A poem on this holiday from a friend of Reservoir Church:
In the king’s court there is honor
Every man knows his place.
Every eye is raised toward the king
None dares look at his face.
A great host of knights all gathered
Many warriors there
Each with reports of battles fought
The losses only rare.
A somber mood, no jester there
No gossip or rumor
A place of solemn joy and hope
But by no means humor.
This was no ordinary king
His throne never defiled
No, this king was the rightful head
His kingdom reconciled.
And next to the king sits peaceful
His one and only Son
A tender satisfaction in
Not battles, but wars won.
All present praised the Son, of course,
Though not mandatory.
Without thought they spoke his praises
Entranced by his glory.
“He was and is and is to come,
All healing through his pain!”
All glory, glory, glory to
The great Lamb who was slain!”
Father and Son together there
All things as they designed
A kingdom built of love and joy
Not one sheep left behind.
But then, from the back, a scuffle
A murmur and heads turned.
The muffled shout of a guard
And all faces concerned.
A voice breaks through, strained and fearful
“Someone detain that boy!”
Then from the crowd leaps a child
His face alight with joy.
His young face reddened and dirty,
His clothes greatly tattered,
His eyes set on the throne of grace
Toward it his feet clattered.
The whole crowd surged with hands outstretched
“He’s to get no nearer!”
But the boy had the jump on them
Nothing could be clearer.
Suddenly the chase had ended
The Son had raised his hand.
His silent, gentle signal for
The pursuit to disband.
The throne room fell all quiet then
As the boy scampered on,
His sprint changed to a childish skip
All protocol foregone.
The Son rose from his kingly seat
A slight smirk on his face
“Now here is one who knows the way
To seek the throne of grace.”
The boy jumped without any fear
Into the Son’s embrace,
Nuzzling deep in the priceless robes
Pure bliss upon his face.
“You’re home.” said the Son without pause.
And with that the boy slept.
There in the arms of the good Son,
Still very much unkempt.
All stood in wonder for some time
As the boy dozed in peace
And all the while the Son looked down
With smile that did not cease.
When he woke the Son set him down
And then his white robes shed.
He wrapped the boy up tight in them
“You’ll wear these now instead.”
The boy pranced around with pride
No longer such a mess.
“Yes, little brother, lift your head.
You’re clothed in righteousness.”
The great crowd watched on in silence
As the boy twirled with glee
None had seen such fine, white robes
Not bought, but given free.
“Come now, friend, and sit with me here
I’ve prepared you a place”
Then the Son gently swept him up
Affection on his face.
He sat the boy upon his lap
At the Father’s right hand
A place where only glory dwells
Where no man would dare stand.
“And who might this be, Precious Son?”
The Father softly asked.
“He’s awfully like the one who was
So recently downcast.”
The boy looked into the Son’s eyes
Not quite sure what to think.
The Son just smiled down at him
And answered with a wink:
“What he was before matters not,
This one belongs to me.
Whatever shame he might feel here
Hangs dead upon that tree.”
“Not one word more” the Father said
“There’s no need to go on.
The boy chose the great Rock of hope
To build his house upon.”
Then the Father placed his crown
Upon the small boys head,
Granting the honor of sonship
To one who had been dead.
The boy gazed in awe at his Lord
Love welling up inside.
There in the throne room crowned as son
His soul would now abide.
The boy began to shake with joy
His smile only grew.
And as praise welled up within him
Quite suddenly he flew.
He lept with joy, a shout, a clap
“Holy! Holy!” His song.
He danced away to join the host-
A choir thousands strong.
As he danced the crown of glory
Fell at the mercy seat
And came to rest where it belonged
At the Son of God’s feet.