Pieces of Driftwood and other meditations Read online

  At last she put down the stump of burnt wood, dusted her hands one against the other before wiping the remnants down her grubby apron, and stepped back. Revelation! Out of the paper leapt, not a meaningless jumble of shapes, but a vibrant sketch, gleaming trunks, weeping leaves, sparkling water, a hunting heron.

  Down came the paper to be replaced with another piece, already stretched on a board. Tubes of water colour paint squirted their contents onto a palette and, with a stir of her brush in the jar, she was away again, blues light and dark, yellow, touch of red, wet running into wet, dry streaks, a purple shadow here, the white paper showing through there, and all the time a pattern of light and dark, sparkle and shadow, until that vibrant yet peaceful rural scene had been transferred onto a lifeless sheet of Fabriano, handmade paper. I watched, fascinated, to see where the charcoal marks of the rough sketch had been exchanged for colours, weaving a pattern from a senseless jumble.

  Is my life like that, a set of circumstances, some highlights and some deep shadows, which won't be comprehensible until the picture is finally finished?

  And if so, who is the artist?

  ~~~~~~

  The Tide of Change

  Hebrews 13 verse 8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

  The sand castle proudly raises shell-clad turrets

  above the shimmering sand.

  The feathered flag flies from the keep.

  The deep-dug tunnel gives access to the crabs.

  The drawbridge-spanned moat awaits the rising tide.

  The builders splash and shriek, jumping the advancing waves,

  tripping, gulping, laughing crying, –

  brush away the tears.

  The ocean vanguard presses on,

  little wavelets sparkling in the sun.

  Forward, backward, on again,

  each advance a smidgeon more,

  each retreat a whisper less,

  until the first finger washes the bastion wall.

  Stand fast the guard!

  But naught avails,

  and grain by grain, lump by lump,

  the fortress falls before the attacking hoard.

  Hour by hour the basking figures

  retreat up the beach

  till tea time calls and sea and sand are left

  to the cooling breeze and the quarrelling gulls.

  The hours pass until at last

  the sand emerges again from the watery depths,

  shrinking pools reflecting the dying sun.

  The castle is no more, not one faint sign

  to show where once it stood in all its shelly spendour.

  Gone too are the footprints of the running child,

  the plastic bags, the empty cans, the forgotten thongs.

  Just a flat stretch of drying sand remains,

  waiting again the twice daily change of tide.

  Change wipes away the things we've built.

  We shed a tear to see them pass.

  It also wipes away the garbage of the years

  and lets us start again to write new messages

  on the sands of life.

  Change, like the ever-cycling tide,

  brings good and bad.

  It keeps us on our toes lest,

  settling down like sleepy sun bathers,

  we are overcome by the restless tide of life.

  But one thing never changes,

  the constant love of God, shown once for all

  in Jesus Christ,

  who died and rose so we can live,

  and we, being changed from glory to glory,

  can watch the changes of eternity with Him.

  ~~~~~~

  Tide 2

  Philippians 3 verse 13: forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before ,I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.

  The rising sun sparkles and dances

  on the splashing, surging swell.

  Up the shore,

  Splosh!

  Shush!

  We're running away again.

  Back again, further this time,

  higher up the sandy beach

  till we kiss the line of wood and weed

  left by last night's tide.

  Tomorrow we'll go further

  and further then again

  till high water springs brings an end to our advance

  and back we go,

  gathering strength for our next assault

  in the light of the full moon.

  Is this really life,

  gain a bit here, lose a bit there,

  but knowing that, however far we go,

  it is still to return to the same

  growing, shrinking ocean?

  The river of eternal life starts small,

  a spring which bubbles from a rock,

  but as it flows it grows

  deeper, wider, swifter,

  till at last it merges with

  the mighty ocean of God.

  ~~~~~~

  Hands

  Isa 49:16 see, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands

  Hands, reaching out to me;

  hands calloused from years of work,

  each finger-pad hardened through long use

  of hammer, plane and adze;

  thumb lumped from childhood's misdirected blow.

  Workman's hands.

  Gentle hands,

  that lifted Jairus' girl

  and gave her back her life

  and grieving parents back their child.

  Strong hands,

  grasping Peter on the Galilean Sea,

  turning over temple traders' stalls

  and spilling silver on the ground.

  Serving hands,

  breaking bread to feed the hungry thousands

  who listened to life-changing words

  till evening breeze filled empty stomachs with a desire for food.

  Healing hands,

  which touched blind eyes and gave them sight,

  took the loneliness from soundless ears

  and gave mute tongues a song of joy.

  Wounded hands,

  revealing in the flesh where iron nails

  had pinned them to a wooden cross

  and carried

  not just the weight of one sinless man

  but that of all this world's sin in all of time.

  Hands that paid the price.

  All this I see in Jesus' hands.

  But that's not all,

  for there across the palms are other marks

  that cannot be erased.

  Etched deep by love,

  nor time nor enemy can e'er blot out

  that livid reminder to the Father

  each time Jesus lifts his hands -

  my name.

  Not for Him the penciled note

  that fades with time;

  not for Him the annual diary

  that the next year forgets;

  but there in living flesh

  that cannot be ignored –

  David, beloved of the Lord.

  ~~~~~~

  Peter

  Lk 22:34 I tell you Peter, before the cock crows today, you will deny three times that you know me.

  'I'll die for you,' I said,

  'I'll never disown you.'

  Big words from a big mouth,

  and all it took was a slip of a girl to say

  she had seen me with Jesus

  to turn me into a swearing, blaspheming liar.

  He warned me, but I wouldn't listen,

  deaf until the cock crowed his triple indictment –

  Coward! Turncoat! Traitor!

  None of the others knew,

  but He did.

  He turned and looked,

  and in those eyes I saw

  not triumph – I told you so;

  not judgment – guilty as charged;

  not even hurt or
disappointment –

  because He knew me through and through;

  but pity, knowing the pain that pierced my heart

  even as the nails would soon pierce His hands:

  the pain of failure,

  the pain of broken pride,

  the pain of being wrong,

  but most of all,

  the pain of denying Christ my Lord.

  ~~~~~~

  Mary Magdalene

  Jn 20:15 'Woman,' he said, 'why are you crying?'

  Tears! Must my life be always filled with tears?

  Tears of shame when I,

  lust, hate and bitterness driven,

  lured men and took their money for my favours.

  Tears of repentance to wash the Teacher's feet.

  Tears of love to be dried with my hair.

  Tears of joy as forgiveness freed my soul

  and seven demons fled to deepest hell

  at Jesus' sharp command.

  Now tears of grief, flowing like the Jordan river

  down cheeks pale with the agony of loss.

  Tears of anger, for they have taken Him away,

  Jesus, my Lord, redeemer, friend.

  The stone has gone, the tomb a gaping hole

  lit only by the breaking dawn.

  'Hey you! Gardener man seen through my tears,

  Where have you laid my Lord?

  'Mary!'

  My heart – it's stopped.

  That voice – it cannot be.

  I was there when they took His broken body,

  pierced by nail and thorn and spear,

  and laid it in the grave.

  'Mary!'

  It is! – Rabboni! Lord!

  It's you, my king, my God!

  Peter, Andrew, I've seen the Lord!

  He is risen – alive – not in the grave.

  Gone the tears,

  Hear the shouts.

  'He lives for evermore!'

  ~~~~~~

  I'm Sick of the Palsy

  Mk 2:3 ..and they come unto him, bringing one who was sick of the palsy. KJV

  God, I'm sick of the palsy!

  Fifteen years I've been lying around like this,

  useless legs, useless arms, useless life.

  Surely it wasn't that big a sin for us five kids

  to climb on that roof for a game.

  I didn't know it was weak,

  that one of the beams would give way

  so that I would fall and end up like this.

  The famous five they used to call us.

  They've been good, the way they still come and take me out.

  I guess they feel guilty about it all.

  Hi, Matt, Levi, Moses, Jacob.

  Where are we going today?

  Are we going to get smashed again

  like we did last weekend?

  It's the only thing that helps the pain

  so I guess it's worth the hangover.

  What! You're taking me to a healer!

  Give us a break, guys.

  I've seen every quack medic who's come through these parts

  in the last fifteen years

  and not one of them has done any good.

  This one's different?

  That's what you said about the last ten.

  Jesus?

  Jesus of Nazareth?

  Can anything good come out of Nazareth?

  Forget it guys.

  Let's go down to the pub.

  Well, there's Zebedee's house.

  You can't get within cooee of it.

  Look at all the people trying to get in.

  Forget it guys. He's another quack.

  Hey, What are you doing.

  I'm not going up on any roof.

  Please guys, that's what happened last time, remember?

  Why are you smashing the roof?

  You're mad, the lot of you.

  You're not letting me down on ropes.

  Please, guys, listen to me.

  Sorry, Jesus. It's not my fault I'm here.

  These idiots wouldn't listen.

  I told them you were a qu.. a qualified healer.

  They seem to think you can do something for me.

  My sins are forgiven? What sins?

  I can't get off my back. How can I sin?

  If that's all you can say it just proves my point.

  You're a quack.

  Now if you told me I was healed, that would be different.

  Get up and walk! I haven't done that in fifteen years.

  Try! I've given up trying.

  Try again! Who do you think you're ordering about?

  I can't! Look! There you are! I can't..

  I moved! I can! I can stand! I can walk!

  Hallelujah!

  ~~~~~~

  The First Christmas

  Lk 2:7 ..there was no room for them in the inn.

  Damn Caesar!

  If he wants to know how many subjects he's got, why doesn't he come and count them for himself instead of making us all go home to sign up?

  Home! I haven't lived in Bethlehem for years, and now we have to come home for some stupid Roman census.

  What a time to travel. Talk about traffic jams – donkeys nose to tail all the way from Dan to Beersheba. And as for accommodation, NO VACANCY signs everywhere.

  What's that, Mary? You're getting pains?

  Maybe it's the salt fish you had for supper.

  You don't think so? Well, you'll have to hold on.

  Look, it won't be long before we reach Bethlehem.

  There will be a room at the inn.

  Look, there's the sign – the Rod and Staff!

  Hello. Landlord.

  Yes, Joseph and Mary, we booked a room.

  What do you mean, 'No room'? – I wrote a week ago.

  You haven't received my letter!

  Damn Palestine Post!

  Look, Mary's started labour – she must have a bed.

  Well throw someone out, then! She's going to give birth!

  The stable! I can have the stable!

  You've gotta be joking.

  OK, I suppose it's better than nothing –

  but I'll write to the Tourist Hotel Association about this.

  My oath, look at it:

  Rats, fleas – mind where you're putting your feet dear!

  Yes, I know the straw's scratchy.

  Now, breathe steadily – in – out – in – out – just like you learnt.

  Hold on – push now!

  Is there any hot water?

  Damn Caesar!

  Mary – it's a boy.

  ~~~~~~

  The Cross

  Mk 15:24 ..and they crucified him.

  What tragic morn saw the splitting of the seed pod,

  When from it sprang the germ of man's disgrace,

  That embryo life that life divine would one day take

  And shame forever all the human race?

  Blot out the sun that gave the warmth which caused

  That slender shoot to push above the ground

  And grow through years to age and potent hardness

  Fit to shed Christ's blood on Calvary's mound.

  Cursed be the ground that gave thy roots their succour

  And cursed be the rain that damped thy leaves.

  Cursed be the wood that formed the hated cross piece

  To crucify my Lord between two thieves.

  When bit that axe into your side and made the sap run,

  Did you feel the agony of Christ's shed blood?

  Did you shriek as nails passed through his hands

  And buried inches deep into your wood?

  Did you shrink in shame as, pressed upon your roughness,

  You felt the flesh of earth's redeeming Lord

  Torn and bleeding, bearing all man's evil?

  Did you hear his last amazing words?

  'Father forgive, they know not what they're doing'

  Does that forgiveness, cross, extend
to you?

  Is not the shame forever in your timbers?

  Are they not dyed for e'er a crimson hue?

  Yet were it not for you I'd still be hopeless,

  Buried in sin and lost beyond recall.

  Thank you, cross, for you have made me able

  To find my Lord, my Christ, my all in all.

  ~~~~~~

  Meditations on the Divine Names

  Adam (1 Cor 15:7)

  Adam, the first of all mankind,

  who walked with God,

  tended Eden,

  had eternal life in his grasp,

  but like Esau, exchanged it for a mess of potage,

  a mouthful of tasteless fruit.

  Adam, who heeded Satan's tempting voice through Eve.

  Adam, who first knew naked shame and fear.

  Adam, who condemned man to sweating toil

  and trampled wives to painful birth,

  who took us through the gates of Paradise

  and heard them clang behind.

  Adam, a name to be cursed by all mankind.

  What a name to give Christ!

  Yet he, being made a curse for us,

  standing down the cherubic guard,

  opened the gates of Paradise once more.

  First-born of all creation,

  pioneer of faith,

  he opened the way to the Tree of Life.

  'Come!' he says, 'Eden is open.

  Come, walk the paths with me.

  Drink from the streams.

  Eat the fruit.

  Tend the garden with joy

  and talk with me when the evening falls.

  For I am Adam, truly man,

  open to peace and turmoil, sadness and joy,

  anger and gentleness, love and hate;

  but God is my father…..

  and yours.

  ~~~~~~

  Advocate 1 John 2:1

  Majestic, solemn, holding in his hand the power of life - and death – the judge takes his seat, his full-bottomed wig brushing the desk before him on which lie open books.

  The Clerk of the Court reads the charges – 'That on the twelfth day of November, 1936, the accused, David Richard Christmas, sometime schoolboy, Naval Officer, factory hand, farm labourer, school teacher, Baptist Pastor and humanitarian worker, did commence a life of sin'.

  He drones on until finally, 'Charge number three million four hundred and ninety seven, that at or around nine o'clock in the evening on the 8th of January, 1995, the accused failed to show love for his neighbour in that he did nothing but pray for him when he saw him hungry.'

  'How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?'

  Counsel for the defence rises.

  'May it please your Lordship, I submit that all charges be dismissed on the grounds that there is no case to answer. The man Jesus Christ has already been found guilty of all these sins and the full penalty has been paid.'

  'How do you know that, Mr Advocate?'

  'Because I am he, your Lordship. Jesus is my name.'

  'Mr Advocate, I must agree with you. That would be double jeopardy. Case dismissed. Now, son, I believe you are representing the next case too.'

  ~~~~~~

  The Almighty (Rev 1:8)

  Unruffled by the vandal breeze,

  the hydro lake mimics the sky

  and hangs the mountains upside-down

  from its distant, reed-lined shore.

  Home for the rising trout and convoyed ducks,

  who can guess the latent power

  stored within those sun-starved depths?

  But open the penstocks and the turbines turn.

  Twenty towns,

  a thousand factories,

  a million light bulbs