Greetje: New page: {{info}}Paul looked at Silas, smiled the kind
Of half-smile Silas loved, inclined
His head toward Timothy, and said,
“The best is yet to come. I dread
To make my friend sit ...

Greetje — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 14:21:22 GMT

New page: {{info}}Paul looked at Silas, smiled the kind Of half-smile Silas loved, inclined His head toward Timothy, and said, “The best is yet to come. I dread To make my friend sit ...

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{{info}}Paul looked at Silas, smiled the kind Of half-smile Silas loved, inclined His head toward Timothy, and said, “The best is yet to come. I dread To make my friend sit through this tale Again. I’ve led him down this trail So many times, he must grow tired Of hearing it.” “If I aspired To novelty instead of truth I might grow tired of it. But youth And love of novelty are both A distant memory. I’m loath To nurse the craving I once had For newness,” Silas said. “My dad Once said, ‘Learn well the ancient songs, My son. Someday a wave of wrongs Will break across your life, and death Will beckon you, and your last breath Will serve you best with ancient hymns Forged in the fire of shattered limbs And broken hearts. These ''ancient ''songs Will bear you through a thousand wrongs And make you strong when others fail At midnight in a Roman jail.’ So do not fret for me, my friend, But tell your tale. In fact, the end Is what I most would love to hear Again. So finish it. Don’t fear That you could bore your friend.” Paul turned To Timothy again, “I’ve yearned For you to join us in this band Of missionaries since God’s hand Led us through Lystra months ago. I know you think you are too slow Of speech and even spastic in Your hands, and doubt that God could win A single soul to Christ through you. But, Timothy, the Lord will do More than you dream, if you will trust Him with your mouth and mind, and thrust Your trembling hand into the strong And wounded grip of Christ. The long And crooked path I took before I could embrace my weakness or My face, you could be spared. I pray It will be so tonight. And may My story’s end make you as glad To join my band, as if you had Omnipotence sustaining you, Because, in truth, my friend, you do.” 

Then Timothy replied, “I would, Paul, thank you deeply if you should Oblige my wavering heart with this Last chapter of your tale. The kiss Farewell that you are asking me To give my haven here would be The hardest thing that I have done. Tell me, how was the battle won That you should bow, and then embrace For Christ your weakness and your face?”

“With lethal letters in my hand From Caiaphas the priest, I planned My journey to Damascus where The Way had spread, and thought that there Gamaliel’s old prophecy Would finally come true for me: ''‘Someday you’ll stop the mouths of strange And foolish men who dare to change The law, and even claim the king Of Israel has come. The sting Such messianic fools will feel From your intimidating zeal Will crush their cause and you will see Why God brought you to live with me.’ ''With rage and murder in my heart Against God’s grace and ev’ry part Of Stephen’s claim, I set my face Against the fools who say that grace Had made a pile of rubbish out Of all my deeds. I took the route Up to Damascus, there to break The back of Jesus’ Way, and make A great display of my own zeal. As we approached the town, the seal Of heaven broke. And suddenly A blazing light, more bright than we Had ever seen or dreamed could be, Shone like a hundred suns on me And struck me to the ground with so Much force I did not even know That I had fallen, when it seemed As if a thousand rivers streamed Together at the cataracts Above my head and fell with facts As heavy as an ocean filled With truth. A voice from heaven spilled It’s thund’ring falls into the sea: ‘Why are you persecuting me?’ I cried, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ And what I heard him say forever shut My mouth against the Way. He said, ‘My name is Jesus. I was dead, And am alive for evermore. These fools you aim to kill mean more To me than all the galaxies. You cannot win or silence these. The way you wield your priestly sword You strike against the risen Lord. Go to the city now and you, My slave, will hear what you must do.’

For three long days I could not see, Nor did I eat or drink. One plea Was on my lips: ‘O God, let there Be mercy on my head and spare Me all the wrath that I have earned Because I killed your sheep and spurned The Shepherd of your flock, and tread With scorn upon your grace. I dread, O God, what I deserve. My face Is covered, now, with shame. My place Is with the worst of sinners in The lake of fire, where all my sin Will make you just, while I repay My debt with an eternal stay. O God, O Christ whom I have killed, O Lamb of God whose blood I spilled, All covered now with vile disgrace, O Lord, have mercy on my face.’

And as I prayed, a man appeared Sent from the Lord. At first he feared To come, but when he learned what Christ Had planned for me, he sacrificed His fear and came. He said, ‘Receive Your sight, my brother, Saul, and leave The blindness of your soul behind And come, the light of Truth has shined On you. Your sins are covered by The blood of Christ. And when you die Each day, and then at last, it will Not be a punishment, but fill What’s lacking in the Savior’s pain: The readiness to make it plain By suffering yourself. God chose You from the womb to bear the blows That bring the blood of Jesus to The world, and made your face the true Divide between the lovers of The Gospel grace and those who love The praise of man. To these you are A stumbling block, to those a star To guide them safely home to God. The comeliness of your façade Means little if they’ve gone astray. What counts is that you know the Way. Henceforth the Lord lifts up your face Your pain is now the path of grace.’”

Paul looked at Timothy to see If he had understood. “To be A member of your team would cost A man his life.” He paused. “You’ve lost A lot to follow Christ.” But Paul Replied, “If I could lose it all, It would be gain. There’s one last part You haven’t heard. It might impart The final piece and help you see How loss is gain. Recall that we Began this tale in Tarsus where My father had his school. And there He named me Saul, and grieved that I Was unfit for his dreams. “Good-bye,” Was all he said, and sent me to Jerusalem. I never knew Him all my life. But then one day The saints in Caesarea lay A plan for me to flee and move To Tarsus till the plots should prove Ephemeral. And there I found The synagogue. “May I expound The Law and prophets here,” I asked. The ruler said, “If you were masked. What claim have you to teach the Law Of God?” “I think you hold in awe My teacher in Jerusalem, Gamaliel.” “You touched the hem Of great Gamaliel? You sat At his beloved feet?” “And that From when I was a child of three Till I became a Pharisee.” “We will be glad to hear you speak, And we will overlook your weak Appearance.” “There’s one question, sir. Would I be right, or would I err, If I assume the master of The school will come?” “For love Of fame—a Pharisee, from old Gamaliel—he’ll come. His gold Is everything that shines. It’s good The master’s almost blind. He should Give you a hearing.” “One more thing, Sir, as you go, could you please bring To my attention when he takes His seat this Sabbath day?” “He shakes. His hands. His head. You’ll know him when He comes.” I watched for him. And then He came, and took the foremost seat, And sat directly at my feet. I preached the gospel unashamed. They listened calmly, till I named The great Messiah, Jesus, Lord Of heav’n and earth, who died and poured His blood out on a Roman stake, And came back from the dead to take His seat at God’s right hand. Before They left in rage, I spoke one more Brief word: ‘God sent his son,’ I cried, From glory down to shame. He died That every dad who did the same Might be forgiven, and the blame Be carried by the Christ defiled, And sons and fathers reconciled!’

They all stormed out, except for one. And there, the father and the son, Alone, with Christ, stood face to face Beneath the cataracts of grace.

“Do you see Timothy? The years The pain, the loneliness, the jeers From children all my life—all this, My friend, to bring my father bliss Forever with his son before The risen King whom I adore? I ask again, dear Timothy, Will you now come and die with me?”

Bright candle three, the answer waits, While ev’ry person contemplates And ponders in the quiet light Of your small flame how true and right Are all the promises of Christ And how for these he sacrificed. Do I believe with all my heart The canvass of my life is art? That ev’ry crimson thread is laced Through dark or silver fibers placed So perfectly it will be plain That none was woven there in vain? Do I believe my faulty face Will prove to be a work of grace? And will I banish fear and shame And lift my head to speak the Name? I now by ev’ry promise I possess, With Timothy, do answer, yes.

Paul's Face, Part 3 - Revision history

Greetje: New page: {{info}}Paul looked at Silas, smiled the kindOf half-smile Silas loved, inclinedHis head toward Timothy, and said,“The best is yet to come. I dread To make my friend sit ...

Greetje: New page: {{info}}Paul looked at Silas, smiled the kind
Of half-smile Silas loved, inclined
His head toward Timothy, and said,
“The best is yet to come. I dread
To make my friend sit ...