The Truth is...Knowledge does not always equal Understanding

Pontius Pilot, a strange person (to me) in the history of Christ's Passion. What has stood out to me the most about him is the conversation with Christ ( John 18:38 ) when Christ declares who He is (our King) and his purpose ( bring all to Truth in Him). Pilate's response is such a "modern" secular response..."What is truth?". Pilot is searching for a reason not to believe what is before him ( in my humble interpretation) he even goes out to the crowd next in a vain attempt to free Christ and, most notably, absolve his own guilt/sin.
He simply doesn't see the truth... Christ came, Christ Died, Christ rose again to take away our guilt and sin. We can not do it on our own, we cannot define truth outside of God and our place with Him.
No matter how hard we try to reason, debate, or think...it all comes back to Jesus.

Please read the links to the verses. Please pray and wrestle with what Christ is telling you.
As always...please enjoy this poem for what it is ...my gift to you.

Pilot’s Lament

(John 18:28-40, 19:1-16, Mark 15:1-15, Matt 27:11-26, Luke 23:1-25, )

The Truth is…

These backwater religious fools

would have me do the dirty work.

Their power stops at the Temple Door,

So their hands always stay clean.

The Truth is…

I pride myself a judge of men.

I know the weak, the cunning, the faint of heart.

And here stands this man- this carpenter.

No madman boasting delirium

or cowardly pleas.

He speaks with surety of a kingdom unseen

yet as real as the bruises on his face,

real as his mud stained torn clothes.

His gaze steady as a centurion before battle

even as the crowd is whipped up for his blood.

The Truth is…

This man stands before me

with some strange nobility.

Spit, thorns, and mockery

do nothing to his dignity.

The blood of every stripe

on his back

radiating some hidden glory

outshining the humiliation.

The Truth is…

That this man stands before me

As if he had the power

to choose his life

or choose his death.

Can he not hear the crowds’ betrayal?

They choose a terrorist over a teacher.

Can he not see the only truth?

    Of my power and his pain,

    Of his blood and a cross?

Can I not wash my hands of you?

   Innocent pawn,

   Foolish philosopher,

   Only trying

   for some small truth.

I cannot wash my hands of you.

I cannot wash my hands of Truth.

Redeem

Definitions of the word "redeem":

To recover ownership of by paying a specified sum.

2. To pay off (a promissory note, for example).

3. To turn in (coupons, for example) and receive something in exchange.

4. To fulfill (a pledge, for example).

5. To convert into cash: redeem stocks.

6. To set free; rescue or ransom.

7. To save from a state of sinfulness and its consequences. See Synonyms at save¹.

8. To make up for: The low price of the clothes dryer redeems its lack of special features.

9. To restore the honor, worth, or reputation of: You botched the last job but can redeem yourself on this one.

How often in our consumer driven culture do we see or use this term? Redeem this coupon, use this rebate, redeem your ticket, etc. It has such a consumer/monetary meaning based on stuff. Looking at these definitions I am struck at how much we are Redeemed by our Savior. He paid the sin debt, he was turned in, bodily, so we could receive his Spirit in exchange, He fulfilled a pledge of Love, He converted death into life, He rescued us... I could go on.

This a poem I wrote some time ago. I put it in the office mail box of the ladies leading the study at our church as a gift. It is now a gift to you. Love you ... believe you are redeemed in HIM with me. 

Redeemed

I am not my own.

I was never my own.

Like fallow land sold in desperate times

I sold out. I am sold out,

To sin

To pain

            To death

But my Master has returned

He sees not the rocks and sand

But the verdant soil of possibility.

I am bought back for a price.

         Brought back,

prodigal child to my loving father.

I am not my own.

I was never my own.

Yet, I trafficked myself, my life, my love

            Buying my chains

            Kneeling in pain

            Earning only tears

But the High Priest declares the Jubilee

He goes before me

His blood pours forth,

            The chains break.

            Tears wiped clean.

            I stand.

I am bought back,

            brought back.

I am not my own.

I was never my own.

The Ransom is paid --- My Father is here.

I am absolved –My Master has come home

I was never my own,

            But His Child

            Bought Back by His Love

            Brought Back to His Heart

I was never my own

I am bought back

            Brought back

            Free.

Evidence of Things Unseen

     Hebrews 11

New King James Version (NKJV)

By Faith We Understand

11 Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. ² For by it the elders obtained agood testimony.

Evidence of Things Unseen

Fluttering over the stone gray steps,

Haloed in stained glass light,

The church ladies,

wave goodbye.

As I break from their flock,

Reminders of Wednesday night Mass

And Bingo ring out;

They coo and huddle like pigeons.

I walk to my car

Full of Hail Marys

And appropriate remorse.

Fumbling for car keys

I hear his shuffling gait behind me

A brilliant map of veins

crosses his face.

His breath is stained

by stale cigarettes

and a binge.

The mace in my pocket

feels like a slick fist.

His fingers run

through his graying mop of hair.

He then holds out his hands

like a priest, giving benediction,

“He relieves all unnecessary pain.”

He waits for a response,

A patient confessor.

Safe inside the car,

locked doors, I look away.

I wait.

With something like shame

I open the door, thrusting some dollars

into his hands.

I race out of the church parking lot.

I look back.

He is smiling.

The bills fly out of his hands

Like doves.

The Woman at the Well John 4

This is a poem I wrote some time ago based on the passage in John 4 where Jesus meets a Samaritan woman at a well. She shows great faith and evangelism. I invite and encourage you to enjoy the passage Bible gateway John 4. And please enjoy the poem.

The Woman at the Well

John 4

I went to the well at noon.

Nothing filled this empty heart --

Not husbands

Not family

Not the man in my bed right now.

Nothing flows from this shattered jar of clay.

This teacher, this Jew, sees me.

Questions me.

How does he not know?

He can not speak to me,

he must not speak to me.

My ears drink up his words of their own volition.

Living water—

to no longer lug this heavy jar at noon away from prying eyes ,

to no longer feel my sweat raining down in the heat of the day,

so I don’t have the flood of whispered insults.

Living Water –

to never be thirsty again.

HE knows me.

How can he know this,

Secret heart, secret shame?

How does he know I’ve toiled so long

to still be thirsty?

Surely he is the Lord.

He is the LORD.

I am

quenched.

Water from the Rock.

A heart blooming in the desert.

I will not hold back the Flood

His Love

Living Water

for Everyone.