The great potter fashions his
own son.
The
rugged hands held the lump of clay tenderly.
Sadness filled the potters eyes. He paused before He began His work
today.
His
thumb dug deep into the pliable shape.
He let out a deep sigh, almost a groan and then He began. “He
will grow up before them like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry
ground.”
His
words began to bring focus to his work.
“He will have no beauty or majesty to attract them to him,” he continued,
reaching out for a rough piece of twig to dig into the clay and create the
contours of a man’s face.
“Nothing in his appearance that they should desire
him.” He paused. Grief filled His eyes as he looked down at his work. A
gentle nod of satisfaction followed before He continued, “He will be despised and
rejected by mankind” As these words escaped His lips He turned and looked
over his shoulder. Not far off, there stood Jesus, full of kindness and gentleness,
full of compassion and love for the world. He was perfect in every way and yet
He would soon take on this rugged form and join with them, in the darkness, the
sin and the stench.
The
potter returned his sights to the clay face before Him. He opened his mouth to speak more
words. The pain in His voice was tangible. The words fell from His tongue,
strained, bitten and painful to speak.
“He will be a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from
whom people hide their faces,
He will be despised, and they will hold him in
low esteem.” His eyes trailed off the clay and a tear ran down his cheek.
The salty taste reached his lip and he wiped His brow. “ My Son.. Surely You will take up their pain and bare their suffering,
You will be pierced for their transgressions, You will be crushed for their iniquities; the punishment
that will bring them peace will be upon You.”
The potter pulled away from the clay, the pain in His own heart
was too much. It gripped him. He saw the images before Him of Jesus being
brutally beaten and mocked. He saw the hatred in their eyes as they kicked Him
and placed a crown of piercing thorns on his head. “ My Son.” He bit his lip in an attempt to compose Himself as a gentle
hand reached for His shoulder and held it.
“Father.”
The potter turned, Jesus
was standing behind him, with his gaze so bright, he was shining brighter than
the sun, He radiated warmth and love. He was majestic and beautiful and the
potter was overwhelmed. “Father, this is
your will. Let it be done, for by my wounds, they will be healed. For they are
like sheep, gone astray, they have turned to their own ways. You will lay their
iniquity upon me. Yes, I will be oppressed and afflicted, yet I will not open
my mouth;
I will be led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before
its shearers I will be silent.
”
Jesus’ eyes brought reassurance back to his Father, “My Son, Greater love has no one than this,
than to be willing to give up their life, so save another.” He smiled.
“Father,” Jesus continued, “ this is the only way. I will bear
their iniquities. I will pour out my life unto death, and will be numbered with
their transgressions.
I will carry the sin of many, and make intercession for
the transgressors. I will be the bridge that carries them back into our
presence. Let your will be done.”
The Potter gazed at Jesus; thoughts of wonder and grace filled
him.
“My will be done.” He nodded, they
smiled at one another and the potter continued fashioning the clay before Him,
the form of man, the form of flesh, vulnerable, fragile, easily bruised, easily
damaged. His thoughts turned to the lost & the broken, the people below who
lived in a darkened world that had no concept of heaven and Gods perfect love. A
perfect love that has the power to drive away the darkest fear. “ I must reach them.” The potter
whispered, “ I must bring them home, I
must bring them back to me.”
By R.Knight for Easter 20011
Taken from Isaiah 53.
