Can You Imagine? I Played the Flute for You.

“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, but you were not willing!” Luke 13:34

The Reverend Edward Payson, who lived and pastored a church in Portland, Maine during the 19th century, wrote (and I paraphrase) that when reading Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, you should take each selected passage that you read and imagine what it was like to be with Jesus at that time. Inasmuch as the Christian is indwelled with the Holy Spirit, it is reasonable and promised that His presence would aid us and bring to life what our Lord and His disciples felt on each occasion. Our ponderings of such passages draw us closer to Him, and He to us, as He imparts His sweet and lovely countenance. So, I did as the Reverend Payson recommended as I read Luke 13:34. There, I sensed the depth of Christ’s love for Jerusalem and His children. Oh, how He longed for them to embrace Him. How He would have protected them!

But I also considered what I read in Luke 7:31,32. There, Jesus addressed the men of that generation. He described some as children at play; amusing themselves in the Jewish traditions of marriages (dancing) and funerals (mourning). Others would not go along. Needless to say, the men of that generation are no different than us. We are hardly ever satisfied. We find fault in everything, especially as it relates to the oracles of God and any duties that we have to Him; Him, Who gave us life and breath; blood, bone and marrow. As Jesus said of them and their reception of John the Baptist, who neither ate bread nor drank wine, “He is a demon.”  Then, in reference to Himself, who ate and drank wine, “He is a glutton and winebibber and a friend to tax collectors and sinners!” (verses 33,34) It is amazing to me that despite all that God has done and revealed, He continues patiently to wait until the last of His own are quickened alive and are brought home, hidden and protected in Christ at the Father’s right hand.

Nonetheless, I meditated on these verses and imagined; transported, though not in a mystical way; not as the Apostle Paul. Nonetheless, I began to write a poem that I thought captured, however remotely, the way Jesus felt at those times. And if I may humbly ask you, professing Christian: Can you not find His feelings inhabited in His glorious but often mournful statements, and also find in yourselves negligence, even as of those Whom He spoke? With that I offer:

“I Played the Flute For You.”

I played the flute for you
But you did not dance;
I wept,
You did not mourn.
I told you stories
To gladden your heart;
Cheer your spirit;
To strengthen the afflicted;
Heal the brokenhearted.

 I told you parables to entice;
To whet your appetite
You walked away confused;
Claiming my words too hard;
Too proud to ask.
I would have answered!
And by asking, I would have known
That you desired Wisdom,
And her many gifts.

All this and you still remain distant.
Your hearts far from me.
As far as the sun is from the furthest star.
If I were to go there to meet you,
(As if I were not already there)
You would move, relocate;
You would fix your eyes
On another celestial body,
Which may appear warmer,
Fruit-laden as the first tree eaten.
Oh, my dear children-
That distant star merely reflects Me!
My brilliance! My glory!
And My fruit? It is picked from the tree of Life!
From which you are barred;
In a place you cannot enter.

Oh! If only you knew your Father’s heart;
A Son’s obedience and Spirit’s call.
You would have danced!
And mourned!
As the seasons of my ministry passed
From day to night and now unto glory!