June 29, 2011
How does a carpenter work
When that Carpenter
Is no ordinary Man
But fully a Man?
An ordinary man can be average
Or above average
In terms of skill
In terms of speed
In terms of workmanship
But how does a carpenter work
When that Carpenter
Is no ordinary Man
Though fully a Man?
How did You look as You planned Your day
And went along Your merry way
Hacking and cutting and measuring
Checking, re-measuring, and attaching?
Did You work all by Yourself
Or did You ever supervise others?
Was Your calling of those fishermen
Not something new of You at all?
If You did work with others, how did they feel
When they saw how perfectly You estimated things
How cleanly You built things?
How did they feel
When, under the sweltering sun
You could still make jokes
Still make them laugh
Always lightening the load?
How did they feel
When they saw how quickly
You worked through Your tasks for the day?
And still turning out perfect work
With nothing sticking out
Where it shouldn’t be?
When Your mom watched You working
Did she ever marvel at what she was seeing?
Did she always shake her head in wonder
Whenever she saw You making
Something beautiful out of the ugly
While getting the dust and grime on Yourself
That You’d just dust off with a nonchalant grin?
Did other carpenters ever want to imitate You?
Did they envy Your skill?
Or the wisdom which embodied You?
Did they see Your face shine with joy
Even at the slightest chore?
Did they ever wonder why You never complained
And always seemed to build some more?
And did those same people who worked with You
See You as You treaded that long, dusty road?
Did they hear the pounding and hammering
Inside the frame that was losing all strength it showed?
How did they feel as they saw Your face splintered…
As You lugged that last piece of timber?
How did they feel as they saw You falter and fall
Knowing they rarely ever saw that, if at all?
Did they remember how You worked with spikes
The same ones that now hold Your hands?
Did they remember how You used to have no trouble
Carrying even the heaviest of the rubble?
Did they ever wonder
And shake their heads at the irony
That the Carpenter is now part
Of that which He used to work with daily?
Is it an accident
Or did You already intend it:
That everyday of Your life
You could run Your hands through timber
And run Your fingers over spikes
As You work and build
Work and build
Looking forward to the day
When You would be building
Your masterpiece
And in that masterpiece
You continued to build
You continue to build
You’ve always been a Builder, haven’t You?
Enjoying the work of Your hands
Knowing that each stroke is perfect
And each cut is just as You want it
If each stroke with You is perfect
Then each blow on Your back had its reason
If each cut is just as You want it
Then each lash against Your flesh accomplished something
Something only You know
Something You want me to know…
Is that how You feel about me, too?
Even when I feel so weak and frail?
If you as a Carpenter could be so proud
Are You as proud of me as well?
And as the master Builder
Here You stand
Satisfied
Knowing that
The Bride You’re making
The beloved one You’re forming
Is exactly how You want her
Is exactly how You’ve meant her to be
And as You stand back
I see the joy in Your face
I see the pride in Your contenance
As You stand back
I see Your smile:
You stand satisfied
It is finished.
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