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Echoes of Faith: Some Imagination Required C. Doug Blair, 2012

He was one of the first people Cliff Barker met upon his arrival. Pleasant looking young man. Probably about twenty-three with open smile and generous handshake.

"Mr. Barker, it's great to see you. I heard something about your coming and thought I would come down to check. Oh, pardon me; you probably don't recognize me. Last time we talked I was only nine. But I have remembered you all these years. My name is Peter Worthington."

'The Worthingtons,' Cliff thought to himself, 'Hadn't they been the ones who suffered a marriage break-up and moved away from the old neighbourhood at Cedar Street? And the stalwart boy, that summer...Peter.'

"You're absolutely right, Sir, I am that one you talked to in the school yard. I told you about my fears and my parents' arguing. You spoke to me about Jesus and his particular sympathy for children with problems. You made Him seem so real to me and you excused yourself to come back with a captivating small book on the Gospel. I didn't say much, but I took it home and read it and re-read and studied the pictures. A rich private prayer life

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was budding, and all because you cared.

Well, my hopes and prayers didn't stop the divorce. I ended up with Mom. I kept on praying for that and a bunch of other things. Five years later they agreed to take another try. God came through. That's when I became really convinced that I was meant for ministry."

"Pete, I can hardly believe what you're telling me. We had so little time to share, and then you were gone. Just that afternoon in the schoolyard and perhaps three other talks in the evening over that summer. I never felt the liberty to talk to your parents. I almost yielded to the temptation not to talk to someone else's kid about religion...And now to think, that you became a minister!"

"No Sir, I didn't get that far. The bus accident happened after second year. And I came here. But believe me, there has been great opportunity for service and ministry ever since. Excuse me now, I have another appointment. We'll talk another time. Funny, isn't it, up here, even thinking about the concept of time..."

Cliff had always expected that Heaven would be full of surprises just like this.

The Note

Frank had not had many days like this. Just six months into his new responsibilities at the firm, the announcement had hit like a thunder-clap. Regional Branch Office closing after the amalgamation. Talk of redundancy and streamlining. His entire workplace had two months.

To make matters worse Sandy had accepted a nursing tenure in Moncton and it looked like the end of their two and a half year relationship. She had been the one hinting at marriage. He had remained somewhat cool for too long. This was only his second serious commitment at age twenty-six. He had watched his parents' marriage fade away after thirty years. Mom remained at

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City Hall in the Planning Department. Dad for the last three years in Northern Alberta in geological exploration. And that after nineteen years as a University Prof.

The car lease expired in a month and there would either be re-financing or a hefty pay-out of excessive mileage. Student loans weren't going to go away for another four years, and doubtless there would have to be re-structuring in light of the lay-off.

He sat at his desk after-hours deciding what to start to take back to the apartment. He did not relish the next two months. A couple of possible contacts, but then no one was really being honest about business conditions...press, local politicians, chamber of commerce. In the bottom left drawer under some performance reports he found that Book of Psalms which his sister had dropped off only two days before she left with her fiance for Northern Sudan. They were both para-medics with four years of all-purpose service in the big city, and they had decided upon a two year stint with a health agency in the refugee camps. A new country on the world scene. Many terrible stories of slavery and mayhem in the recent past. Both of them seeing an opportunity to manifest "Christ in shoe leather".

Terri had not been pushy with the Gospel these last three years since her "faith experience with Jesus". She knew that her brother had had a distasteful run-in with an on-campus fellowship. She had talked mostly about the prospects of her new assignment, the places she was likely to visit and the manner in which she would maintain communication. Her Mom was quite devastated by the decision, although there was possibly a new man in her life. Dad was effectively "gonzo".

The little Psalter had been given, and just as quickly buried at the bottom of that drawer. Frank smiled and opened it. He discovered a note on the last page not previously examined:

"Dear Frank: Take a look at these pages from time to time and realize that the writers experienced almost every human situation, good and bad. King David in particular knew how to talk with God, holding nothing back. God likes that kind of honesty. Things look pretty rosy for you at the firm, but life can never be a sure bet. Remember that Jesus shines through these Psalms, and also that He came through the very worst of treatment in victory (Psalm 69). He understands our condition. He will hear your honest prayers

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and go to work for you, making His presence known. He is love and He is God...Kisses...Terri."

As if by reflex Frank lifted up some simple requests for his sister and Clarke in that distant place of pain and hope.

But the Gospel Says Come

A peasant was talking over the back fence to his neighbour, "Wife and I were at market yesterday and saw her cousin from two shires over. He said that he had enjoyed a brief visit with the King, and it had not been all that bad. We talked this over on our way home. She really wants this. I guess I could cooperate...But he knows where I live, and presently I am very busy. He will have to come here wearing something appropriate to meet me in my field, and share my lunch at regular hour. If he is really all that good he will oblige, like any other decent neighbour."

The King never came.

In the Midst of Something Like Revival

Midweek evening service at Crosspoints. Beth in her stark white cast walking delicately to a front pew. Smiles and welcomes all around. Numbers significantly up. Keith taking a wooden stack-a-chair to a point one-third of the way down the centre aisle.

"Welcome friends to a week of bubbling, new considerations, hope...that Jesus might be honoured. I hear that you enjoyed your visit with the young pastor from Calvary Temple. That your curiosity is stirred. That this pastor could get out of the way for you to make glorious discoveries on your own. I

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am thankful.

On the way out you should take a copy of the list of suggestions for change being circulated. Right by the back centre door. Harry has a bunch of them.

Perhaps you have heard that things are being stirred at Craig's church. I have met with Todd Bushnell, back from vacation, and the two of us are considering how the assemblies might operate together in this period of new light. Apparently many living rooms have been opened for discussion and prayer. Many Bibles have been taken off the shelf. Friends and workmates, perhaps unacquainted with church, are now responding to the invitation to "come, see".

We are in a time of precious privilege. We will not manipulate it or hype it. We are stepping out of the way for movements of God. I am reminded of things which I have read concerning other revivals where pastors have left the pulpit, taken an obscure seat at the sidelines, prayed and let the people confess what God was doing.

Reports are coming in that right now, as we sit here together, marriages are being healed, parents and children are coming closer, bodies are being mended, abusive habits are being kicked, anxious inquirers are sitting down over coffee to hear the Good News. This is no exaggeration. We must respect this time and keep short accounts with God concerning our stumblings.

Right now if you have a word of good report, a striking piece of scripture, a prayer request, a comment on this move of refreshment in our midst, the microphone is yours. I believe that Beth, my wife-on-the-mend will start us off..."

For the entire story see the ebook “Church on the Hoist” at

http://issuu.com/deedub51/docs/church_on_the_hoist

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All Stiff in Starched Sheets

Beth awoke with a yelp. What a horrible nightmare! She longed to reach over to Keith for a comforting hug. But no, she was in a hospital, remember?

The doctor had told her that the recent trauma might produce some crazy things in the sub-conscious. Not to mention the drugs for pain. She felt that she must present an odd picture. Upper body casts. Unsightly purple bruise on the left temple. Stitches at the eyebrow.

The young woman in the bed opposite had been trying to hide the fact that she was staring. From what Beth had gleaned, Crissy was in for a broken hip from a fall from a second story balcony. Standing on a chair to water some plants. Lost her balance, or so the official story went. Beth suspected that there was some other real scenario.

"Must have had a bad one, eh?" Crissy looked genuinely concerned, but conversation had been strained. In the two days of Beth's treatment thus far Crissy had had only one visitor, a boyfriend named Steve. He had brought her up-to-date on his employment search. Presumably they shared the apartment and things were strained financially. Her parents were out of province and had phoned twice offering small comfort.

"Yes Crissy I don't usually have nightmares. This one was a doozy. Lost and alone in a strange community. People suspecting that I had done something terribly wrong. Nightfall setting in. The rest is kinda fuzzy."

"Nurse popped in about twenty minutes ago with those flowers on your table."

They were a beautiful surprise. The card was from Bruce and Karen Benton. For some reason she opted to read it aloud: "Hang in there Girl. We are so thankful that you were spared any greater danger. Pretty sore now though, right?"

A scripture portion had also been included:

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When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior;

Crissy did not respond to that, but looked down at the movie magazine in her lap. Thirty seconds later: "What's it like...being a preacher's wife I mean?"

"Oh it's not so very different. Two kids. School. Shopping. In-laws. House work. A lot of phone calls for my husband from people I hardly know. Two weeks' holidays in the summer. We like to camp. Endless laundry. Women and kids needing a friend to talk to or to pray. And some of the wildest ideas right out of the blue in my conversations with Keith. New ways formulated to express rich timeless truths. In short. I love it. I love him, and I love God for His constant goodness. Every now and then we feel that we make a difference."

"That all doesn't sound too unusual. My parents were Catholic. Gradually slipped right out of the routine. My boyfriend thinks the churches are all about getting your money."

"Perhaps he'd be interested in a place like ours. We are presently finding ways to turn things back over to the people. That they might have the joy of discovery, of testifying, of helping in simple ways. Sometimes, though, it feels as if we are going one step at a time through the darkness."

"Really? A preacher and his wife who don't have all the answers. I kinda like that."

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Penance on a Dare

Brad entered the cathedral late Wednesday afternoon on a dare. He was undergoing the same programmed skepticism of University which many a Bible-raised youth encountered in the halls of academia and sophisticated doubt. His fraternity buddies knew that he had been raised Baptist. They had made it a part of his hazing that he should enter the largest Catholic church in the downtown and undergo confession, and then report.

Once inside he was struck by the colour and beauty of the stained glass, the subdued lighting, the respectful quiet, the smiles from complete strangers. He saw them sitting in the first two pews and disappearing at intervals through the three oak doors.

People on either side of Brad were kneeling in silence with faces directed forward and down. In ten minutes Brad's turn came and he tried to remember the dialogue which one of his frat buddies had related:

"Father forgive me, for I have sinned. It has been ten months since my last confession."

"Yes, my son, what is it that you would like to tell me?"

"For the past three successive Friday evenings I have had sex at parties with the same girl from my Philosophy class."

"And what has been her reaction?"

"She continuously appears happy to see me, but then her eyes become distant and the talk strained. She frequently looks around to see if others are watching us. I conclude that she is not happy about what has happened."

"Would you like to continue to see her?"

"I think so, but this has to be cleared up."

"Are you prepared to apologize to her?"

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"Yes, I am meeting her off-campus for lunch on Friday.""My son remember that the scriptures tell us that the Lord was tempted in all points as we are during his earth walk but without sin. This means that he felt the pull of lust, ill temper, boasting, retaliation, conformity and other shortcomings. But He knew that a much more victorious, enduring life awaited His obedience. And he chose to obey. You can do that now... say seven Hail Mary's, apologize as discussed, and mean it, and you are absolved of your sin."

Brad left the peaceful sanctuary in semi-shock. All that he had chosen to tell the priest was true (except that he was not Catholic). His family would be stunned at the development. Imagine, asking a man for absolution. Speaking to a celibate about matters of sex. Darkening the door of "the great harlot Mother Church". Doing it all on the prompting of some godless college chums.

But the confession and the teaching had helped. Did he really need this fraternity connection, anyway?

Sanctuary Stranger

Ryan, the priest-novitiate nudged his superior in the arm and pointed to a pew mid-way down the sanctuary on the right side.

"There he is again. Same time almost every day. Looks around and then just sits there for about twenty minutes. Sort of a seamy looking character. I wonder if he means well? Remember the recent thievery?"

Monseigneur quietly examined the old fellow in the dwindling late afternoon light. Quiet surroundings. Votive candles flickering nearby. Archie practicing some Bach on the organ up front. Nothing to worry about. Just sitting there. Head slightly bowed. Old tweed overcoat. Peaked winter cap in hand...

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The two men went on to other matters.

But then the simple visitor stopped showing. One day in a hospital visitation, Ryan had left a parishioner's bedside and was headed for the elevator when he noticed the old fellow propped up in a bed in a four-patient ward room. He yielded to the temptation to drop in for a short visit.

After introductions he learned that "Patrick", a retired machinist and widower, had been in for about eight days following a surgical procedure of some complexity. There followed some small talk about children and grand-children in distant cities and Patrick's interests and pass times in retirement. Finally curiosity brought Ryan around to the subject of the elder's daily church stops.

"Oh that's really quite simple. I love the feel of the place. The quiet. The Gospel pictures. The courtesy. The candles. Any music is a bonus. My wife periodically came to St. Mark's. I didn't. But now I come to pray."

"If you don't mind my asking, what sorts of prayers do you lift up. I'm a great student of prayer."

"Not much I guess. I sit down. Settle myself. Think of Heaven. Think of the many good things that have come my way. Think of ways to improve. Remember some friends. Quietly, I say something like, 'Hello Jesus, it's Patrick'. Then I wait for about ten more minutes. That's all."

A few more tid-bits were exchanged. Then the handshake. The departure. But Ryan had resolved to pay another visit soon.

The opportunity came the following Monday. On the seventh floor at the nurse's station, Ryan thought to stop and inquire about the patient's progress. He was told, "That Patrick is remarkable. Never a complaint. Always a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. Pleasant sense of humour. Often able to get the other patients in his room talking about something interesting. A real treat."

Bedside, Ryan brought up the nurse's good report to the mysterious man.

"Oh, that's all thanks to my visitor. He comes at break of day and stands at the end of my bed. I have always been an early riser. This hospital isn't going to change that. Expect to be out of here in three more days."

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"You have a regular visitor?""Yep, Jesus."

"Are you serious?"

"No kidding, Ryan, it has been wonderful. Standing right there. Just as plain as you are."

"And what does He say?"

"For a while He just smiles at me, but then, "Hello Patrick, its Jesus."

A Break From It All

Craig was nursing the dregs of his third cup. Wondering what had just happened . He certainly hoped Jerry would show two days hence and that Ken would be available to offer some much needed help.

It was the third day of Craig's summer break, and this one was a real break. The kids were at camp. Kate was off on a long planned trip to Cape Breton with her sister. He had resolved to resist making any contact with the office.

One day's long country drive out of town. The second sunning in Victoria Park with a good mystery novel and watching the spontaneity of families at play and kids trying to get the slip on parents.

This day had been overcast and he had crossed town to an unfamiliar coffee shop. In came a thirty something business man with tie loosened at collar, sleeves rolled back and hair somewhat disheveled. He seemed very distracted, and Craig had approached conversation delicately.

"Jerry" finally dismissed with the social niceties by saying, "I'm sorry Craig if I seem out of it, but I just don't know what the hell to do. Two hours ago I was working on an exciting new IT project at our company when three

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security men entered our department and instructed three of us to clear our desks and follow them out of the building. FIRED, just like that! Full legal package to follow in the mail. I didn't see it coming, although there had been similar incidents four months ago. Over the weekend a secret and top priority meeting of brass had decided to scrap our new venture. Suddenly redundant.

I have a wedding planned in a month. Marie my fiancee is a legal secretary downtown. It will be a second marriage for each of us. Things were really going along well. How can we proceed with THIS?"

Craig appreciated the candour, and decided not to tip the man off that he pastored a church. It was Craig's second career and he could well remember the pain and rage of a sudden dismissal. This would just be an exchange between men brought together by providence. He was already starting to formulate a plan of help which involved Ken from the church, also of IT vocation, and quite senior.

The conversation continued with cusses and joking and reminiscences, but largely he let Jerry do the talking. He needed to, and his countenance was lightening.

Craig was also making a discovery. This seemed to be the first honest men's conversation which he had had in a long time. No deference to "Pastor". No posturing. No covering up reality with propriety and the requisite good confession. No Pauline terminology thrust into the here-and-now. He was being revived by the process. He would try to offer help as a man, and not as the "man of God".

How was it that he had lost touch with this? Too many committee meetings with women in the majority? God bless them. Too many sermons to prepare? Too many times when he had shouldered the load alone because churchmen were unenthusiastic? Yes, he had needed this break and insight. Something was bubbling inside. A new expectancy. The man was changing gears.

And Jerry was becoming a friend...

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With God, Enough…

The stakes had been driven in Karl's field following a paltry yield of barley. The benches had come from the assembly hall down the town-line road. The posters had been tacked to the post office bulletin board. The preachers in no less than four denominations had announced the special week from their pulpits. And now Brother Fuller was in town, and the opening Friday night just hours away.

That afternoon Fuller had brought together two dozen pillars of prayer in the tent and for 90 minutes they had importuned God's visit and power upon their struggling, recession-weary community. He said that the Master in Mark 6 had called His followers out of the everyday into a desert place, a dry place, and there He had performed the miracle of the loaves and fishes. Not in the city but out in the desert places. And this is where these faithful people of Oklahoma had found themselves for the last four years.

Dusk with its cooling realization had come, and my wife and I, together with another young couple, had secured seats in the front third of the benches under the canvas. All of us felt the weariness of the day drifting away in the anticipation and good cheer of the gathering. The sawdust was underfoot. The banners on the tent wall: "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

Our friends were new to this experience, but it had not taken much courteous coaxing. A poor second crop. A part-time job disappearing with the closing of the lumber yard in town. A teen-age son in rebellion and mixing with some undesirables after school.

The music began complete with fiddles, banjo, drums, accordian and trombone. The old favourites brought a comfort and an encouragement. "Got Any Rivers? You think are uncrossable. Got any Mountains? You can't tunnel through. God specializes in things thought impossible. He'll do for you what none other can do."

And then the message from Brother Fuller. Parts of it remain still now, clear

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in the memory, filled with promise, and filled with the thrill of our young friends stepping forward in response to the call of Jesus: "Enough, friends, to be in His family; To relish in the engagement of real, caring prayer; To know that His Testament bequeaths us Life, unburdened conscience and new spiritual power. To sense foretastes of Heaven. Enough, to see His artistry at break of day; To hear His serenade in the turtledove; His optimism in a youngster's laugh. To thrill at His power in the thunderbolt, In the stinging wind over dry fields, In the deluge that fills the watercourses In mere minutes. Enough, to hear his words of rebuke To the Enemy, the Slanderer, And his underlings who whisper, threaten or foreclose; To understand His assurance that no man, no devil Shall take a child out of His hand. This is our Father, As represented by our Elder Brother. This is salvation, and This is forever."

The gathering and the ushering away of new converts. The singing of "Just a Closer Walk with Thee". The dismissal of the assembly out from the tent to the clarity of a sparkling late-summer night sky. These memories remain vivid some thirty-five years later.

The Shantyman

It is good to toilWith the men I know;And to trim the treesAnd to lay them low;And to haul their bulk

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To the stream below;I am glad that the Lord sent me here.And from time to timeWhen the mood is right,In the vaulted woodWith its dappled light;Where the blue-jay’s flashQuickens shrill and bright;I can sense that the Lord meets me here.

There’s a constant strainFrom the whistle call;As we scale the heightsMaking giants fall;And we swing our steelAnd our chain and maul.And I know that the men test me here.

But the dusk does come,And the campfires burn;And the grub is good,And our thoughts will turnTo the ones at home,And for those we yearn;But for weeks we must still labour here.

Yet another timeThe alarm will sound;That a trunk has split;That a man is downed.And like mother birdsWe all gather ‘round.And I sense they are glad I am here.

Then the Sabbath dayBrings some extra rest;And a few will come,And by that I’m blessed;And we search the Book,And I share Christ’s best;

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For the Lord of the harvest is here.

Oh shantymen sing!In the golden field;In the fishing hull;In the mineshaft’s yield;In the factory’s pulse;Sing of grace revealed;And the joy of the Lord finds us here.

Note: Canada recalls many work situations in which humble servants of the Gospel got into the workplace, rubbed shoulders, earned trust and simply prayed and helped.

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Sycamore

Still standing.Beside the main street.Feeling the pulseOf spring rains, The crown of summer, The testing pullOf autumn storms.Children exploreMy limbs and shelter.Adventurers pass,Out to new possibilities.Some, retracing stepsIn homeward reunion Or retreat.Presently a strange din;One stalwart man And His entourage.Onlookers press in,Curious and hopeful.What's this?Someone scrambles up,Tugs my extremities,Scrapes my bark,Settles,Balancing to watch.Much like the children.(Generations of them.)I serve their purpose.I serve his purpose.Giving the better view.And the Master looks up,My Maker.Issuing the call:

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"Zacchaeus, come down.I will come to your house."

Note: Many a witness accepts rough treatment that others might get a better and redeeming view of Jesus.

Seemed to Pick Her Up Out of the Trouble

Marnie hadn't seen the elderly man until after the collision. Until after she had rear-ended the guy in the pick-up. Until after her teething toddler Jeremy had increased the volume of his bawling threefold. Until after she had sunk her tear-smudged face into the steering wheel.

The old chap had come to her driver's side window: "Not to worry young lady. I saw the whole thing. Stay where you are. Calm your little guy down. My name is Chas. I have phoned for the police. I'm going to get insurance particulars from the guy in the truck. He cut you off. Craziest darn swooping attempt at a right turn that I've ever seen! I'll stick around and give a statement for sure."

And he did just that, giving the odd wave to passing motorists who might have otherwise started the "gawkers block" in traffic.

Who was this guy? He seemed like some sort of guardian angel. His help continued with the arrival of the cruiser and the collecting of information.

"Miss do you have some sort of auto club coverage for the towing. Give 'em a call. I'll try to keep the boy, Jeremy is it, entertained in the interim."

And so things continued with Marnie rapidly regaining composure and a smile,

"Sir I can't thank you enough. You have been a God-send."

"You know that might just be the case, young lady...but don't mention it. The thing just sort of sparked up my afternoon."

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And then he was gone. No details. No phone or address. Consequently no follow-up.

'Yes, he had REALLY been a God-send,' she thought again to herself, as she got into her sister's car.

Friend, you will have experiences in the squeeze where you will know that God has arrived in special kindness, just for you. But it will probably be difficult to convince most others that you have received rescue from above. Do not be discouraged. Do not lose the after-glow of his loving attention. In a mystical way He has spoken to you.

Remember this personal "milestone". He is love.

Glengarry Meeting-House

"Brothers and sisters, it is a delightful day of celebration for us as we dedicate this building. Fifteen months of hard work bringing us to this autumn day in the year of our Lord 1889. Remember all the expenditure of effort -logging, trimming, hauling, milling, framing, caulking, plastering, painting and adorning. You are all to be commended and thanked. No less than twenty-five families from the Township coming together in this fashion. I must also give thanks for the efforts in the assembly which preceded this kirk- the meetings in house, yard and barn over the years. And now, thankfully we have this place of worship. I would also report that in about ten days we should expect our shipment of Psalters from Montreal. So much from me. You know the other brothers seated up here with me: Cameron, Robert and Graham. We are happy to introduce to you on behalf of the district Brother Alistair who brings the morning's message."

With that Stewart took his seat with the three other elders on the platform. A general rumbling, shuffling and clearing of throats followed as the grizzled old visitor rose from the first bench and came forward. There was a surprising spring to his step although the back was significantly stooped. As

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Alistair turned to face the happy congregation, one's attention was instantly taken by the vivid light blue eyes beneath bushy gray brows:

"As some of you know, it was my decision after the death of my dear wife in '85 to leave my pulpit in Kingston and to launch out in itinerant ministry, comforting, reminding and exhorting where possible. I have been able to visit this site on two other occasions and I must say that I did not anticipate such a grand conclusion. You are all to be commended on your fine work. I see that Rufus' leg is coming along well and I remember that week of the accident when it was so seriously in question. God bless you Rufus, and your good wife Dorothy...

May we pray a few minutes together friends? (What followed could only have come from Highland stock. Such articulate giving of thanks. Such beseeching of God's presence and continued mercy. Such warning to the flesh to remain abased in the presence of the Most High. Such intercession for the precious and wandering souls of neighbours down the concession roads. Near weeping. Near laughing. Near visions of the Heavenly City brought close to this lovingly interlocked wooden structure.)

Upon conclusion the speaker turned again to Stewart: "Brother, would you please give me your chair and go down to sit with your Missus and the others." Without speaking another word Alistair raised the bulky chair heavenward, kissed the head of its backrest and quietly placed it on the platform about seven feet to his left.

"Friends may that chair never stray from that location during service. May it never be occupied by any of you. Just a simple unexceptional wooden chair. Henceforth it is reserved for the Lord Jesus. When you look at it you are to be reminded of our Saviour's presence in this place by the Spirit. This Meeting Hall is a place for meeting with Him much more than for meeting with each other. As you arrive may you be able to confirm that your previous days' activities, words and observances have been sweet before Him. If before Him you are convicted of any stumbling, repent of it quickly here on bended knee. Do not hide it. Do not play the hypocrite. Others will understand and get under your need. The Lord is here. He is the One with whom you have to do. His returning smile will be like a dozen sun-rises.

Now in making this adjustment on the platform I realize that I am discommoding one of your elders each service. This is a good thing. Each of

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them should spend service occasionally in the pews. We all know the stuff of which we are made. In need of much searching, humiliation and affliction. Let no man be exalted. I know. I opted for this wandering new life of mine away from the kirk in Kingston because the people were looking too much toward me. I am no mediator. CHRIST IS THE MEDIATOR! I realize that soon you will be selecting one of these four as senior shepherd. It is a good thing that the responsibility be circulated among them to a certain degree. All of these men have farms to work and families to raise. I know from personal acquaintance that as in the case of the deacons in Acts Six all of these brothers are full of the Spirit, but also humble and willing. Pray for them often, that no candle be extinguished in this place.

Now with your permission I would give a few brief thoughts on the lowly ministry and service of Our Lord as portrayed by Paul in the second chapter of his epistle to the dear Philippians...."

Epitaph

It seemed only natural to visit the little sea-side graveyard after having toured the Fishermen's Chapel. From the small hillock, neatly mown and dotted with stones, one could see to the left the quaint village of frame structures and ship-masts and housings at the docks. Straight ahead and to the right spread out the Atlantic like a large blue table-cloth not yet straightened and flattened for guests.

The smell of brine was only moderated by the blossoming trees lining the one side of the yard and occasional fresh bunches of flowers placed lovingly beside marker stones.

The inscriptions were full of the stories of life and families by the sea:

"Martha, loving mother of Nine. Wife to Caleb."

"Samuel, lost in the storm of 1922."

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"Brian, swept overboard on his second outing."

"Pastor Richard, a good shepherd.""Sally, Isaac and Karen, tender plants harvested by cholera."

But one marker to the sea-ward side of the plot was particularly arresting. It suggested perhaps that the departed soul found himself in the village but not necessarily of the village:

SETH PARKER

"I have lived;I have sinned;I have repented; I have died;I rest;I shall rise again;I shall reign with Jesus."

Note: Final marker inscription taken from "Notes in My Bible" by D. L. Moody (Fleming Revell Publishers)

Grounded Eagle

The farmer found it at the headland of his corn acreage next to the woodlot. Apparently it had injured its wing and it looked rather comical hopping around in an effort to stay clear. But in moments when it rested he could not help but admire its streamlined shape, glimmering plumage and penetrating gaze - a golden eagle.

With a make-shift cage he was able to contain it and bring it to the barnyard where it was staked in a semi-shaded area not far from the ducks and chickens. With all the barn cats around, it was not hard to come up with harassed or partially eaten rodents which proved acceptable to the guest.

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The rudimentary dressing and splint appeared to be doing the job and the bird was improving daily. The farmer noticed that the eagle was beating a path to and fro his stake. He would often notice the bird looking skyward as if waiting for something or someone. With the exception of a couple of brief scuffles, the domestic fowl stayed clear of him. They watched and studied how he behaved under his constraints.

After some consultation with his wife, the farmer knew that it was about time to release his stately guest to the wilds. He did have some concern about the transition, so it was agreed that there would be a visit from the Lands and Forests man.

The farmer asked the Ranger about the bird's habits and particularly about the constant pacing and looking up to the skies. This was the Ranger's answer:

"Sir, this is an extraordinary bird of the high skies. He has little business walking afoot with hens. He usually mates for life, and it is likely that on several occasions during the visit his partner passed overhead. At a certain point the free bird would asess whether it was possible to release the other, or whether to kill him. Either way the restrictions upon the beautiful golden visitor would soon be ended."

The farmer pondered these comments as the other drove off with the eagle..."high flyer...meant for the skies...suffering limitations...persevering...by taking up or by death...freed ...restored to his Mate".

1Thessalonians 4:16 For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first:

17 Then we which are alive [and] remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.

This was a story which I heard from Bert Clendenning, a compelling Texas preacher and friend of R.W. Schambach. I thought the imagery was excellent in light of the glorious hope of Christians to be caught up someday with their Lord. But the idea of constantly looking to the skies and having

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little to do with the other occupants of the farm, now gives me concern.

Of course we have been called to be different, and to many we will seem peculiar. We are citizens of heaven, but we must find ways to be of "some earthly good", to rub shoulders with neighbours, if possible to befriend them, and perhaps to see their hope turn skyward.

Rural Charge

Richard arrived ninety minutes early.There had been some difficultyStarting up the old Chev.First frost on the glass.Heater rudely whining At season’s change.

Samantha busy in the backPreparing Communion’s elements.Pew upon pew checkedFor hymnals and print-outs On their mission relief challenge.Bibles waiting, as always.

Truck noise in the lot Announcing Harry, Sam and Art.The hardware store.The dairy farm.The township office.Come to welcome and worship.

Sanctuary lights left off.The early sun brings delights,As it warms the one Stained glass, ChristWith his shouldered lamb

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Back from its wanderings.

Another car arrives With tell-tale tic-a-tic.The two women finally settledUpon harvest treats worthyOf the after-hour.But this year minus Christina.

Art’s Christina…so sudden.He at the piano Sampling a few strains:“Now thank we all our God...”And he was thankfulFor rescue of friends, memories.

Richard reflects on year’s near close.One wedding, funeral, two baby girls.Two farm foreclosures.The awful crash in the fog.County hospital’s new wing.Clothes bundles and books for Haiti.

And what of this morning?Fifty or so would come,Harvests all in. Lands churned, blackened,And ready for sleep.Crows in the final clean-up

Thanksgiving,A wonderful pause,And a weapon, wherein Folk laud their CreatorRegardless.The best yet to come.

PSALM 65

9Thou visitest the earth, and waterest it: thou greatly enrichest it with the

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river of God, which is full of water: thou preparest them corn, when thou hast so provided for it.

10Thou waterest the ridges thereof abundantly: thou settlest the furrows thereof: thou makest it soft with showers: thou blessest the springing thereof.

11Thou crownest the year with thy goodness; and thy paths drop fatness.

12They drop upon the pastures of the wilderness: and the little hills rejoice on every side.

13The pastures are clothed with flocks; the valleys also are covered over with corn; they shout for joy, they also sing.

Only the Shepherd

Such a memorable dayIn the pastures of May,And the brook sparkles

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Just past the green.

And the flock is at restWhere the grazing is best.And the gambollingYoung can be seen.

On a prominent riseWhere the plover oft’ fliesSeated, handsome andStrumming his lyre.

‘Tis the shepherd they seeWith a new melodyWhich the day and the wayHad inspired.

Now the trek had been steepAnd his pace they did keep,Till the luscious uplandsHad been gained.

And the grass was so sweetGlistening under their feet,For the previous nightIt had rained.

Soon with grazing all doneAnd the warm mid-day sun,There were many whoStretched out and slept.

But a few cautious ramsProudly eyeing their lambs,Caught a glimpse of theDark shape which crept.

Oh the wolf had been keenSmoothly agile and lean,As he shadowed the

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Flock in ascent.

And if he had his wayOn this blissful spring dayMany young would beCornered and rent.

But the rams simply eyedTheir sweet singer and guideTo confirm that heSaw the threat there.

And he, taking the slingTo deter the foul thingReassured there wasNo need for care.

(Let us heed this tale wellEre the forces of hellTry to topple ourClimb to the height.

That when Evil comes onThreatening slaughter and wrong,We keep only theShepherd in sight.)

Exit With Conscience Clear

The Son followed two guards up the steps, as the crowd jostled with renewed excitement. His right foot gave him some difficulty. Thanks to nine hours in the "boot". The day was sunny, and his cell-darkened eyes winced in the glare. The sea of faces before and beneath him showed a variety of expressions. Some there to gape with a strange sense of superiority at the coming spectacle of death. Some, from the despised conventicle, who

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lowered their heads 'neath caps and shawls, but made the appearance for show of respect.

The noose was affixed. The Sergeant inquired as to any intended last words from this hillside preacher; also combatant in the struggle against His Majesty's prescribed Church.

"Yes I most gladly speak in loving thanks and confidence toward all-worthy Christ my Saviour. He sees my short inconvenience. He finishes my dwelling near His side. All my springs are in Him. He has heard my heart's prayers for the budding once again of true religion in Scotland; of unharassed assembly; of pleasant discourse between loving shepherd and flock. He will not stay His hand too long. Dragoons' curses and muskets will soon be silenced. I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day..."

The Sergeant motioned to the drummers to commence, so as to drown out the speaker and to heighten the sense of spectacle and deterrent. The noose cinched down. The hood. The final reading of the psalm. The yank of the lever. The rag doll dropped and stopped. The collective gasp.

But also the anguished cry of one senior voice. The Father broke ranks and bolted to the scaffold base. Nearly blinded by tears. With one leap he embraced the midriff of his struggling Son and held, whispering, "Go now, my blessed boy, my champion. Go to Jesus."

The added weight hurried things along.

Song of Ascents

It was just before sun-up on the morning of the Great Feast. Intentionally the traveling men and their sons had camped outside the City after days of adventure, songs, stories and reunion on the pilgrimmage.

Young Caleb rubbed his eyes and stretched out stiff muscles after the sleep

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on the grass. He took a long swig from the water skin and squatted down at his lofty and full view of the City and the ascending arteries to the Temple. It seemed to shimmer in the dawning as if over-eager for sunlight to reveal its brilliance and magnificent design.

Caleb thought of the dusty march and the robust fellowship and anticipation of the men. Laughter. Humming. Rhythmic hand clapping. Names called out in joyful recognition. The pace relentless, but quickened by the good thoughts of what lay ahead.

This morning a solid band of cloud blocked the horizon's distinct line, but brought on, a few moments later, a more surreal rising above the vapour. Caleb could now see many groups of men stirring on other hillsides. This would be his third visit, and to a different feast. The psalms being recited spoke of the troubles and needs of men, the blessings of family, their sense of separation in a pre-occupied world, the all-sufficient power of God, His promise of Messiah and the heart-moving glory of His House.

Not another morning for camp-fires and protracted meals. A few bits of fruit and bread, another swig of water, a pause for the face-anointing of oil, and the march would renew. Oh, the importance of giving their God a worthy house of recognition, learning, petition and praise. Caleb was also recognizing a sense of Spiritual Presence in the camp-site, in the larger scene of the other surrounding hills, in the quickening of his own eager heart. Another entire glorious day for God and His people. In Jerusalem.

Psalm 132 (One of the Songs of Degrees)

1Lord, remember David, and all his afflictions:

2How he sware unto the LORD, and vowed unto the mighty God of Jacob;

3Surely I will not come into the tabernacle of my house, nor go up into my bed;

4I will not give sleep to mine eyes, or slumber to mine eyelids,

5Until I find out a place for the LORD, an habitation for the mighty God of Jacob.

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6Lo, we heard of it at Ephratah: we found it in the fields of the wood.

7We will go into his tabernacles: we will worship at his footstool.

8Arise, O LORD, into thy rest; thou, and the ark of thy strength.

9Let thy priests be clothed with righteousness; and let thy saints shout for joy.

10For thy servant David's sake turn not away the face of thine anointed.

11The LORD hath sworn in truth unto David; he will not turn from it; Of the fruit of thy body will I set upon thy throne.

12If thy children will keep my covenant and my testimony that I shall teach them, their children shall also sit upon thy throne for evermore.

13For the LORD hath chosen Zion; he hath desired it for his habitation.

14This is my rest for ever: here will I dwell; for I have desired it.

15I will abundantly bless her provision: I will satisfy her poor with bread.

16I will also clothe her priests with salvation: and her saints shall shout aloud for joy.

17There will I make the horn of David to bud: I have ordained a lamp for mine anointed.

18His enemies will I clothe with shame: but upon himself shall his crown flourish.

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