Easter and The Tent of David

It has been on my mind for quite some time to write something about the Tent of David.  Over the past couple of years, from time to time, my mind has wandered to this unique time in the history of Israel where the Ark of the Covenant was housed in a tent that King David pitched presumably on Mount Zion in Jerusalem.

Not much is recorded in scripture about this time in the history of the Ark of the Covenant and I certainly to not claim to be an expert on the matter.  However, there is one thing that has become glaringly obvious to me about David’s Tent that I think is pertinent to today, and Easter seems like a wonderful time to share my observation.  I will leave it to the reader to evaluate it’s significance in their lives.  In order to share my observation and to ask one serious question, we need a quick review of the Tabernacle and the Ark of the Covenant.

For those who aren't familiar with what the Ark of the Covenant is, Britannica.com defines it as: the ornate, gold-plated wooden chest that in biblical times housed the two tablets of the Law given to Moses by God. The Ark rested in the Holy of Holies inside the Tabernacle and the ancient Temple of Jerusalem and was seen only by the high priest of the Israelites on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.

That is, in it’s most simple form, an adequate description of the Ark of the Covenant.

The Tabernacle for the people of Israel was constructed by instructions given to Moses by God when they were led out of captivity in Egypt.  God was coming to live with his people.  Since his people lived in tents, God would live in a tent.  The tent that God would live in was the Tabernacle. 

The Courtyard of the Tabernacle was surrounded by a linen fence.  In the Courtyard a tent was erected and divided into the Holy Place and the Most Holy Place or Holy of Holies. 

The Ark of the Covenant had a lid of solid-gold with covering cherubim called the Mercy Seat.  The Ark and the Mercy Seat were considered the most holy of all of the furnishings and vessels in the Tabernacle, and they were set right in the middle of the Holy of Holies.  To the people of Israel, the Ark of the Covenant represented the manifest presence of God.

God told Moses:

There I will meet with you, and from above the mercy seat, from between the two cherubim that are on the ark of the testimony, I will speak with you about all that I will give you in commandment for the people of Israel. Exodus 25:22 (ESV)

In order to appreciate the magnitude of this I quote from David Hyde’s book, “God in Our Midst.”

“Here is such a mind-blowing idea about the God of the Bible that we have to pause for a moment. The eternal God who is not constrained by the existence of time, the infinite God who is not bound by the constraints of space, the transcendent God who dwells above and beyond all time and space, and the immense God who fills all time and space condescended to the weakness of His people and became manifest for their benefit in one locale. This God is not bound by time, but He bound Himself to the time-bound experience of His people. This God is not bound by space, but He bound Himself to this box. He is above all creational constraints, but He bound Himself to them. He is everywhere, but He was there.”

As mentioned above, the high priest was permitted to enter the Holy of Holies and stand before the Ark of the Covenant and the Mercy Seat once a year on the Day of Atonement.  Very specific sacrifices had to be made and God directed rituals had to take place for the High Priest to enter the Holy of Holies to make atonement for the sins of the people.  On occasion God would have them take the Ark to lead them into battle and the Ark would lead them across the Jordan River into the land that God had promised them.

For our purposes, in discussing the Tent of David, that will serve as a very primary description of the Ark of the Covenant.  Exodus 25 to the end of the book provides a detailed description of the Tabernacle and the Ark of the Covenant.

The Ark of the Covenant with it’s surrounding Tabernacle was the center of every encampment of the people of God for the forty years they wandered through the wilderness.  It would lead them through their conquest of Canaan, the land God had promised them, and eventually ended up in Shiloh.  Through it all, daily sacrifices were offered, the rituals and festivals God had given them were observed and, every year, the High Priest would enter the Holy of Holies and stand before the Ark of the Covenant to obtain forgiveness for the people and the nation.

As Israel conquered the land God had promised them, the Tabernacle was eventually set up in Shiloh.  It remained there for 370 years through the era of the Judges of Israel.  Festivals were celebrated there.  Daily sacrifices were offered, rituals were observed and one time every year the High Priest would go into the Holy of Holies, stand before the Ark of the Covenant of offer sacrifices for the sins of the people.

Things changed when the second to last Judge of Israel, Eli, was serving as the High Priest in Shiloh.  It can be read about beginning in 1 Samuel 4, but here are the highlights.

1)    The Philistines were defeating Israel in battle.  The sons of Eli foolishly decided to take the Ark into combat with them.  Israel was soundly defeated, Eli’s son’s were killed and the Ark of the Covenant was captured by the Philistines

 2) The Philistines put the Ark in the temple of their god Dagon.  Every morning, they would find Dagon falling on it’s face before the Ark of the Covenant.  God also began pouring out judgements on the Philistines until they finally sent the Ark back to Israel  (1 Samuel 5-6)

3)    The Ark of the Covenant ended up at Kiriath-jearim for the next twenty years.  (1 Samuel 7)  . 

4)    Saul became King in Israel.  Neither he nor the priests ever reunited the Ark of the Covenant with the Tabernacle or it’s home in the Holy of Holies.

When David became king in Israel, the Tabernacle had been moved to the high place of Gibeon, about five miles from Jerusalem, and the Ark of the Covenant remained at Kiriath-jearim.  The first thing David did after becoming king was to retrieve the Ark of the Covenant.  (2 Samuel 6) 

King David, this man after God’s heart, did an amazing thing when he went to get the Ark of the Covenant. It would have made sense to either return the Ark to the Holy of Holies in the Tabernacle in Gibeon or to bring the Tabernacle to Jerusalem.  But King David did neither.  David pitched a tent outside of his house on Mount Zion in Jerusalem and put the Ark of the Covenant, the manifest presence of God, in that tent.

Indeed, David offered sacrifices as he brought the Ark there, he offered a sacrifice when he got it there, but for the next forty years, as long as David was king, the manifest presence of God sat in a tent without even one sacrifice being offered.  The daily sacrifices were not offered, the rituals God ordained for anyone to be in the presence of God were not followed, and the Ark with the Mercy Seat with the golden cherubim between which the presence of God dwelt was in a tent open for all who would come.  All who entered could gaze with unveiled face at the glory of the Lord, and God did not strike anyone dead..

To be sure, David did not treat this flippantly.  He did not wander into the tent, sit down and put his feet on the Ark and joke around with his friends.

King David commanded Asaph, who would become the author of many of the Psalms, along with 288 specifically trained singers and musicians to worship the Lord before the Ark day and night. (1 Chronicles 16:37, 25:6-7)  The number ultimately grew to 4,000 individuals whose sole responsibility was to worship the Lord twenty-four hours a day every day..  (1 Chronicles 23:5) 

Many scholars believe that the majority of the Psalms were originally sung as prophetic songs in the Tent of David.  Many assume that David and Asaph wrote many of the Psalms as they sat or stood or bowed before the presence of the Lord in the tent.

I submit that King David was in the tent  when he wrote Psalm 61.

 Hear my cry, O God, listen to my prayer;  from the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is faint. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy.

Let me dwell in your tent forever! Let me take refuge under the shelter of your wings! Selah

David was standing in the tent, before the Ark of the Covenant, and gazing at the cherubim above the Mercy Seat.  He was in the presence of the Lord, bathed intimately in the glory of God, and just did not want to leave.  He wanted to stay there forever knowing that his only shelter was the One who dwelt between the wings of the cherubim. The Lord God Almighty!

I have written these things, not to teach about the Tabernacle or the Ark of the Covenant, but to draw a stark distinction between the Tent of David (David’s Tent, Tabernacle of David) and the Tabernacle sitting in Gibeon.

In David’s Tent, there was unrestrained praise, worship, adoration, celebration, fellowship and complete intimacy with the Lord, the God of creation.  At the Tabernacle there was sacrifice, rituals, practices and traditions meant to appease a God who no longer inhabited the Holy of Holies.  The glory of God was in a tent David pitched and the people stood before it adoring the beauty of the glory of the Lord.

Solomon would later build a temple.  The Ark of the Covenant would be placed back into the Holy of Holies.  The practices of the Tabernacle of Moses would be moved to the temple and the High Priest would enter the Holy of Holies once every year and stand before the Ark of the Covenant and offer atonement for the sins of the people.

The prophet Amos said in Amos 9:11

"In that day I will restore David's fallen tent. I will repair its broken places, restore its ruins, and build it as it used to be,

Why, in this restoration process, does God choose to restore the Tent of David?  Why not the Tabernacle of Moses?  Why didn’t God say he would restore Solomon’s temple?  Solomon’s temple was enormous and extravagant.  It’s splendor far exceeded that of David’s Tent.

In the early church, James would quote that scripture in the discussion as to what restrictions should be put on Gentile believers.

There are numerous thoughts on what exactly Amos meant when that was written and they vary from the millennial reign of Christ to a time when music will be central to ushering in a new era of the church.

I do not know the answer to that debate, but I do think a big step was taken in restoring David’s Tent when the Savior, Jesus Christ, died on that cross.

And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit. 

And behold, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And the earth shook, and the rocks were split. Matthew 27:50-51 (ESV)

The curtain blocked the entrance to the Holy of Holies.  The tearing of the veil was a visual demonstration that the way into the Lord’s presence was now open to all through a new and living way.  It was, at the very least, a step toward the Tent of David being restored.

Believer, I have written this that you might ask yourself a question that I have been forced to ask myself as I have considered the Tent of David.

What does your worship, your praise, your closeness to our Lord most resemble?  Does your intimacy with the Father and with the Lord Jesus more resemble the Tent of David or the Tabernacle in Gibeon? 

Like King David, do you sit in his presence, beholding his beauty until you reach the point of never wanting to leave.  The point of saying, “I don’t want to leave this place.  Let me stay right here forever.  You are my fortress, my protection and my stronghold.  Hold me firmly in the shelter of your wings.”  Is it affectionate, intimate, uplifting and God glorifying?  Or is it more like the work, routine and ritualistic forms of service that were taking place in a Tabernacle empty of the manifest presence of God.

Believer, our Lord poured his love out for you through the agony of the cross and the victory of the resurrection.  If you ever doubt the depth of that love, read Romans 8 over and over until it seeps deep in your soul. Concentrate on the truth of that last few verses.

Through that cross you are a beloved child of the King.  You have become a temple of the Living God.  Christ is in you and you are in Him.  You are, in some unfathomable way, seated with Him in heavenly places. That same power that slipped into that tomb and raised Jesus from the dead now indwells you.

Given all that let me ask you this. Does your prayer life, worship life, study life, and daily fellowship with the Creator and sustainer of all things more resemble the intimacy of David’s Tent or the ritualistic work of the Tabernacle?

I am not saying that every day should be a party of praise in the presence of the Lord.  Read David’s Psalms. Sometimes there was deep despair.  Sometimes doubts and questioning.  Sometimes he was flying high and other times his emotions were as low as they could be.  I am not talking about how you are feeling when you go before the Lord, but I am asking if you are growing in intimacy as you pour your heart out to the One who cares deeply for you.  Are you experiencing the intimacy of David’s tent or going through the ritual’s of the Tabernacle?

In my mind, I have drawn a circle around the alter in my office and asked the Holy Spirit to make my times in that space more and more like the intimacy that flowed through the fellowship in David’s Tent.  I am asking that every space I seek Him in, even in times of fear, doubt and questioning, be like the closeness and affection that was the hall mark of David’s Tent.

Believer, we need this now.  We need it today.  Evil is growing every day and the enemy is boldly attacking where in the past his schemes were so much more subtle. We need believers, wherever they are praying or worshiping or seeking the Lord, to ask the Spirit of the living God to begin to begin to rebuild the walls of David’s Tent in that space. Ask him to fill it with increasing intimacy between the worshiper and the only true God who alone is worthy of all glory, praise and honor.

Abba, this Easter lead me, lead your people, your true church, to the freedom, the openness, the worship and the intimacy that the man after your own heart experienced as he sat in your presence in that very special tent.  Revive us there dear Lord, that we might be revived. Begin to rebuild the fallen walls of the Tent of David in these people who are members of your New Covenant church that your Holy Spirit might soar and that an unbelieving world might be drawn to the beauty and salvation of Christ Jesus.  Show them your glory Lord.   

Have a wonderful Easter!

 

 

 

 

 

 

And The Word Became Flesh

Rough, calloused hands slowly smoothed the edges of a graying beard as the aged fisherman stared into the distance. Visions of the life he had lived made their way through his mind as he contemplated what needed to be written. Even now, he could feel the rocking of the boat, and the spray from the sea when, as a young man, he threw the nets over the side. Just as all those generations before him, his future and living lay beneath the blue waters of the sea of Galilee. And, with that, the man named John would have been content, for he would have known nothing else.

How vividly he remembered the day he sat in his father's boat going through the tedious motions of repairing weathered nets. A shout from the shore drew his attention from his work. What was it about the man who called that caused the fisherman to lay the torn net in the bow and draw the boat to shore? What was it in the words, "Follow me," that made him leave the only livelihood he had ever known to follow the man with the gentle smile, and compassion filled eyes"

Unsure as to whether he would be able to put into words what it was about this man that had caused him to turn from the sea and his nets, John pondered what to write as he continued to gaze at the horizon. Finally, realizing that there were no adequate words to describe the nature of the man who had called from the shore all those years before, the uneducated man of the sea began to write.

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God...."

"...And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we saw his glory, glory as of the only begotten from the father, full of grace and truth."

Profoundly deep. Poetically beautiful. Utterly astonishing. All from the hand of the fisherman with no formal education who heard the words, "Follow me," and followed. As profound....and beautiful....and astonishing as John's words are, they still cannot capture the glorious magnitude of the Logos of God taking on the flesh of man. God had walked in the Garden of Eden with Adam, he had pitched a tent with the people of Israel, but now he had taken on the actual form of the most precious of his creation. God had become one of us.

"....And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us..."

People have struggled, trying to wrap human minds around the concept of these words ever since a virgin gave birth to the child who would reconcile the Creator and his creation. The shepherds wondered at the words of the angels announcing the birth of the Messiah. The magi steadfastly followed a star pointing them toward the child, and humbly knelt before him wondering about the meaning of his birth. Herod's wonder became an obsession resulting in the death of every child in Israel who was under the age of two.

"...And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us..." The words penned by John, the fisherman turned disciple, have been a challenge to every person of every generation who has heard the name. Who was that child? What was so special about the man he became?

As one of those people, in a much removed generation, I have been challenged by the wonder of the man who claimed to be God. I know that he always was....that he is....and that he always will be. I certainly don't understand it, but I know it. What I do understand, however, is who this, "Word that became flesh," has become to me and, perhaps more importantly, who he is to me at this moment.

Manna was amazing stuff. For the people of Israel, wandering through a barren wilderness, it was their sustenance. Manna would become to them whatever they needed. When they needed protein, it became protein. When they needed carbohydrates, it became carbohydrates. When they needed vitamins, it became vitamins. God's people, working their way to the promised land, saw this white wafer like substance, which became to them whatever they needed on their journey and said, "Manna," which is basically the Hebrew word for, "What in the world is it."

"...The Word became flesh and dwelt among us," and the world says, "Manna....What in the world is it." Christ would later tell his disciples that he was the true bread that comes down from heaven....that he was the true heavenly manna. And that is exactly who I have found him to be. I consider him...I look at him, and contemplate the awesomeness of the Logos of God walking, breathing and living in a body like mine and I say, "Manna....What in the world is it?" It is certainly more than anything my mind can begin to absorb or even vaguely comprehend.

But then I walk with him, I fellowship with him and I begin to get a taste of the heavenly manna the Father placed in that manger over two thousand years ago. As I wander through the wilderness, making my way toward the promised land, I find that this manna becomes exactly what I need for each step of the journey. When I need peace, it becomes peace. When I need joy, it becomes joy. When I am without hope, it gives me hope. When I lose my direction, it points me toward home. And, with each taste I find an abundance of grace... and mercy...and forgiveness. When I break myself, this manna fixes me. It is everything I need to sustain me on the journey.

Christmas is as profound...and beautiful...and as astonishing as the old fisherman put into words. But it is also as simple as a Creator coming to his creation and saying, "You're broken, and I'm going to fix you." It's what this Word that became flesh does...and he does it perfectly...he fixes broken people.

 

The Incarnation

Christmas 2021

I have taken several readings and, by every indicator, I am a man in need of grace. More to the point, even by the lowest standard.....(And, sadly, a God who is perfect in His perfection, never uses the lowest standard)....I have come to understand that I am in desperate need of God's unfathomable sustaining grace.

Perhaps that is why, in a life checkered with limited success and tremendous failure, I find myself irresistibly drawn to the attribute of God for which I feel the greatest need. His glorious, sacrificial, unimaginable, incomprehensible grace. It is, I believe, the reason for my deep appreciation of the love and grace poured out at the Incarnation.

"The Word became flesh and dwelt among us..."

There has never been, in my opinion, a sentence ever written or uttered more pregnant in richness and depth than this one penned by a rugged, old fisherman who could boast of no formal education. Never have eight words described the eternal being drawn into time, or perfection placed in the midst of imperfection, or the explosive power of creation silently placed into the hands of powerless man, than these eight words.

"The Word became flesh and dwelt among us..."

Creation adored Him, a star shadowed Him, shepherds worshiped Him, wise men sought Him, the angels bowed in holy wonder, and the Father was pleased. In that instant, God had not only pitched his tent among men, but the tent was flesh and bone, with a face and arms and legs. The tent was a baby, and the all-sustaining God was in the tent. All of God's love, all of His grace, and His majesty, and His holiness, wrapped in a helpless little baby.

"The Word became flesh and dwelt among us..."

To be clear, it wasn't an act of desperation to save His fallen creation, but an outflow of the very nature of a loving Father. It wasn't a change of plan on the part of the Creator, but a moment destined in eternity, welling up from the core of everything that is divine. It bridged the beginning and end of time with all that is eternal. It touched creation, for the furthest star felt it's impact, and the tiniest atom shook at it's significance. It submerged humanity in love and grace. Even with it's unfathomable scope and magnitude, and despite it encompassing every possible dimension, it was extremely personal.

"The Word became flesh and dwelt among us..."

It was extremely personal. It did not happen for those who are without sin, for they have no need of grace. It did not happen for those who need to be touched by grace on the rare occasion, for they do not comprehend the extent of their sinfulness. But it happened for those who realize the need for rivers of grace. Not just a sprinkling of grace. Not just a spattering of grace. But extravagant, exorbitant, enormously overflowing rivers of grace.

And that would be me, and it's why I love the Incarnation.

So, celebrate Christmas....but take some time to bow in worshipful adoration at the wonder of the Incarnation.

Have a wonderful, fruitful and blessed 2022.

By Grace Alone with Love,

Jim and Jacquie

 

Easter: When Jesus Whispers Your Name

Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark, and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb.  John 20:1 (ESV)

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb.   And she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet.  They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”  Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus.  

Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”  Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means Teacher).   John 20:11-16 (ESV)

The walk to the tomb on that first Easter morning was certainly a painful one for Mary Magdalene.  The trauma of watching her teacher, her confidant, and her friend brutally beaten and nailed to a cross must have been continually running through her mind.  She had believed him to be the Messiah, the redeemer of Israel, and now his battered body lay rotting in the tomb she slowly walked toward. Her teacher was gone, the future she had envisioned lay in ruins, and she moved with a hopelessness that enveloped her entire being.

She had helped prepare his body as they hastily placed it in the borrowed burial chamber as the sun was setting on that terrible Friday.  The memory of making her way back into Jerusalem as that day ended was nonexistent, but the thought of washing her friend’s blood from her body and clothes was vivid.  Blood that had dropped on her as she stood beneath the cross.  Blood from caring for the body.  

Sleep did not come that night as she heard, again, the spikes being driven into his hands and feet.  Over and over, her thoughts went to the few words he spoke as he suffered at the hands of those brutal men.  She could picture the absolute agony as he would push himself up to grasp the air he needed to speak those words.  She remembered the cold darkness that covered the land for the last hours of Jesus’ life, as well as the terror they all felt when the earth shook.

  

As she walked, in the distance she could see Golgotha, the hill on which Jesus had breathed his last.  Her mind went to the awe she felt as Jesus had pushed himself up on the cross one last time, gasped for air, and looking toward heaven spoke the words, “It is finished,” as he exhaled his final breath.  She was still amazed at the power and sense of victory that were expressed in those three words from the last breath of a dying man.

Even as she was some distance from the tomb, she could see that something was wrong.  The stone that had been pushed over the opening was moved to the side.  She walked faster, then began to run until she stood outside of the place where they had laid him. With a quick glance she could see that Jesus was no longer there.

In grief, thinking that the body had been stolen, she hurried to tell Peter and the other disciples.  She followed Peter and John as they ran to the tomb, saw that it truly was empty, and turned around to go home.  

Mary could not make herself leave.  Her grief poured over as she stood outside of the empty tomb, weeping with a sorrow greater than any she had ever felt.

What follows is beautiful.  

In the midst of this tremendous heartache and sorrow, Mary turned and saw Jesus.  And it is this part of the resurrection story that has been on my heart this Easter.  Mary turned and saw Jesus, but she didn’t realize that it is Jesus.  She thought that he was the gardener. 

This woman, who had followed Jesus for three years, did not recognize him.  Perhaps Jesus looked different in his resurrected body.  Maybe, since she had seen him die such a horrific death, and had helped place his lifeless body into the tomb, her mind could not reconcile itself to Jesus being alive.  Or, it may have been that in the depth of the agony and the misery of the despair she was feeling, she was not able to recognize him.

I don’t know.  But I do know, that she recognized Jesus when he spoke her name.  Let me emphasize that, Mary recognized Jesus when he spoke her name.  Jesus said, “Mary, it’s me.”  And, with those words, she knew it was her Messiah.  In that instant, her grief lifted, despair fled, sorrow turned to joy, and her life had meaning again.

When Jesus whispered her name, hopelessness was gone, the tears were wiped away, and the darkest of nights gave way to a glorious new day.

In considering Mary Magdalene’s Easter encounter with Jesus I am reminded of the words that Jesus spoke to his disciples.

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.  I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.  My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand.   John 10:27-29 (ESV)

“My sheep hear my voice and I know them.”  In her despair, Mary did not recognize Jesus.  But Jesus recognized her.  Jesus knew her.  And when he whispered her name, she heard it, and she recognized that it was Jesus.  When he whispered her name, anguished desperation bowed the knee to the resurrected Savior.  When he whispered her name the darkness, gloom and misery turned to exceedingly overflowing joy.

Friend, I don’t know what you are facing this morning.  Anxiety about the whole COVID-19 pandemic.  Maybe you are without a job, and are concerned about your finances.  Perhaps it is fear for your health or your family’s health.  It could be that despair has blinded you, that misery is your constant companion, or that dread has darkened your soul.  Like Mary, maybe you feel confused and isolated and alone.  It could be because of the coronavirus, or it could just be because life is confusing and hard at times.   

Maybe everything you are feeling, and everything you are walking through has, for the moment, eclipsed the face of Jesus.  It could be that nothing makes sense, and you just cannot see him or recognize him moving in your life right now.

But let me give you a truth as you consider the joy of Easter, and remember the resurrection of Jesus from the grave.

Even when times are dark, and Jesus seems distant.  Those times when the nights seem so very long, and dawn seems so far away.  Even in the seasons when you cannot feel his hand or recognize the grace he has poured out on your life.

Even in those times….Jesus still knows your name….and Jesus is whispering your name.  Quiet your racing thoughts.  Slow down your rushing mind.  Find the place where, in the solitude, you can hear him whisper your name.  And allow him to turn the darkness, gloom and misery you may be walking through into exceedingly, overflowing joy. 

This Easter, allow him to force your anguished desperation to bow the knee to the resurrected Savior.  The Savior who knows you, and is whispering your name.

 

A Christmas Rose

 

I wrote this several years ago, but thought of it today...and thought I would post it again.

In the midst of a most trying year....I wish you a most blessed Christmas....

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As dogs go, he wasn't much of one.  Part Newfoundland Hound, part Springer Spaniel, and all ugly.  And, sadly, by any standard, he wasn't smart, but he had a smile that the little boy loved.  For as long as the boy could remember...nine years to be exact...the two had been inseparable.  The dog adored the boy, the boy loved the dog and,  until this Christmas, life had been good for both of then.

When the boy's father was drinking, which was often, he had a tendency to become a theologian of sorts.  He had a particular fondness for the prophets of the Old Testament and two hours after his birth, as his father was toasting the happy occasion for the sixth time, he decided on a name.  On the birth certificate, the boy's name was listed as Amos Ezekiel, but since his mother did not have quite the same regard for the prophets as his father, everyone called him Bud.

Standing outside the flower shop window, the dog watched the boy as he admired the roses through the glass.  With his hand on the shaggy, black head, Bud pictured himself walking to his mother's bed and laying the flowers in her hand.  He only needed two...maybe three.  It would make her Christmas so special and yet, the price was so much more than the few quarters jingling in his pocket.

There had been a time when he simply would have asked his mother for the money and she would have given it to him without much of a thought.  That was before his father had left, and it was before the cost of medication and treatment for his mother had swallowed what little money they had.  So, it was the dog, the boy, and his mother....and he had overheard the doctor tell his mother that this would likely be her last Christmas.

Running his hand through the dog's thick coat, Bud tried to envision life without his mother.  The thought brought tears to his eyes, but he had to stay strong, for he was the man of the family now.  His mother had told him that many times, and he tried to be brave, but Christmas without his mother....well, he just couldn't imagine it.  If this proved to be her last Christmas, he wanted to make it a good one.  The flowers would help, for his mother loved roses, but they were a luxury, and one thing they couldn't afford this year was luxury.

Using his coat sleeve to wipe the tears welling in his eyes, Bud took one more look at the flowers, and slowly walked on with the gray muzzled dog a step behind.  He glanced back, and the dog was looking at him with his tongue hanging out, displaying his typical lopsided grin.  The grin usually brought a warm feeling to Bud, but on this day before Christmas, even his dog's grin could not stop the cold fear growing in him.

The boy and the dog walked to the end of the block, crossed the road, and sat on the bench facing the Cathedral garden.  It was a small but beautiful garden, and a place where Bud would often come when he needed time alone.  The dog sat with his head on the boy's lap, as the boy gently rubbed the graying nose.  His eyes followed families rushing to finish their Christmas shopping, and people entering the Cathedral to prepare for the evening service.  But in his mind, he saw the roses in his mother's hand....only two or three....and they would make his mother so happy, for she loved roses.

A woman plopped down on the bench next to him.  She was the choir director from the Cathedral and Bud could tell that she was angry.  "Two months," she mumbled, partly to herself and partly to the boy.  "We've worked on it for two months, and they still can't get it right...it will be a disaster!  The tenors are tone deaf, the altos can't count, and the soloist is working up a great case of laryngitis.  This is the last year I'll ever do this."

"I'm sorry," said the boy, for he knew nothing about choirs and really didn't know what else to say.  "I'm sure it will go well." 

"There's no possible was that it's going to go well!" the lady almost shouted.  "Christmas will be ruined and I'll never be able to show my face in that church again."  With a sigh, she lifted herself from the bench and started back toward the building.  As an afterthought, she turned to the boy and said, "Have a good Christmas, young man."

Bud forced a weak smile and watched her walk away, but in his mind he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses....only two or three...and they would make her so very happy, for she loved roses. 

"It's going to be the worst sermon I've ever preached!"  the larger of the two approaching men shouted in a loud baritone voice.  He was addressing the chairman of the deacon's board and the two had stopped at the street corner next to the garden bench.  "I just haven't had time to work on it, and it reads like a bad novel.  It'll be a catastrophe!  Maybe I need a vacation." 

"I'm sure it will be just fine, pastor," came the reply.  "What really worries me is the music.  Have you heard that choir?  And even worse, Viola misses half the notes when she sings, 'What Child is This?'  She used to have such a wonderful voice, but she should have stopped singing years ago."

For the first time, they noticed Bud.  "Smile, my boy, it's Christmas Eve!"  boomed the pastor.  "Why are you sitting here with that glum look?  You should be home with your family."

"I'm a little sad," said the boy as he looked away from the men and down at his dog, "My mother's not feeling well," was all he could say. 

"Why don't you and your mom come to our Christmas Eve service tonight?" offered the deacon.  "It might cheer you up."

"Splendid idea," said the pastor, as he reached into his coat pocket for a flyer.  "All the information is on here," he said as handed the paper to Bud.  "Now, I really must get to work on my sermon."

"And I need to pick up a few things before the stores close," added the deacon as they hurried away in opposite directions.

The flyer slipped from the boy's listless fingers and settled in the snow.  He barely felt the dog lick his chin.  In his mind, he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses...only two or three...and they would make her so happy....for she loved roses.

Two women walked from the church and crossed the road.  "The tree started to die a week ago.  There will only be brown needles left by tonight," one whispered to the other, as they waited at the corner.  "And have you ever seen such pathetic looking wreaths?" 

"I told you they started decorating too early," came the reply.  "The whole thing was poorly planned from the beginning.  Well, I'm tired of telling them.  Just let them be embarrassed tonight.  We'll be a laughingstock, but maybe they'll do it right next year.  If I wasn't so busy, I'd do it myself!"

A whine from the dog, drew their attention to the boy.  Bud was absentmindedly scratching behind the dog's ear, and the dog loved it.  He whined again, completely content with life.

"What a cute dog," the lady lied.  "But shouldn't you be home getting ready to open your presents?  All you kids seem to think about these days is what you'll get for Christmas.  You've lost sight of what the season is all about."

Bud sat quietly, staring at his hands.  He hadn't even thought of what he might get, but he did know that it wouldn't be much.  Before he could say anything, the woman was digging through her purse.  "Here," she said, handing him a tract she had pulled from the bag.  "This explains what Christmas really means."

"Thanks," was all the boy had a chance to say before the women hurried across the road.  Bud read the title, "Putting Christ Back Into Christmas," but he couldn't get much further.  He just didn't feel like reading.  The tract soon found a place next to the flyer.  In his mind, he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses...only two or three...and they would make her so happy, for she loved roses.

A man in an expensive suit hurried across the road and collapsed on the end of the bench.  "Two months," he almost shouted at the startled boy.  "For two months we've been shopping...we have dolls, doll houses, doll dresses, and doll cars....we have board games, computer games, a play station, and clothes....we can barely walk through our bedroom.  And this afternoon, the brat decides she wants a puppy for Christmas.  A puppy!  My wife chases me out of the house and tells me not to come back without a puppy.  Why am I telling you this?  You're just a kid and all you kids are just alike....spoiled rotten and always after something for nothing."

Bud looked at the grinning dog on the ground next to him.  An uncomfortable thought was inching its way into his mind, and it kept advancing, regardless of how hard he tried to push it back.  He stared at the stupid, lopsided smile, but all he saw were the roses...the roses in his mother's hand.  Oh, how his mother loved roses, and he only needed two or three.

"Mister," the boy's voice was barely audible, as he kept his eyes on the ground away from the dog.  "I'll sell you my dog."

Laughter burst from the man and the belly beneath the expensive suit jiggled.  "Son, I appreciate the offer, and I'm sure he's a fine animal, but if I brought that mutt home, my wife would divorce me."  He looked at the dog and giggled again.  "Where can I find a puppy on the day before Christmas?" he spoke to himself as he stood and began to walk away.  "Have a merry Christmas, kid."

Bud was ready to go home, but the dog had climbed up with him, and was sleeping soundly with his head in the boy's lap.  Just as he was about to wake him and leave, an old man staggered across the road and dropped unceremoniously onto the bench.  Fumes of whiskey enveloped the area as the ragged man shouted with a smile, "Merry Christmas, youngster," and gave him a slap on the leg.  The drunk ran his hand through the thick hair of the sleeping animal and told the boy that he had a unique looking dog.  "What do you make him out to be?"  he questioned.

"I guess he's pretty much of a mutt," the boy answered.  "But over the years, I've grown kind of fond of him."  The dog was dreaming and his grin grew even more goofy and lopsided.  Bud rubbed the nose as he had so many times over the years.  Again he saw the roses in the hand of his mother, and almost without thinking, he turned to the man, "Mister, I'll sell him to you for six dollars.

"Now, why would you want to sell a fine dog like that for six dollars?"

The question caused words to flow from Bud like they had never flowed before.  He told the inebriate about his mother...about her illness....about the roses, and his mother's love of roses.

When the boy had finished, the gray haired old man had a far away look in his eye.  Somehow, through his alcohol muddled mind, he had traveled back more than half a century.  Clearly, he saw his mother and he saw a child handing the woman a small bouquet of wild flowers.  He recognized the child as himself, before the world had beaten him into the man he was today, living from drink to drink, waiting only for death to remove the pain.

His hand went to his pocket and he felt the well worn ten dollar bill he had hoarded to buy the whiskey that would make Christmas Eve and Christmas Day bearable, or at least help him sleep through it.  He looked at the dog, then at the boy, and he saw himself all those years ago.

Standing slowly, and with much effort, the grizzled old man took the bill from his pocket and laid it on the bench.  "Keep the dog," was all he said, as he slowly walked away.  Bud jumped to his feet startling the dog.  The boy grabbed the bill, and ran after the retreating figure.  When he caught up to him, the old man smiled through the tears in his eyes, "You'd better get to the flower shop before it closes."

In his joy, the boy hugged the old man and turned toward the store.  The man watched him go.  "Kids nowadays," he said to himself as he turned toward his little shack on the edge of town.

Bud raced into the house with the grinning dog close behind him and three beautiful roses in his hand.  Slowly he walked to his mother's room, looked inside, and made his way to the side of the bed.  Her eyes opened slowly, and a smile crossed her face as she saw her son place the roses on her arm.  She was to weak to speak but the smile, and the tears slowly moving down her cheek told Bud that his gift had touched her.  He went to the other side of the bed, crawled in next to her, and held her hand.  As he began to doze, he dreampt that the hand would always be there for him to hold.  The peacefulness of the dream shattered when his eyes slowly opened.   To him, she had always been the most beautiful woman in the world, and in death she remained so.  While he had slept, she had pulled the roses onto her chest, close to her face as if to catch their fragrance.  Her other arm was around Bud's shoulder, pulling him close.  As he looked at her, through his tears, he pushed a wayward strand of hair back into place.  He kissed her cool forehead and let the tears flow freely.  The dog put his head on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the boy, and for the first time the boy could remember, the stupid grin was gone.  In the background he heard the gentle music from the radio, "So this is Christmas....and what have you done...another year over....and a new one's begun..."

On the edge of town, the old man lay under his blanket on a small, rickety bed.  He was starting to shake as his body demanded whiskey that he could not supply, and he knew it was just the beginning.  The night would be a sleepless one and Christmas Day would be dreadfully long, but he remembered the joy on the kid's face and had no regrets.

In another house, closer to the center of town, a little girl had brought two months of shopping to an end in fifteen minutes.  Wrapping paper and half used toys were scattered everywhere.  The mother carried the little girl to bed while the father went to the kitchen to make a place for the puppy.  It would be a long night for him as well.

As the Cathedral bells chimed, people began to file from the church.  It had been an extraordinary service, by all accounts.  The pastor had preached one of his best sermons in years, and was receiving the congratulations due him.  The choir absolutely brought the music to life, and even Viola sounded twenty years younger.  In the candlelight, the oldest members had to agree that the setting was the most beautiful they had ever seen in the church.  It had been a most memorable Christmas indeed.

On the first Christmas Eve, a young woman prepared to give birth to the greatest thing to ever set foot on this spinning pile of dirt. The Creator God, wrapped in human flesh and taking human form would step from eternity into time.  The Creator touching his creation.  Some two thousand years later, as pastors preached, choirs sang, and gifts were exchanged, that same Creator was still touching his creation.  He was gently wrapping his arms around a little boy....a boy holding three beautiful roses and hugging an ugly dog, as they sat through the darkest of nights.  And, perhaps to the dismay of some of the more religious, He was also in a lonely shack on the edge of town, sitting close to the bed of a shaky old man who had given a few moments of Christmas joy to a young stranger.