Pieces of Driftwood and other meditations

Pieces

  Of

  Driftwood

  and other meditations

  by David Christmas

  Copyright 2012 David Christmas

  All scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version, Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  ~~~~~~

  Contents

  Preface

  Driftwood 1

  Driftwood 2

  Creation

  Please don't drop off to sleep, Lord

  Morning

  Joy

  Peace

  Starting with Watercolours

  Light and Dark

  The Tide of Change

  Tide 2

  Hands

  Peter

  Mary Magdalene

  I'm Sick of the Palsy

  The First Christmas

  The Cross

  Adam

  Advocate

  Almighty

  Alpha and Omega

  Amen

  Apostle whom we Confess

  Arm of the Lord

  Branch

  Cornerstone

  Deliverer

  Everlasting Father

  Firstborn from the Dead

  Holy One of Israel

  I AM

  Immanuel

  Jahweh

  Rising Sun

  Rock

  Son of Man

  Ps 113:5,6

  Ps 119:11

  The Widow's Mite

  Peter and the Haul of Fish

  Abraham and Isaac

  Our Father

  Introductions

  Follow Me

  About the author

  ~~~~~~

  Preface

  The characters in the scriptures are not actors on a stage but real people with all the hopes and fears and doubts that we experience. Perhaps these meditations echo their thoughts.

  God is revealed in his creation, not just in the stars or a butterfly's wing but also in things such as the daily tides, the peace in a chapel, the song of a bird.

  This is a collection of some of my personal meditations written over forty years. Some are humourous, some are theological, some devotional. I trust they are all enjoyable and will trigger further thoughts for you.

  ~~~~~~

  Driftwood

  Ezk 37:3 ..Son of man, can these bones live?

  Twisted, black, stark, bleached,

  scattered, buried, sad, abandoned

  the driftwood lies,

  littering the sandy beach,

  spoiling the symmetry of the dunes.

  How come?

  Some drifted, idle in the caressing sea,

  moved by gentle currents, all unaware

  till a falling tide left them stranded,

  lying softly in the treacherous sunlight

  which disappeared behind a cloud

  and cold rain took its place.

  Some came on the wings of a storm,

  tossed and driven hither and thither,

  swamped, spun by swirling eddies,

  pounded by surf, thrown up and sucked back

  till

  in one final, climactic surge hurled shoreward,

  they lay abandoned by the spring tide

  to wait for some new storm

  which will drag the broken pieces

  to a new shore.

  Drift wood. Broken people.

  Will the pile grow higher and higher,

  reaching ever to the sky?

  or will, passing by,

  some understanding eye

  recognize the hopeless fingers clutching for the straw

  and, lifting, carry to some sheltered corner

  where, transformed by Christ,

  its beauty may delight once more?

  ~~~~~~

  Driftwood 2

  Matthew 25 verse 45 Jesus will reply,'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'

  Twenty years;

  for twenty years I did that job,

  morning and night,

  weekends too if they asked me.

  The pay wasn't good but it was enough.

  One morning they sent for me.

  Retrenchment they called it.

  Redundancy!

  We have to cut back to survive.

  What about me?

  I'll be fifty tomorrow.

  Clean tear tracks mark her face.

  She pats her thickening body

  growing with new life.

  'He said he loved me.'

  and all her fourteen years believed the lie.

  No one wanted her in the beginning.

  Nobody wants her now.

  Who would ever want a dirty kid

  with a squalling brat?

  Five years he'd done.

  The tattooed star and HATE-scrawled knuckles

  told the tale.

  He took the rap for them.

  Sure he'd been there

  but he'd only kept watch.

  When the fuzz came he copped the lot

  and they all said,

  'No, it wasn't us. It was him!'

  The prison door clanged behind him,

  shutting him out.

  What now?

  Driftwood.

  Don't worry.

  The next high tide will clear it away

  and the beach will look nice and clean again.

  Or maybe we could take some home.

  ~~~~~~

  Creation

  Ps 8:3,4 When I consider the work of your fingers, the moon and stars which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him?

  Note - 'The work of your fingers' can mean 'handiwork'.

  God was busy

  doing all the things that God did

  when there was 'Nothing'.

  One day He thought,

  'I'll take up a hobby,

  something to do in my spare time'

  - or eternity, because 'Time' didn't exist –

  so He took up creating.

  It was a new idea,

  so, although God had a great plan,

  the details had yet to be worked out,

  and that would take time.

  So He made a ball out of nothing and called it 'Earth',

  and another thing around it which He called 'The Heavens'.

  It wasn't much

  but at least it was a start.

  The trouble was, it was dark.

  So God said, 'Let there be light!'

  And there was light.

  And God said, 'That all looks good to me.'

  He called it 'Light' and 'Darkness'.

  'That's enough for today!'

  And that was the beginning of 'Time'.

  The next day, when God had a spare minute,

  He picked up His hobby again and thought,

  'I'll separate the earth from the heavens.'

  So He put something in between

  and called it 'Sky'.

  And that's all He had time for.

  On the third day He started to tidy things up.

  He gathered up the water on the earth into 'Sea'

  and that left dry 'Land'.

  It looked very ugly with nothing on it

  so God planted some trees and flowers and a few shrubs,

  and it looked very pretty.

  On Wednesday, God said,

  'I've created time but no way of telling it.'

  So He made the sun and the moon to tell the day from the night,

  and timed them to make months and years.

  And, because t
he heavens looked rather drab at night,

  He made a million diamonds, which He called stars,

  and spent an hour or two making patterns with them,

  which looked like a hunter, a lion and a plough,

  and He said, 'That's good!'

  The seas and the air were rather empty

  so God made fish and birds.

  It was fun making whales and giant squids

  and sprats and coral fish.

  Octopuses were a bit of a failure but starfish were pretty.

  The wagtail was an aerodynamic blunder

  - it couldn't fly in a straight line –

  but peregrine falcons were a great success

  and eagles, they were something special.

  That just left the land.

  Already the garden was getting out of control.

  It needed something to keep it in order,

  like cows and sheep and lions and tigers –

  they were still eating straw like the ox -

  and an elephant or two,

  and someone to take responsibility –

  'Someone just like me,' He thought.

  So He made 'Man'.

  The next day God said,

  'It's the Sabbath.

  I think I'll take the day off.'

  So He did!

  ~~~~~~

  Please Don't Drop off to Sleep Lord

  Hebrews 2 verse 10. … God, for whom and through whom all things exist.

  This meditation was written one hot afternoon at Theological College after a lecture on creation.

  Once there was nothing,

  not just a vacuum but 'Non-being',

  and you stretched and yawned and said,

  'Let there 'Be'.'

  and there 'Was'.

  But it only continues to be

  as you continue to hold it in existence;

  to hold it all in your fingers

  lest it all slip back into 'Non-being'.

  Lord, sometimes the day is hot

  and I feel drowsy.

  My eye-lids get heavy

  and I fight to keep them open.

  My head droops.

  BANG!

  My books and pen have slipped to the floor.

  What if you did that, God?

  What if one hot, lazy afternoon you felt tired,

  and just for one moment,

  one tiniest fraction of a second,

  you nodded off?

  You would wake with a start

  but it would be too late.

  Your fingers,

  straightening for one moment of eternity,

  would have let go,

  and all creation would have slipped back into 'Non-being'.

  No stars, no sun, no moon, no world,

  No mountains or rivers, no buildings or gardens,

  No people, no families,

  No me.

  It's a lovely afternoon, Lord.

  Please don't drop off to sleep.

  ~~~~~~

  Morning

  Gen 5:22 ...and Enoch walked with God 300 years...

  The bustling mother sun bursts into the world's bedroom,

  throwing back the curtains of the night,

  driving away the herds of nightmare dreams

  and lovers' fantasies,

  and, with resurrection voice,

  raises the sleeping dead to life.

  From crippled pines, a gusher of joy

  bursts forth from the uncapped wells of magpie throats

  hurling their priceless rapture,

  argle gargle, argle gargle,

  into the morning sky,

  while, hidden in the spinifex, the pheasant's alarm

  cawks and squawks the undergrowth to breakfast.

  The spider's web, betrayed by diamond dew,

  catches nothing but the morning ray

  and throws it back, a myriad points of rainbow light,

  for all to see.

  Another day begins,

  another opportunity

  for me to walk with God

  and He with me.

  ~~~~~~

  Joy

  Galatians 5 verse 22: But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy and peace.

  What is Joy?

  The bubbling of a mountain spring, sparkling, dancing,

  throwing back a million diamonds at the watching sun

  and chuckling with glee as it tumbles down the valley?

  The sound of caroling magpies, high in the pine trees, welcoming the dawn

  as the still-hidden sun wakes the diva blackbird

  to sing her aria of love?

  Delight from the throat of an ecstatic lark

  pouring out praise to its creator God,

  lifted on blurred wings in rapturous crescendo

  towards heaven itself?

  Yes. But there's another joy, more deep, more real –

  the eternal fruit of the Spirit of God.

  It isn't seen in shining sun and dazzling light,

  but sown in darkness, trial and desert storm;

  watered from the deepest rivers of divine love;

  matured in suffering and pain.

  When all the leaves have gone,

  stripped by the storms of tribulation,

  their green gaiety shriveled brown,

  the fruit of joy still hangs,

  made sweeter by the frosts of time.

  Joy is the knowledge that God is God,

  that He is my Father,

  and even when there is no light at all,

  He is still in control.

  ~~~~~~

  Peace

  Nu 6:26 the Lord turn his face towards you and give you peace.

  Jazz rock and heavy metal blares,

  the throbbing beat of bass guitar

  and screaming, wordless voices assault my ears

  like Alemein's bombardment or Dresden's fiery storm.

  News announcers shout disasters night and day,

  murders, riots, earthquakes.

  All conspire to steal my peace and fill my life with fear.

  Prices rise, pensions fall,

  and what rogue lawyer may smash my nest egg

  with his greedy betrayal of my trust?

  Arthritis thrusts red-hot needles through my joints

  while doctors warn of ills unknown till now.

  Apprehension fills the valleys of my days

  and nightmares ride the ranges of my sleep.

  Where are the times of hope and peace that I once knew?

  The little church, white, steep-roofed and ivy-grown,

  stood still among the watching graves.

  The doors, unlatched, swung wide on silent hinges,

  then whispered shut behind me,

  shutting out the sounds of worldly life,

  enfolding me in cool silence and shafted light.

  I knelt where hundreds must have knelt before

  and gazed in quiet wonder at the cross.

  Long forgotten words rippled the deep lake of memory

  and washed the ragged shoreline of my soul;

  words about a shepherd, green pastures,

  still waters and paths of righteousness.

  'Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

  I will fear no evil,

  for Thou art with me,

  Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.'

  I will not fear for He is near!

  Could that be true?

  Are you really there, Good Shepherd.

  leading, tending, protecting?

  And in the stillness of my heart I heard Him say,

  'Yes, my child. I am here.

  Trust in me and you shall see

  you need not fear.'

  I rose and walked, wrapped in peace,

  back into the waiting world.

  Ghetto blasters still pour their shrieks into the air.

  The news is still all bad

  and still the no
tes come 'Pay, pay, pay or else!'

  But now I walk with a firmer tread,

  hand tucked into His Almighty hand

  and all my soul is filled with peace.

  'The king of love my shepherd is,

  whose goodness faileth never.

  I nothing lack if I am His

  And He is mine forever.'

  ~~~~~~

  Starting with Watercolours

  (a book by Roland Hilder)

  Php 4:13 I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

  The birthday present, freed from its festive wrappings,

  lay open, full of promise, on my desk.

  Wise words on tone and form and shape

  tumbled across the page,

  and, in between, examples of the painter's skill

  plucked at my heart strings with their beauty.

  Clouded skies and racing sails,

  English countryside where time stands still,

  Kentish oast and Hampshire stream

  stand or flow across the painted page,

  beckoning, challenging me to take a brush

  and create a masterpiece myself.

  I try, as I have tried before,

  and all I get is, deep within,

  frustration with my unteachable hand

  which will not take what the eye can see

  and transfer it to the waiting paper.

  But what artist can?

  What painter has never consigned his work to the rubbish fire?

  None but one.

  God takes the velvet canvas ere the dawn,

  splashes it with palest pearl,

  adds a wash of green and shining gold,

  then rose tinted clouds with dazzling rims

  reflected in the mirror sea beneath.

  What artist can take the crashing wave,

  freeze the flying spume,

  add the scent of salted air,

  the buffeting of wind upon the cheek?

  Only the true Old Master.

  Creating masterpieces since time began,

  He saw what He had made and, unlike me,

  He saw that it was good.

  He placed His likeness in the thing called Man,

  and, when a vandal spoiled the image,

  He set about the task of restoration.

  Materials? – the blood of Christ to wash away the grime;

  the Spirit of His Son to give new life,

  and love, God's own shellac,

  that keeps, protects from further harm.

  Today I am like the painting that I do,

  a poor parody of the painter's art,

  but one day that will change,

  and I shall be restored to all that He intended me to be.

  I shall sit with Him.

  He'll show me how to hold the brush

  and paint the cloudy patterns in the sky,

  catch the tumbling waterfall

  and stop the crashing billows in full flight.

  And when it's finished He will say, 'You see,

  My son, you can do all things through Me.'

  ~~~~~~

  Light and Dark

  1 Cor 13:12 Now I know in part; then I shall know fully..

  She stood there motionless, charcoal in hand, a clean, white sheet of paper on her drawing board, looking across the billabong to the stark ghost gums on the other side. As if in imitation, a white heron stalked its prey in the shadows, a gleam of light against a dark canvas of sedge, sliding from pose to pose, a frog's nemesis on stilts.

  The minutes passed, perhaps five, six, ten, until I began to wonder if she were ill or had fallen into a trance. Then, without warning or apparent effort, the black stick moved over the paper, leaving behind meaningless tracks, some covering large areas, some mere dots. Some her thumb smudged, fading the edges from ebony to a soft grey and leaving others untouched in vivid contrast; no outlines, no carefully drawn images, just a cluster of patterns, dark on light.