THAT SPOT, THAT ONE SPOT

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 sins 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 mercys 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 Caesars 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 Ive 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 Caesars 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 robbers 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 joiners trade.
Am I here forced to see
The final handiwork that you
So selflessly have made?

Its 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 sons 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 deathand the worst kind of death at thata 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 eartheven those long ago dead and buriedwill 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 offThe three of them.Clubbed, smashed legsFor the two rogues.Breathing becomes impossible.Third one looked already gone.They told me Hed been different;Calm, connecting with some Spirit.Eyes closed, sereneLike a worker in a well-earned sleep.Seemed out of place.Nasty business for OneWho had taught peacefully in town.So Im told.Feeling the ugliness of my jobI thrust with spear,Bringing on a queer eruptionOf blood and water.Happens sometimes.Convulsive internal ruptureConfirming death.We spared His legs.The ones who remainedAround the crossWere all in tears.As if something great had brokenInside them too.(1 John 5: 6-8)

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 Sanhedrins vanity.

Carry him
As best were 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 Pilates 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.

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

While I refused to think
That any wicked plan
Would cause my heart to sink
In fear of any man.

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

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

Who sought the High Priests home,
His fate to better view;
But fearing Jews and Rome,
Denied him, ere cock crew.

Though I fled in the night
To luxury of tears,
Not knowing how to fight
My frailty, flesh or fears.

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 itIn fleeting gasps of painWith arms outstretchedOn Roman beamsAnd clouds begun to rain.The One beside meShows no hateHis Mother down belowAnd eye meets eyeAs oft beforeThey held each other so.Butthis is not a common crowdThe holy men presideAnd urge the rabble'sThirst for bloodMost likely they had lied."A King", they mock,"And is your CourtA bloodied perch and crown?"Oh Saviour, time to save yourselfDisplay your powerCome down!But death is partAnd parcel yetYou have your Father's wordAnd you beseeched the darkening skyAnd He most surely heard.And I with scarce the breath to spareAnd justly here for crimeTurn toyou KingAnd gladly singYour pardon, Kingdom mine.Luke 23: 43

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THAT SPOT, THAT ONE SPOT