I am eighty-one years of age and know that the day is drawing near when I will be gathered together with those saints who have gone on before me and are now in the presence of the Lord.  Therefore, I am writing this letter for the edification of all who may in time come to read it.

Nearly seventy years ago I witnessed the crucifixion of the man named Jesus and since that day have had many experiences as a Jew. I have seen Jews and Gentiles joined together by the preaching of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I have witnessed the persecution of many of his followers and have also experienced persecution myself. Yet, through it all, the Church has continued to grow.

In this life I have learned that it is possible for the heart of a man, through repetitious subjection, to become hardened and insensitive.  After seeing many crucifixions as a young Jewish boy I found this to be true of myself concerning the death of others. I had come to accept that some men needed to die and had learned to observe their deaths without feeling emotion.  All along I was really losing a sensitivity for life itself.

Ironically, the experience that affected my life more than any other was seeing Jesus crucified.  As I watched, I felt a wrenching of my heart like never before; little did I know that this was the birth pangs from which a new life would be brought forth...a new life in Christ.  The tragedy of His death made such an impression on my young mind that the events of that day are like crystal to me.

On that day, there were two other men crucified with Jesus.  I remember watching and listening to the crowd as they hurled their words of hate like javelins at the men. But as I continued to watch, I noticed that the crowd's anger seemed to be focused more toward Jesus; so I began to focus on Him as well.

What I witnessed was a man who offered no resistance. A man who, though in terrible pain, did not even curse the ones who were pounding the nails into His flesh.  I remember that He reminded me of a gentle lamb, and wondering how a man who was so wicked as to deserve the death sentence could remain so gentle while receiving death at the hands of those who hated him.  It almost appeared as if He wanted to die; as if there was some purpose in His death that those who were killing Him could not understand.  I continued to watch Jesus and felt something stirring deep within me.  I  was beginning to feel an affection - a love for this man who seemed so unworthy of punishment.

That very night as I shared my experience with a friend, it became clear to me who Jesus was and why He had died.  I would like to share the events of that night with you, but first need to prepare you so that you will not think me strange.

Though I did not witness it myself, I have heard that Jesus once told a story about a poor leper named Lazarus who was laid at the gate of a certain rich man in hopes that the rich man would have mercy upon him.  In this story Jesus stated that even the dogs showed more compassion than the rich man as they would come and lick Lazarus’ sores.

Now, my intention here is not to raise dogs to a higher position than what God has placed them; but I do believe that many Christians could learn something about faithfulness to our Master, by observing the loyalty of a dog towards his.  My story is as follows...

As a young boy I was very frail and prone to illness. I was therefore unable to keep up with the other children and as a result was neither liked nor accepted by them.  It was on one particular day after being rejected from joining them in their play that I sat crying beneath a tree.  With my head between my knees, I was staring at the ground as both tears of sadness and anger fell from my eyes and into the dry dust.

Suddenly, I felt something warm and wet brush the back of my hand.  Somewhat startled, I looked up to see a small dog.  Since I was already upset, I used his licking me as an excuse to release my frustration, and shoved him, rolling him across the ground.

However, to my surprise he did not run away, but instead began to crawl towards me on his belly, his tail whipping back and forth so fast that small puffs of dust were forming in the air.  Seeing his persistence and feeling sorry for pushing him, I slowly reached out to touch him.  He blinked nervously but allowed me to pet his head and at that moment a friendship was born.

My parents, realizing that I had very few friends and seeing the joy the little dog brought to me, graciously allowed me to keep him.  The little dog became my best friend and proved it by following me everywhere. All he ever wanted from me was the few scraps I had to offer him and, of course, to be petted.  Oh, how he loved to be petted!

It was on that night after the crucifixion of Jesus that I needed someone to talk to. The little dog was the friend who was there.  I have recorded the words that I spoke to him in the following poem.

I remember the night, a boy just twelve, wide-eyed in the bed I lay;
The thoughts kept flashing through my mind, of the things I had seen that day.

I sat up on the edge of my bed and looked down where my little dog lay;
He raised his head and lifted his ears, eager to hear what I had to say.

I said, “Little dog, you always listen, my parents say you can’t understand;
But the way you seem to listen to me, I really believe you can.

The crucifixion today bothered me, in a way it never has before.
The one named Jesus they crucified, was a man, but seemed much more.

He acted different than the other two; He showed forgiveness, that seemed odd.
I asked my mother who Jesus was. She said, “He claims - the Son of God.”

I asked her if she believed Him. She said, “Yes, I really do.”
As they drove a nail into His hand, she asked, “Son, what about you?”

I watched Jesus as He grimaced, in such pain He arched His back.
Yet still He showed a gentleness, that the other men seemed to lack.

Then as if He had heard my thoughts - He looked up to my surprise;
With pain in His face, He smiled at me as tears ran from His eyes.

As the blood flowed from His body, the people mocked and laughed.
But despite their hate, He prayed, and asked forgiveness on their behalf.”

As I told this story, I began to cry; my dog’s eyes were watering too.
I almost believe he could understand, I almost believe he knew.

It was good to have him to listen, though to some that may seem odd;
But it helped me to clear my mind and know - Jesus is the Son of God!

That night I poured my feelings into the ears of a little dog who at best could sense that I was hurting.  But by doing so, what I believed about Jesus was etched into my heart for an eternity as I realized in the depths of my young soul that Jesus is the Son of God and that He had died for my sins.

I also would like to share with those who have not already heard, that two days later Jesus arose from the grave fulfilling His promise to do so.  I have been told that over five hundred people were witnesses to His resurrection.  Glory be to the Lord and Savior of my soul, Jesus Christ.

For those of you who are wondering what happened to my little dog.  As I was entering the prime of my life, he was nearing the end of his.  I awoke one morning to find him lying at the foot of my bed; his life had left him.  Most of his days were spent faithfully at my feet, and that is also where he died.  Of all the friends I have had since that day, that little dog still ranks as one of the most loyal.

It is my prayer that all Christians would show the same loyalty to Jesus.  Serving Him in all they do, faithfully at His feet, until their dying day.
 

A Jewish Christian
 

© 1999  A. Mitchell Moore, Jr.
All rights reserved.

Back to the Poetry Menu.

[Mitch and Denise's Evangelical Poetry | Serpents and Snakes]
[Poems | Debates | The Cross | The Good News]