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Showing posts with label Disciple. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Disciple. Show all posts

Monday, May 6, 2019

SIMON PETER

He had fished for his entire life.
It was all he knew to do, this Jew
But his life was interrupted
By deity in flesh, 
When the words “Follow me”
Changed this fisherman’s world forever.

Rapt in Jesus’ words and wonders,
One of the twelve, like brothers serving
Food for hungry seaside pilgrims,
Using a small boy’s lunch,
Two loaves and five small fish,
Swiftly more in a creator’s hands.

Strong and passionate disciple
Convinced his master is God’s own son. 
Steadfast protector of his Lord,
Swung his knife-edge in rage.
Christ does not need his aid.
Now wickedness appeared to triumph.

Penitent Peter, by Guido Reni
How soon he would ignore his love
In the awful terror of that night.
When knowing Him could lead to death,
Three times came his denial.
The cross is still, it’s done
It appears, but wait he stirs again. 

Two times they’ve seen Him in the flesh.
A third time he has appeared on shore
Hailing failed fishers with advice.
Not knowing this is the Lord
They listen and they find
He’s still capable of miracle.

A quiet time with Christ alone,
Does he love Him, he is asked three times.
“Yes”, Simon says. Then demonstrate.
Fish for humanity
Feed hungry sheep and lambs.
More than anything else, Follow Me.

© Ron Unruh, May 2019
Composed after reading the account of John 18-21, and the story of apostle Simon Peter. 

Painting credit: Guido Reni Nov 4, 1575 – Aug 18, 1642) was an Italian painter of high-Baroque style. He painted primarily religious works, as well as mythological and allegorical subjects. Active in Rome, Naples, and his native Bologna, he became the dominant figure in the Bolognese School. This portrait completed in 1634, located at Museo del Prado, Madrid, Spain.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

IF ONLY THEY COULD SEE ME THEN


Cascading brunette hair falling over her shoulder, Christine would smile so infectiously that an entire room became happy. Waspish waist and with long legs under pleated skirts, she would walk with a confident stride. She had me. I mean I was a goner. I wish my children could see her like that and hear her sing with that young voice still finding its strength yet already hitting soaring notes. I wish they could know her with that fresh faith in God that emboldened her to be willing to follow God anywhere.
 
I wonder what my children might have thought of her, of us. And if they could see me as I was, lean, strong body, a sprinter’s legs like lightening on the two hundred-metre track.

And even before I knew Christine, that is, when my hair was full, a curly wisp falling on my forehead and the sides held in place by Brylcream. What might they feel if they could know my passion for art and see my artistic abilities then, and experience my depth of courage in telling God I would set that aside to serve him as a pastor.