Knight Vision: A Templar’s Faith

Listen, for I too will tell my tale for the best of visions.
It is a tale told by one, two, and three nails in telling it.
It came to us thrice as strong in the middle of the night.
Please beware and prepare yourself.

The blacksmith used only the finest metals,
who then, with vehement flame and shadow, created
the finest of nails. Today, the nails were made extra special.
The messenger had brought word earlier of a Messiah, a
Prophet King they called him.

The nails needed to be strong.
Strong enough to hold, in place, and for a span of time,
the Son of God and of Man. They called Him Yeshua, or Jesus. His birth, ordained,
proved simple enough-nothing more about the carpenter from Galilee.
It is not written in the book of books.

How ironic that one who worked with wood, saw, and nails
would be attached to such devices; itself, an almost engineered trinity.
Hammered they were, and water-cooled in liquid steam.
Upon the anvil were the three beaten, beaten, beaten.

At first, their shape no more than thin,
nine-inch cubes of solid metal. The smith, in persistence and possession,
hammered on and on and on until the end began to take a spikèd look.
The three, gleaming in the heat from both the flame and the hammers blow,
would prove their creator just.

Now finished, the smith began to place each nail
in a leathered pouch, reserved for only his best metal. What caution in placing them inside the pouch. What fear and reverence for this work.
He had done his part, in humility and, in obedient submission.
His life would change.

The on-lookers now took on the shape of spirits plenty, holy
and unholy throughout. Demons snarled in misguided approbation.
The angels stood still, a quiet calm resting upon their golden brows.
Their wings, lined with gold, were white and puffed to reflect
the beauty of the Holy One, that Ancient of Days, that Creator of good and woe.

Nevertheless, the nails perceiving their calling,
though with much intended sadness, would yield, in the end,
with hope-a result of cataclysmic proportion! What joy
ensues after the pain of loss, is an act that will be considered Christian
for the ages to come.

Many have been the afflictions of humanity
at the turn of misunderstandings. The nails, in hope and awe,
understood. They too relied on grace to be forgiven,
and to have the crimson stain of humanity’s blight,
be upon their metallic frame. What washing could take and restore the hue of their metal? What true spike was ever deemed worthy to be restored?

Many, upon that hillside have been the cruelties of destiny.
Many have blamed a faulty providence. Yet, on that day I beheld the Son of the God-Man, laid out and stretched. The clouds stood still
as if to wait upon command from their Creator.

The winds blew, forgetting their boundaries, upon that hill top.
The soldiers gathered round, with crowds, marveling at the spectacle. What had He done? Why is He here? Questions appeared and dissipated, like the very whispers of shadow and dark. Yet, no one dared to respond!

At last each arm and leg was laid upon the rood.
The rood too has a story I am told, but it will not be mentioned here.
For now, it is a vision of three nails all told and agreed by them.

The smith was called forth, his face and hands darkened,
yet himself quickly noticeable in such a lighted crowd. The soldier
took the first nail from the leathered pouch.

His hands, though scarred and responsible
for many a blow upon the enemy, now shook.
Still trembling he looked upon his target,
sweat beading upon his forehead, betrayed his resolve.

He stood up, wiping away a stray trickle of sweat from his left brow.
He blew out a sigh and then knelt to give the blow to God’s Crisis.
The nail, a metal spike glowing in the sun, bowed to the Son and struck
flesh and ligament and blood and through bone into wood. I have heard the cry of the God--Man, and no it is not pleasant nor soothing!
Creation groans and is still groaning? There is no comparison.

The blows came slowly at first upon the first nail,
Picking up speed upon the second spike until, from pity or fear,
the third spear was given the quickest blow to pierce through ankle bone
and ligamented flesh. A tattered mess, a ragged look, and all sensed—
It was finished.

Many will come to place value upon us three, for indeed we were there who held
the Son in place. We ask that those who would know about this vision be told
about its end. We became part of the rood, we three held it all.
We kept the second Adam in place of the first.

We ensured hope for mankind, our initial blight removed.
‘Tis pity if the story would end here, but the Lord, that Godson, rose
Again to life, His angels bearing witness to the event.
He appeared to the disciples in mourning, giving hope to blinded Thomas.

For was it not him who said, Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails,
and put my finger into the print of the nails,…I will not believe.
To which our Lord did appear, removing doubt, and state-“Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands,…and be not faithless, but believing.

Such is the rebuke for the ages to come and
Behold the nails of love, faith and hope,
We three, we three spears are the greatest of these.