|Posted by Rod Ferbrache on March 29, 2013 at 2:10 PM||comments (0)|
The night was dark and ugly
The crowd calling for blood.
Out in the garden of Gethsemane
Walked Jesus the Son of God.
There too were His disciples,
Frightened, confused, bereft.
Till finally all had fled away,
And only Peter was left.
He followed at a distance
Till the high priests house they reached
Stood alone in the courtyard,
While Caiaphas shouts and screeched.
Accusing Jesus of blasphemy,
For the Messiah he claimed to be.
Peter, by a charcoal fire
Strained forward so he could see.
"You're one of them the young girl said,
It's plain as plain can be."
"I’ve never seen this man before
One of those? Oh no, not me!"
But yet the girl persisted,
"I know you're one of his men."
Peter cursed and swore at her,
Then denied The Lord again.
He moved out to the entrance,
But the crowd were far from nice.
"I know him not!" poor Peter cried,
Then the cock bird crowed - just twice.
The memory then of Jesus words
Came flooding back to him.
"Three times you will disown me,
Three times that you will sin."
The days went by as though a blur,
Yet filled with such regret.
That night around the charcoal fire
He never could forget.
One morning on the fishing boat,
A little out to sea,
He smelt the smell of charcoal.
Not again....no, it couldn't be.
Looking out towards the shore
He saw a figure hunched and low.
A voice rang out, a voice so clear,
That instantly they know.
"It is The Lord", John shouted out,
Peter leapt straight from the ship.
It mattered not if clothed or wet,
He ended this fishing trip!
Breakfast of fish on red hot coals
Were eaten on shore that day,
And when the meal was over
The Master had His say.
No blame, no shame, just one question
Was asked to Peter thrice.
“Peter do you love Me?”
Three times, not once, not twice.
“Oh Lord, you who knows everything,
You see inside my heart.
You know how much I love you,
Regret tears me apart.”
“Then feed my sheep dear Peter,
Care for my lambs as well.
On you I'll build my church one day,
And in My presence dwell.”
So as we look at Peter,
And how from grace he fell.
The lesson that he teaches us
Is good news, so I'll tell.
We fall, and fail, deny, and curse,
In fact we've done the same
As Peter's done,
And hang our heads in shame.
The charcoal fire is waiting,
I can smell the fish from here.
The Master too is beckoning,
He wants us to draw near.
For there is full forgiveness,
For those who know they've fell.
Come now and seek that cleansing,
The charcoal I can smell.
|Posted by Rod Ferbrache on June 12, 2011 at 3:49 PM||comments (0)|
There’s been many a time at communion
That I’ve gazed at the bread and the wine.
So often in fact, that often I lack
To comprehend fully the sign
That these elements demonstrate to us,
The story they bring to our mind.
Of why they are used, so often abused,
Yet ignore it ? Yes we’re often unkind.
I know we are there to remember,
The death of our Saviour, God’s Son.
Yet we get so familiar, it all seems so similar,
That the meaning is beyond us – undone.
It becomes to us second nature,
To receive the cup and the bread.
The fact He was killed, is our mind ever stilled?
No, we forget that He ever was dead.
I’m aware of my sin, there’s enough of it,
I’m reminded of it each time I pray.
It’s there in the Book, each time that I look,
That fact will I think, ever stay.
Yet the same book speaks of forgiveness,
That the price of sin has been met.
No more do I owe, I can now let it go,
For God has said He’ll forget.
I gazed into the cup set before me,
Then a question I asked my dear Lord.
“Did you ever stop, to count every drop -
That that out of your body poured?
How many drops does it take Lord?
To wash away all of my sin?
I then felt a tear, as He spoke in my ear,
And such love overwhelmed me within.
I knew all that the Bible said about sin,
And that shedding of blood was required.
But the answer I got, that erased every spot,
Was nothing short of inspired.
I had pictured in my mind a river,
That at the least would be needed to stop
My journey to hell, I knew that so well,
Yet He said...No, just one drop!
One drop of my blood is sufficient,
To erase from your record, your sin.
I said, “That can’t be, I’m so black, you can see,
I’m filthy without, and within.
“Look no longer at what you have done or said.
This all belongs in the past.
Fix your gaze upon me, as I hang from the tree.
That drop will eternity last.
So whenever the cup and the bread are served,
I can never again feel condemned.
What Christ has done, the victory He’s won,
Through the blood that was not stemmed.
Can I ever forget the word that He spoke?
That forced my doubts to stop.
That one single act, an indisputable fact,
The cleansing that came from one drop.
|Posted by Rod Ferbrache on December 24, 2009 at 4:35 PM||comments (1)|
We went to town last week to do some bits and bobs.
Nothing in particular, although there was one job.
When we had a grandson we saved up our loose cash
And once in a while when there’s enough, to the bank we would dash.
We did the same this Saturday, and as we stood in line
A thought dropped into my head, that there would come a time
When Zach would be quite old enough to know he had a sum
That bit by bit had mounted up and then the time would come
When with his bank book in his hand he could draw some out
He didn’t have to worry, he didn’t have to doubt.
While too young to understand, or even be aware
Resources are building up from those who love and care.
It didn’t depend on what he did, the kind of boy he was
The money was simply there, I have to say, because
His Gran and Granddad love him just the way he is,
He didn’t have to earn it; the fact is it was his.
To do with as he wanted, to spend it in his own way
We wouldn’t dictate just where it went, we wouldn’t have a say.
So we’ll go on saving, until the time is right
And when we hand it over we’ll share in his delight.
This got me kind of thinking how just like life is this?
A truth that stares us in the face, and yet can so easily miss.
That in our name a bank account is there in time of need,
To draw upon, to benefit, if the truth of God we heed.
He says to me in weakness, His strength will make me strong.
When I mess up, do stupid things, do something that is wrong,
For me there is forgiveness, a massive stash of grace,
But I must go and draw it out, if the future I will face.
The Father put a huge sum of credit in sending us His Son
It seems so sad to waste it, with all that He has done.
When next you go into a bank to draw some money out
Remember all that Fathers done, you never need to doubt.
If in any way you lack, in spirit or in soul
It need not forever stay that way; He wants to make you whole.
You may not realise in Him how rich you really are.
It’s something that’s not measured by size of house or car.
It’s also not dependant on how much is in the bank
As a son or daughter of the King it is how high you rank.
If Father owns the cattle upon a thousand hills
Then all is at His disposal, and can give it as He wills.
So never think you’re wanting, or a need that goes unmetAs heirs to the King of all, we never should forget.
|Posted by Rod Ferbrache on October 3, 2009 at 3:42 PM||comments (0)|
In life it’s not long ere you discover
There are mountains and valleys and hills,
The going is seldom on even ground,
But a struggle with feelings and wills.
We long for a time when things level out,
And the mountains reduce to a plain,
Or the summit is reached and the climb is behind,
Along with the tears and the pain.
Yet the Lord says” Look not to the mountain,
For it’s awesome, frightening and bare,
Turn your eyes up to Me; I’m greater you’ll see,
Than the obstacle standing there.
My promise to you is not for a walk
Which is easy, and smooth and wide.
But the path that you take is narrow and steep
With room just for Me by your side.
Yet we travel that path together,
For I am the guide of your life.
And the hope that We share, is when We reach there
No more will you know such strife
Don’t be dismayed by the valleys,
With sides that are dark and steep.
Don’t be concerned and feel all hemmed in,
For haven’t I promised to keep
Your footsteps beside still waters,
Your eyes on pastures green,
For on mountain tops high, which reach to the sky,
Such plenty is never seen”.
For a valley is always a place where we grow,
Life is evident, fresh and new.
It’s a place that is watered by springs and rain,
And the daily anointing of dew.
The valley’s a place of protection,
Sheltered from wind and storm,
A place of shade and shadow,
Yet I stay just to keep you warm.
It’s not a place to be dreaded,
Or a depth, which you don’t want to go,
For the food is sweet, if you stop to eat.
And My Presence you’ll surely know