” Peter said in a voice preternaturally powerful, carrying to the farthest spectator, “was the Messiah. I walked with Him, I loved Him, and I served Him all my life. I will not deny Him.” Peter then spoke the Good News, and not one of the Romans interrupted him. They all stood spellbound as he spoke, and there was more than one stone heart softened and stirred in that place.
The centurion gave a curt command, and the legionnaires stretched him upon the cross, stripped him, hammered the spikes through parchment-thin skin and purple-veined wrists, lifted him up, and watched him die.
At the last he looked to Heaven as if seeing a dear friend once more. “Lord, you know everything,” he said, “you know that I love you.”
And he gave up his spirit
At Your Feet
By David Andrews
At Your feet we fall
El Elyona, Lord of all
Restore us, by Your love
As we look to Your light above
Forgive us Lord
As at Your feet we fall
On Calvary’s hill
El Shaddai, we exalt You still
Guide us, with Your hand
Help us seek then understand
Forgive us Lord
As at Your feet we fall
On Your cross of strife
We surrender our broken lives
Convict us, of our doubt
Turn our faith inside out
Forgive us Lord
As at Your feet we fall.
We give our all to You
Lord, mould our hearts anew
Align us, to Your will
May we learn to seek You still
Forgive us Lord
As at Your feet we fall
Proverbs 7
By Larissa Hinton
I. Mistress of Temptation
Seduce, entice, passionate invite
into my beautiful chamber
filled with
forbidden lust
forgotten vows
and cries for more
of the cravings of the heart.
You look
you drool
and yet you won’t admit
that you’re
hypnotized
frozen still
by the sway of my hips
and the swell of my bosoms
I catch your eye
I know you
You’re just like the others
come away with me
Fall into the silken sheets of desire
rest your head
on my soft
soundless pillows
Relax
push
knead your stress
off your shoulders
let me do all of the work
You’re breathless
you’re relentless
and you’re cold
don’t deny me
don’t hesitate
You know you
want
it
Ignore your conscience that screams
for a more holy affair
come on
grab my hand
and walk down the dark path of
hurt
pain
lust
and darkness of course
You know what you’re in for
so come along with me
and knock on Hades door.
II. Father of Light
Halt
Stop
Seize and desist
beseech the mistress of the dark
The holy know how
they like to flaunt their
recklessness
conniving
ruthless
ways upon others who know not.
Take a step back
turn around
and come forth
toward the light of day
You know it to be true
pure
holy
and peaceful
Do not fall prey
to a quick tumble in the hay
but think of your future
of what God lays ahead of you.
Beckon forth
hear the precious word of God
he tells all
he knows all
and he sees all
Do not dampen his magnificent
voice
listen
hear
and lean closer
Feel his heart thump
in tune with yours
feel
touch
taste
enjoy the greatness of his creation
he is everywhere
anywhere you need to be
See his golden gates in front of you?
Wouldn’t you be stupid
to deny God’s word for a one
night stand?
Wouldn’t you feel like dirt
filth
scum
underneath God’s feet?
Could you even look at yourself
and think that you’re a
loyal Christian?
Exactly.
She tells you that you know
what you’re in for
but look again and I can bet you
that you do not.
A long life of servitude
feeling filthy everyday
no peace
or joy
holiness are just beyond
your reach.
Think twice
thrice
and four times more
before knocking
on the Devil’s door
before you’re in more
then what you counted for.
III. Son of Knowledge
Dear father
I
am
not
a
child.
Take a step back
take a breath
I know you love me but
I know what’s right.
You’ve written a book for me
in the holy bible
constantly
repeatedly
annoyingly
reminding me of what’s right
and what’s wrong.
Don’t you think I got the
message
crystal clear
by now?
You talk of faith
truth
love
and trust
but yet you can’t muster
any of
that for me?
I’ve seen two paths
the crossroads
the fork in the road
I know the right
from the wrong path.
If I get confused
I’ll pray
on my knees
my head tilted downwards
while my heart open upwards
I know the life of a Christian
isn’t easy
peesy
lemon squeezy
It takes time
effort
and patience to make it through
Maybe I was tempted
by her luscious curves
delicious curves
but I’m listening to the
God I serve
not to the soothsayer
the evil doer
the enchantress of
all
that is
wrong
I know what is right
and I hear you
and you can trust
bet
and suppose
that I will not be knocking on
that horror door
I deny this mistress
in the name of our holy savior
Jesus Christ
and the path will vanish
and I will continue on
walking toward that bright
glorious
wondrous
light.
Hello…Goodbye
By Lynda Lee Schab
I used to think that having a bad day meant being stuck in a traffic jam, the kids not getting their naps, or my hair not going just right. It’s funny how perspective can change in a moment.
This was my moment…
I was busy preparing dinner – lasagna, my husband’s favorite. The kids were at the zoo with my mom and due back in a half hour, about the same time I expected Matt. I checked my watch. Yep, his shift was just ending. He’d walk in all sweaty from his construction job and have barely enough time to grab a quick shower before dinner.
The phone rang just as I popped the lasagna in the oven.
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