by Jonathan
Darkness and grief, shadow and death
The Hope that had been
Sags low without breath
Weak and alone, absorbing the pain
The one who was Love
Endures for my gain
“Forgive them,” he prays,
“Jews, Romans, all!”
Redeeming us from our sins and the fall
“It’s finished!” he yells
For his sons and his daughters
His life and his mission now lead to his slaughter
Giving it all, keeping naught in reserve
The Lamb takes my place
Taking all I deserve
The darkened sun hiding, the women are weeping
The earth loudly cracking, the curtain now ripping
Blood and water are dripping
The death of the Lamb is obscene, but predicted
The fog of great evil begins to be lifted
But first, the end of all things
The son of God dies.
“He left us!” they cry, confused and alone
“Our friend and our brother, terminated by Rome!”
“Our hopes have been broken, our dreams have been pierced.”
Disciples sit trembling, ashamed of their fears
Three quiet days come and go without Word
The King is nowhere and faith seems absurd
But behind the scenes now, the deep magic stirs
The plan before time finds its time and occurs
The broken world groans, the stone starts to move
Rome’s power now fractures, the Light’s breaking through
The splinters that pierced, pierced more than just flesh
They tore holes in despair, pushed back the darkness
Ascended!
Enthroned!
The King wore his crown
Taking authority, striking Death down
Conquering sin, the grave, and all hist’ry
He gave up his life so all souls could see
The dawn of new life and eternity
The Kingdom has come!
The Lamb has been slain
Our sins have been wiped
Along with the stains
The Kingdom has come!
Christ is risen indeed!
Right here and right now, the
Beginning of all things
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You can listen to the poem here.
‘Twas the day before furlough and all through the house,
Everybody was crazy, even the mouse.
With kilograms counted and carry-ons packed,
The dad will get asked, “Can I fit this last sack?”
With Ma on her IG and Pa on his Twitter,
They’ll update their close friends through one last newsletter.
Frazzled and frayed, the start of a furlough,
The family boards early with one last cold Milo.
Onboard entertainment will probably help
Pass the time and the sadness, and the little one’s yelp.
The children will sleep, if they’re any the wiser;
Jet lag comes for all, the great equalizer.
Arrival with greetings and baggage galore!
“Now pick up the kid sleeping on the floor.”
A welcome is waiting at somebody’s house,
Along with green grass and a bed without louse.
Selah
Awakened and rested, two weeks have now passed.
It seems like a dream the term that was last.
No VPNs needed! No guards at the gate!
And Grandma and Grandpa let parents go date.
“Another world that.” They’ll say to each other,
Debriefing and telling it all to the Mother.
Then shopping will start, making up for lost time,
Enjoying the produce and actual lines.
“The stores are so huge!” They’ll gasp and they’ll stammer,
With carts made for tonnage like fridges and jammers.
“All the things in one place?” A small child’s amused;
A TCK so he’s often confused.
The church is so clean, inviting and nice!
It’s also, turns out, surprisingly white.
The parks are amazing and so well maintained;
The trash is discarded and canines restrained.
Folks think that they’re on an extended vacation,
Relaxing and soaking up big adulations.
“Please Father forgive them, they just do not see,
The pressures and burdens of this ministry.”
The family will travel in borrowed van and,
They’ll tell all their stories and hope that you can,
Listen and care some, then get on your knees,
And join them in this work, their Life Overseas.
— Jonathan Trotter
From A Life Overseas
by Jonathan
Would you even like Jesus?
Would you like him if he came into your church and started yelling about houses of prayer? Or would you call him just another angry man?
Would you like him if he told you to sell even some of your stuff and give the proceeds to the poor? Or would you call him a socialist?
Would you like him if he told you to stop sleeping with people you weren’t married to? Or would you call him a legalist?
What if you realized he wasn’t a Republican?
Or a Democrat?
Or white?
Would you like him if you found him crying by himself on a hillside, talking about a rebellious city? Or would you call him an emotional wreck?
I don’t know, would I even like him?
What about the time he let those guys chop up an innocent man’s roof?
Would you like it if he hadn’t planned ahead and all of a sudden asked you to feed a few thousand people?
What would you think when he dozed off during a life-threatening storm?
He is not as tame as we make him, after all.
Would you like him when he let the prostitute get a little too close? Or would you start to wonder about his dedication to purity?
Would you like him when he befriended your political enemy, visiting his house and sharing a meal? Or would that be a red (or blue) line crossed?
You see, we sanitize and sanctify Jesus, stripping him of context and personality, until he looks (we think) like us.
But he’s not like us. Thank God.
So, would you like him?
What if he showed up in your deepest pain and you saw his eyes, red with mercy and compassion? Would you like him then?
What if you heard him cry, “Forgive them!” And you knew he was talking about you? Would you like him then?
Would you run to him, grasping his sleeve for acceptance and love?
He’d let you.
He’d love you.
He’d heal you.
After all, he liked you first.
He’s just a carpenter. A blue-collared day laborer. And he’s the one who builds mountains and stars.
He’s just a carpenter. A townie, a long long ways from cosmopolitan. And he’s the King of kings.
But he’s just a carpenter, uneducated, the son of nobodies. And he’s the dearly loved son of the Father.
The crowds are blind, eyes filled to the brim with scoffing, incredulous. They can’t see beyond their own limiting words.
It is true. He is a carpenter. But he is not just a carpenter. He is so much more.
And by his grace, we are too.
We are not just sinners.
We are not just failures.
We are not just inadequate.
We are loved.
We are saved.
We are sought after and enjoyed by our God.
So when people see us and laugh, saying we’re “just a” whatever, we smile and nod and run to Jesus.
And there we sit among the wood chips, remnants of a Roman cross, and we belly laugh with the Carpenter who saved the world.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jesus left that part of the country and returned with his disciples to Nazareth, his hometown. The next Sabbath he began teaching in the synagogue, and many who heard him were amazed. They asked, “Where did he get all this wisdom and the power to perform such miracles?” Then they scoffed, “He’s just a carpenter, the son of Mary and the brother of James, Joseph, Judas, and Simon. And his sisters live right here among us.” They were deeply offended and refused to believe in him.
Mark 6:1-3
Jonathan & Elizabeth Trotter 