WITH HIM IN THE MIX

Pivotal Encounters with Jesus C. Doug Blair, 2011

A Mother’s Concern

The years and years we labouredTo give our girl a start,Before the burly fisherman Arrived to steal her heart,Come to me now and will not give me rest.

Capernaum is stirring,A prophet is in town;And one whose deeds and novel creedsAre gaining much renown;But this one may disturb my daughter’s nest!

For, Simon he has beckonedTo study at his feet,

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To bless the poor and hurting onesFound daily in the street;And Simon says he will rise to the test.

So seemingly uncaringFor comforts fought and won?With muscle, wit and honest grit,Dear fisherman, dear son?Will you abandon all? Why, you’re possessed!

This feverish discomfortWhich, sadly now I bear,Because I fear your future, dears;Because I truly care;Is more than just a mother sore depressed.

“And would you bring the prophetTo see me in this way?Whatever will I offer?Whatever will I say?Now really, Simon Peter, I’m half-dressed!”

“Why…Jesus, you’re most welcome;The pleasure is all mine;But that you’d found me stronger,But that you’d come to dine.But come now, enter, sit down, take your rest.”

And now his hand extended,His manly gaze serene,His gentle touch is helping much;His likes I’ve never seen.Oh Jesus, rabbi, healer, I’ve been blessed!

There really must be something,Unworthy as I am,That I might do to bless him too,To thank this princely man.No wonder that the others are impressed.

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“Lord, would you take my familyTo labour at your call,To render trade and house and heart,To volunteer their all?It must be such a future holds the best.”

Hillside Message

Up on the hillside on that clear dayJesus told us secrets of life;Blessings in faith and right ways to pray,Ways into peace, ways out of strife.

How my poor heart rejoiced when he spake,“Bless’d are the poor; Bless’d are the meek;Bless’d are the hungry for righteousness’ sake.”These blessings I wanted to seek.

Worship he showed as intimate time,Time for the Father to meet me.Prayer and fasting in secret were mine,Mine an appointment with Deity!

Never would I have reason to fearHow in the months yet ahead,How in the passing of year after year,I would be clothed or be fed.

Father would manage all of my needJust as the wee birds are blessed.Better I strive my spirit to feed,And trust in him for the rest.

Some of his words, though, have troubled me;

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How I must heed all the laws,How I must out-do the PhariseeIn righteousness for God’s cause.

Can it be true in my mortal stateThat I can dominate sin?That I can rise above lust and hate,Not just without, but within?

Must I refrain from judging my peersEvery time I see them err?Though their mistakes have brought me to tears,Meekly, their faults must I bear?

Can I find special grace to forgive Even my worst enemy?Can I surpass mere “live and let live”To love the one who hurts me?

Only the one who follows these waysWill build his house on the rock.Acting by faith in what Jesus says,Nothing is gained by mere talk.

Give me the means to please you, oh Lord,Power to walk in this light.Strength of your Spirit, and life of your Word;Then we will manage it right!

A Boy’s Lunch

The crowd had his blessing,The desert place too.The teaching refreshed like the cool morning dew.The sun now was setting,The homeward trip long.

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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 usTo 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 multitudeAll 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 tookAll that I had.Two little fishes, five loaves from the lad;Blessed them and broke themAnd called us to sharePortions abounding with all gathered there!

Now where it all came fromNot one of us knew,

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But faith’s little offering just grew and it grew,Once given to JesusTo 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 careAnd find it sufficient with ample to spare.

Jairus, Running, Hoping

Our little girl was almost gone.The fever gripped her like a vise.The eyes attending elsewhere, wan,The fragile hands as cold as ice.

And I as useless as a child.Her mother stroking soft the brow.And something hidden, wanton, wildWas pressing, choking sweetness now.

I fled the room, a flick'ring thoughtArrested mind and sinking heart.The Nazarene whom many soughtCould he be called, and life impart?

The doors rushed by as I made haste.This rabbi now a racing steed.A father with no time to waste.Would Jesus rally to our need?

He hears my plea, yet looks so calm,

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And joins me in the homeward trek.Has he the skill? Has he the balm?To save our lives from total wreck?But friends advise with words I dread,To trouble not the Master more.My little flower, already dead.My wife distraught upon the floor.

Yet still he comes, quite undeterred,And takes her hand, and softly sighsHer little spirit hears the word.The call of life, "Sweet maid arise."

At the Summit

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The eyesight still is dazzledAnd the thinking not too clear,And the three of us amazed, Lord, That you ever brought us here.For the stillness of the settingAnd the call to join in prayer,Neath the vastness and the freshnessOf 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 mountainWe were stricken with the sightOf 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 ProphetsAnd the summit all aglow!

Then as quickly, they had vanishedAnd the power began to fade, And our brother muttered out That some memorial be made:“You have walked and talked with Moses

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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.”

LUKE 9: 29, 30, 31And as he prayed, the fashion of his countenance was altered, and his raiment was white and glistering. And, behold, there talked with him two men, which were Moses and Elias: Who appeared in glory, and spake of his decease which he should accomplish at Jerusalem.

So Must Christ Suffer

Be it far from thee, LordTo considerThat the City holds nothing but pain;That the welcome this time Will be bitterAs you enter their streets once again.

Be it far from thee, Lord,This is foolish;

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All such talk of rejection and rage.Thou art Christ and our hopeFor 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 scourgingsAnd 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.

Isaiah 116-9The wolf will romp with the lamb,the leopard sleep with the kid.Calf and lion will eat from the same trough,and a little child will tend them.Cow and bear will graze the same pasture,their calves and cubs grow up together,and the lion eat straw like the ox.The nursing child will crawl over rattlesnake dens,the toddler stick his hand down the hole of a serpent.

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Neither animal nor human will hurt or killon my holy mountain.The whole earth will be brimming with knowing God-Alive,a living knowledge of God ocean-deep, ocean-wide.

10On that day, Jesse's Root will be raised high, posted as a rallying banner for the peoples. The nations will all come to him. His headquarters will be glorious. (The Message)

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Loudly the children Sang praises at his coming,Lading the cobbles With branches of the palm.

Paying him homage With blended hearts and voices,Gracing his entrance With echoes of the psalm:

“Bless’ed is he that Cometh in the Lord’s name,Jesus, HosannaTo David’s greater son!”

“Daughter of Zion,Your King is at the threshold, Bringing salvation,This meek and lowly one.”

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No prancing chargerTo bear the Prince of Ages,Only a donkey,At peaceful, plodding pace.

No blasting heraldAnnouncing great deliverance,Only the simpleWith song, perfecting praise.

Bless’ed these child-likeWho see their King so plainly,Bringing their problems And needs to one so kind.

Theirs is the conquestWhich passes understanding.Theirs is the KingdomThe learn’ed cannot find.

ZECHARIAH 9: 9Rejoice greatly. O daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jerusalem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee: he is just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass.

Wickedness in High Places

Is it that he comes in royal fashion?Riding on an ass as kings of old?Dusty traveler of strange compassion,Confident, this Jesus, and so bold!

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Trouble brews! The young, the poor, the downcastHail now that Messiah has appeared.Is the fight to come from him at long last?Is there power in him to be feared?

Temple tills he spills, disrupting business.Money-changers flee from his attack.Paschal profits wasted there, and no lessTrouble herding all the livestock back.

Still, our spies have little to accuse him;That he might be silenced for some crime.Nightly, in the settling streets they lose himTo some hidden garden quiet time.

With the morning, in the temple, teaching,He is found by scores who seek the truth.Tirelessly, he ridicules our preaching,Giving tried traditions stern reproof!

How we weary of this Galilean,Plaguing lordly powers with “cat-and-mouse”.Blasphemy! The unschooled NazareneCalls our halls of prayer his Father’s House!

First to seize him when the crowds are sleeping.Then to trouble Pilate with some threat.All the while our grand composure keeping;We will have this Jesus beaten yet!

Luke 16

10-13Jesus went on to make these comments:

If you're honest in small things,you'll be honest in big things;If you're a crook in small things,

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you'll be a crook in big things.If you're not honest in small jobs,who will put you in charge of the store?No worker can serve two bosses:He'll either hate the first and love the secondOr adore the first and despise the second.You can't serve both God and the Bank.

14-18When the Pharisees, a money-obsessed bunch, heard him say these things, they rolled their eyes, dismissing him as hopelessly out of touch. So Jesus spoke to them: "You are masters at making yourselves look good in front of others, but God knows what's behind the appearance.

What society sees and calls monumental,God sees through and calls monstrous. (The Message)

The Message at the Meal

A hymn they sang to finishTheir last meal with the Lord;A time of blessing hiddenFrom threat of scribe or sword.

An upper room was furnishedFor what had proved to beTheir place of richest teaching Ere Jesus faced the tree.

As other families gathered,So he with his reclined.The Vine with his dear branches,By love so intertwined.In bitter-sweet remembranceOf Israel’s darkest hour,

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When lamb’s blood o’er the door-frameAssured redeeming power.

And as no other memberWould stoop to washing feet,Christ took the soothing laverAnd made the feast complete.

With bread and wine he showed themThe brotherhood’s new fare;Those broken, poured-out tokens,His life and love to share.

Then startling words were uttered,Their peace abruptly cleft;That one would soon betray him,And Judas, strangely, left.

The stillness now arresting,With his departure near,The Master seized the momentTo overcome their fear.

And spoke of how the SpiritWould soon be at their door,To strengthen them and comfort themAnd teach them more and more.

While he would be in GloryPreparing them a place,Whence he would come to take themTo see the Father’s face!How thrilling was this teaching!How strangely pulled their love!The times with him so precious;Still grander times above?

And lastly, he allowed themTo hear his priestly prayer;That Father would sustain them

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Through all life’s toil and care.

A hymn they sang to finish,That wondrous Hallel Psalm, {PSALM 118)Portraying the MessiahAt death’s dark door, yet calm.

This meeting, how exquisite!This Master, how sublime!This message meant to strengthenTil Resurrection Time!

JOHN 15: 5I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.

I Lay Them On Your Altar (John 17)

Father, I have watchedOver these men.Have taken them your imagesOf community free From retaliation.Of joy in the Rendering of mercy.Of good reportOn those who struggle,With only the half known.Of fulness of daysFree from fear of supply, From fear of man.

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I have set themTo wandering.Ambassadors of a realmNot yet seen.Sporadically meeting the test.Boiling often in self-hurt.Turning, of times,To look back from the plough.Vying for place.Vying for glory.Missing often the real gemsDelivered with No special fanfare.

And now I leave,So much so seeminglyIll-prepared.But You have given them me.Persevering to theirAppointed destiny.All but the one with the purse.I trust YouFor their well-being.I trust You for the propheciesWhich speak of me.Quickly now...To my offering.

Amen.

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Woman, Behold Thy Son

My Jesus tortured! Why?Oh that a sword should pierce my heartAnd 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 loveShould meet such boundless hate.Will no one answer whyMy gentle Jesus’ coming here Deserves a robber’s fate?

Forgiveness is his pleaFor 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 childWho took a joiner’s trade.Am I here forced to seeThe final handiwork that youSo selflessly have made?

It’s Mother! In this crowd!

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But do your eyes discern the oneWho comes to share your grief?And John, beloved, allowedHenceforth to render me insteadA loving son’s relief.Cruel barbs come from the proud,Who jeer at one who ever daredTo 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 wombNow curse the Light of day?Oh, deep and dreadful sight,That dearest Father now forsakesThe Son, though hard he pray!Come now, Celestial Might,And help the One who spread your nameThrough this poor hurting land.Show Him both just and right.Descend somehow! Deliver this,Our Child, with outstretched hand!

Peter’s Lament

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

He has prayed for me,And often while with us,

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Upheld me by his power;Though I would storm and fussAnd rush and fret and glower.

He has prayed for me,While I refused to thinkThat any wicked plan Would cause my heart to sinkIn fear of any man.

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

He has prayed for me,And all I did to helpWas 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 nightTo luxury of tears,Not knowing how to fightMy 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?

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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, 34And 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.

Mary Magdalene’s Song

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Just one word,Yet it released meFrom the heaviest dismay,In the resurrection gardenWhere I heard my Saviour sayJust one word: “Mary”.

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

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

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

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

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Why Weepest Thou?

Mary Magdalene had come to the tomb to anoint the body of Jesus. It was Sunday morning. She had no idea how she was going to get the stone door opened. She had no idea how to handle her grief. She only knew that she must make the closest connection possible to the Master, for only there might she find some peace, some comfort, some idea for the future.

This was the little woman out of whom Jesus had cast several demons. We do not know what they were. We cannot be certain that she had once been a woman of gross immorality. No matter, through Jesus she had heard and had believed that she was a new creature by faith.

But the stone door is rolled away. The tomb is empty! The Master has been taken.

And Mary weeps. For disappointed hope. For the cowardice of His followers. For the jealousy and envy and pride which had been shown by the fellowship right up to the end. For the hypocrisy and heartlessness of the religion of her age. For the unstoppable oppression of the contemporary powers. For the innumerable suffering ones who would now miss the comfort, hope, truth and healing of Jesus. For the pathetic alloy of elements, good and bad, in her own heart.

But then a stranger appears. He states in seven words, "Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou? She briefly explains her predicament. Then she hears that familiar wonderful voice say her name, "Mary".

How could she not notice? It is Jesus. Freed from the shackles of death. Coming to her side. Her response is automatic, "Rabboni" (most honoured teacher, most honoured Master).

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In spite of her compulsion to embrace Him, she is instructed to go and inform the brethren. Jesus is alive. He is immediately available. He is not diminished in power. He has been true to His word throughout.

Let us take this scene in the Resurrection Garden and realize that it contains the seeds of all true revival in the Church and for the community.

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