THE ONLOOKERS

THE ONLOOKERS

Initial Glimpses of Jesus C. Doug Blair, 2012

Tenth Beatitude

John waited patiently in the damp cell for return of his friends from an audience with Jesus. The guard had relatives who had visited John at the waters of baptism. It seemed strange to him that such a well-intentioned man should be locked away as a threat to Herod's family. Only fitting that John should have some liberty in visitors.

The Baptist, through long hours of loneliness, rehearsed that day when Jesus had visited the Jordan and the revelation had come. The humble immersion.

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The appearance of the dove. The voice from glory stating, "This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased."

His preparation of repentance had benefited large crowds, and the Nazarene was now on the move exhorting children of Israel to repent "and believe the Gospel". How John delighted in imagining the scene of Jesus under blue skies addressing large crowds on the subject of the Kingdom of the Heavenly Father, and His marching orders.

John had sensed no other calling, under the circumstances of his imprisonment, than to pray for the success of the new rabbi. But the staightenings of the jail, the isolation, the inconsistent news of Herod's intentions, the prisoner's diet, the end of the great outdoors all pounded away at the prisoner's resolve. Would his mission prove fruitful? Would he ever know?

And so he had instructed the two men to make their way to Jesus and to ask one more time whether He was in fact the Messiah, or should they wait for another?

And now ... the sound of heavy footsteps, some mumbled conversation, the jangling of keys and the incoming torchlight. They were here!

"Did you see Him? What is the word, friends? Please, quickly!"

The iron door groans. The visitors enter. He grabs a shoulder of each with trail-worn withered hands and searches the faces imploringly.

"Brother John, He greeted us with a smile, heard your inquiry, and simply stated, Go and shew John again those things which ye do hear and see:

The blind receive their sight, and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached to them.

And BLESSED is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me."

The prisoner let out a slow sigh, slumping forward as if to hang from their shoulders now. His mind journeyed through the promises of prophetic burden which had been his staple for years in the wilderness. What was the

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Master's intention?

Then it hit him. The words of Isaiah, perhaps the greatest of all prophets:

"3Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees.

4Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not: behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompence; he will come and save you.

5Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped.

6Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing: for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert." (Isaiah 35)

No...John would not be offended. His work was accomplished. His Saviour had come. His soul was secure. Come what may.

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.

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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;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.

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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.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.

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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,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.

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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,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

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 setting

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And 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 MosesAt 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,

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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.

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Sons of Thunder

He doesn't seem to hurry. Yet He has told us that many villages must be visited during his allotted time. Allotted? Does that mean that he foresees some abrupt end to this marvelous circuit?

He leaves us most nights, from hospitable quaint home or makeshift roadside camp. It would seem that prayer is so very much more important to him than sleep. But the following day no signs of lagging or fatigue. The crowds never let up. They press in smiling; straining to hear or watch. Becoming almost rude in their eagerness

At the most unpredictable times he will step off to the side, seat himself upon a wagon or boulder and tell one of his stories. Straight out of where they live. Challenging them to forgive, to share, to seek no haughty posture, to approach the Almighty as a father, involved and merciful and in the commonplace.

He knows the prophets, but does not swing such knowledge around as a hammer of condemnation or of authority. The bunch of us try to clear the way for him, village to village. To organize the people into manageable audiences. To keep the children's noise at a distance. But he will not countenance the splitting off of the little ones; neither does he have any reservation that his messages are beyond them. They scramble for place in his lap, at his feet, within reach of those hands of comfort and healing, under that gaze so approving and hopeful.

There have been times when we have felt the need to apply a firm hand. He is worthy of great respect, but so often he demonstrates that it is the farthest thing from his mind. Not like any of the other rabbis. Strangely, in such a posture, he tells all that the Kingdom of God has come. Not like a thunderstorm; rather like the early morning dew.

Thunder. I had my day on that one. I can hardly understand what came over me and my brother. Something ignorant, imperious and indignant. Back there, one of the villages of the Samaritans. Completely rejected our offer to visit. Imagine! Making light of the Master, the God-sent mission , the Good News! At that moment, seemed like time for the rod. Like time for

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vindication and reprisal. Like time for fire from heaven upon the contemptuous.

A short while earlier, three of us had been up on the Mount, dazed by the visit of holy men of old, hearing in our stupour the voice of God Himself, "My beloved Son. Hear him". I still don't know what it all meant.

Jesus had called James and I the Sons of Thunder. He had said that our outburst was of a spirit completely different from His. We felt His disappointment. What can be done? What are our chances? He is so far beyond us.

Be It Far from Thee, Lord

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;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.

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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.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)

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The Wedding Feast

His tales have become even stranger.His parables more probing yet.His instruments wooing and cutting.His imagery hard to forget.

And now in the City he meets them;Those rabbis of learning and law,Who seek to portray him as rebel,Who seek to uncover some flaw.

Just where will this dialogue take him?Oh where will this sparring match lead?Pray not that a jail cell awaits him.Pray not that he suffer and bleed.

But Jesus has set an agenda,And now is the time for the test.To see if the Jews will accept himAnd his kingdom-call as the best.

Today’s tale was set at a wedding.A King was to marry his son.And friends of the family invitedTo share in the joy, every one.

But all of them made their excuses.Yes all of them had other plans.The guest list was proving pathetic.Their love for their Lord but a sham.

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The King was aggrieved by their rebuff,His messengers battered and slain.His army dispatched to wreak vengeanceOn those who had caused him such pain.

Then servants were sent to the country,(The highway and byway and field.)To call for the good, bad and ugly;The King’s wedding feast MUST be filled!

Now here’s where the parable leaves us.The ugly invited to dine?To feast at a sumptuous table?To sample the finest of wine?

And doubtless the rabbis are rabid.A King sitting next to unclean!Some beggars who jumped at the invite!Some wasted and wandering and lean!

Yes, what kind of King seeks the lowlyAnd calls them to witness his childIn marriage, the best of life’s pleasures,And makes them his friends? This is wild!

It must be a strange kind of kingdom,Where Court and the plain-folk are one.Where Royalty waits on the ragged.And both find delight in the Son.

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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!

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!

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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,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)

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.

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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,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!

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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 themThrough 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.

Lifted Up, Better to See

It has come to this.In a way, I'm glad. The dank, dark daysIn the cell.My partner's constantRehearsal of our

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Foul-ups.The robbery gone badMidst the uprising.

So quicklyTo the street.Wooden beams thrustOn our backs.Rome's disgust shown,Block by block,Curses and floggings.Onlookers puzzled.Faces without mercy.

Out of town,The hill beneathGlowering skies.The "skull place"Where justice leers.The drop, the stretch,The pounded nails,The screaming shock.Crucified!

...Passing time Stupefies us.Another procession.Another wretch.With a following,No less.(No women wept for us.No rabbis scurrying.)Who comes to join?

He shares the pain,The taunts, the shame.His face is peace,His battered framePuts up no fight.What's that? His name

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Is Jesus.Princely sort.I'm drawn to Him!

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,Upheld me by his power;

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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?

But Jesus prayed for me,

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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.

Emmaeus

"We have seen Him! Miriam, it was wonderful. Cleopas and I were walking the road to Emmaus. We just needed some time together to deal with the events of the last few days in Jerusalem. Some small business there provided the opportunity for a quiet journey.

We felt intense heaviness and disappointment. We had heard the Nazarene in the Temple. On the Mount of Olives. Wonderful, frightening words of a coming upheaval followed by a Golden Age. Admonitions to remain vigilant, clean, helpful. Just like the man himself. Surely you had heard, Miriam, of his many deeds of mercy. How he would lighten up a crowd. The many healings. That fellow Lazarus over in Bethany. And such Messiah talk!

But this was the third day. Some women had reported that his body was missing from the tomb. No one knew where he was or who had taken him. Our spirits were heavy. It was hard to let go of the dream. Liberation for our people.

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Suddenly we were joined by a pleasant looking man who asked if he might walk with us. He seemed a good listener. For a while he just let us initiate the conversation. Things turned to our disappointment with recent events. The humiliating capture, torture and death of the rabbi Jesus.

That really sparked a note of interest in him. He even rebuked us for our attitude! We then got a lesson from the scriptures on how Messiah would suffer immensely before entering into his glory. Quite impressive.

Soon we were at the village and it seemed right to us to invite this man for dinner and rest for the night at our lodging.

Then something amazing happened at the meal. It was as if he took over the position of host. He took the serving of bread. Offered up a simple but moving prayer. Broke the bread. We took a closer look at those hands. Scar marks. Punctures. A closer look at his face, his eyes. Captivating. Alive! It was Jesus!

As I tried to say something, he disappeared. Gone! Vanished!

Miriam, we have seen great things. Our joy compelled us to take to the road immediately, nightfall notwithstanding. Return to Jerusalem. Seek out his disciples with this good news. He is risen. He is risen indeed."

Thanks for the Flag

Thanks for the flag, saints.You ran once with Him.Touched His clothes.Placed hands of camaraderieUpon those shoulders.Saw the lame walk,The outcast relieved,The fretful calmed,The dead raised,

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The deaf ears opened.

To His message of loveAnd of Father'sConstant reaching.Of the prize inAbsorbing the blow;Going two miles;Listening with grace;Facing the grave.Proclaiming at hand-off,'Him, Risen Indeed!'

To other keen runners,In different times,In different struggles,In different climes.But all withThe Spirit and Joy reinforced,To herald the messageAnd finish their course.The flag still clean.

And true to its purpose.No never gone stale,Nor broken, nor bested,Nor picayune, nor pale.Maintaining rich colour,Its drapery white,And crimson its message,'Begone dreadful nightOf death and despairing.Our Lord makes things right!'

So carry the standardWhen passed on to you.Its olive-wood handleSo straight and so true.And look for new runners

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Who reverence God's Son,Who range to the by-waysAs you just have done.Carry it high, saints.For soon He will come.

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