A winter's morn

Snow-crested drifts cross the wooded yard
In the howling barren of a winter's morn,
Peak upon peak of flurries formerly fallen
Have gathered here and now calmly wait.
For what, O frosty friends, do you pause?
Why so still in these moments of silence?

A wooden bench fenced in by winter's blanket
Creeks and croons as gently it sways
Only so slightly in a breeze this faint,
Teasing, tickling the pines and winter berries.
For what, O timbered ones, do you watch?
Why so wistful, in the way of whom?

The sunlight gayly glimmers on glassy snow,
Guiding eyes heavenward but to cast them
Down, left, and right, as this looking 
Cannot withstand something e'er so bright.
For what, O star, do you summon my gaze?
Why so warm in this blinding bliss?

Christmastide comes quickly at midnight meek,
When through our heart again comes light
Newborn of light, held out in darkness holy:
A king, a child, a savior, a slave.
For what, O boy, do you ask of me?
Why so humble in the presence of yourself?

Save we now our traces of contrast

As by chamomile and candlelit warmth
We stare at bleak forests, blasted with ice,
Through winter's window, the chill's not so cold.
For what, O dream, do we now feel?
Why so unknown in this birth of the new?

A final Advent reflection

Christmas is all but upon us.  It is the final day, the final few hours of Advent, our season of expectant waiting.  Tonight, our savior is born.  Tonight, as we approach to the banquet table of the Lamb, as candles dance joyfully in the sanctuary, and we the faithful resound in joy with all hosts of heaven, Christ once again enters our world.  

Today will be busy.  There is much baking to do and much wrapping.  How do I find you, my Christ, in the midst of all this holiday busyness?  Where can I stop for a brief moment to find solace in your rest?  How do I come to see you, the maker of all things, lying among animals in a manger?  Where are you in my Christmas cookies, in my materialistic gifts?  Are you there?  Are you truly in my heart?  

You came to give and to give all for the sake of all.  You came and you gave and you give, because you are Love.  You, the Father's Word, you are that most full expression of what it is to be divine.  And still somehow you are so fully human.  I don't understand this.  My gifts, my presents, and my presence are but a mere shadow of that, but they still reflect something of you.  Somehow, who you are has captured who I am, and I ask that each day you transform my heart into something new.

I am deeply struck by the name Emmanuel.  We have spent the last four weeks singing and calling for you, O Lord, to come and be God-with-us.  We beg and pray for you to join us in our earthly pilgrimage. But you are ever with us, if only we open our eyes.  You plant seeds of hope in our brokenness, watering and tending them to fruition in places we never expect.  You bring us through our darkest night, walking by our side, often so silent and unnoticed.  But you are ever there.

I pray that in these final hours of preparation for your birth that I may be more wholly aware of your presence in my gifted life; that I may see you in others, in the gifts that are prepared and offered, and in myself.  Help me not so much to understand but to be the love that you are.  For it is in receiving and embodying such love, that we most truly fathom what it means.

Advent Sunday II

I wait for you each day, my Jesus.  Yet this is no passive biding of time.  In these precious days I labor to build a place ready for you.  It is no more glorified than the humble stable that welcomed you some 2,000 years ago in the presence of a few barn animals, your Mother, and blessed St. Joseph.  The place, which I prepare, is none other than my feeble heart, fickle with the times and insecurities of life.  But it is all yours, O my King, who come in the form of a mere babe.  Often do I ponder and twist my mind into the maddest of knots, trying to fathom why ever you would deign to be born into our brokenness.  When you came forth gloriously from the mouth of the Father, you showed us what true glory is: a Mother groaning with the immense struggle of childbirth, a patient and faithful husband, whose great suspicions were met by a greater trust and hope, and the boy, crying, covered in his Mother's placenta, longing for her sustaining milk.  And in that moment you knew, whether consciously or not, you felt what it was to be human, and I can never understand why.  But that is not the question you ask me.  No, you don't even have a question.  You have only a look in your eyes that tells me all I could ever long to hear, more than all time could yield, something so purely infinite and so wholly other, but so radically here.  And what your heavenly gaze, captured in the face and heart of a newborn, proclaims is this: I came because I love you, and I will remain with you forever.

Be it done to me according to your Word.

The Announcement

O my Blessed Mother, I too am greatly disturbed by this call of your Son.

O my Blessed Mother, I too am frightened at the sight, words, and message of his herald.

O my Blessed Mother, I too do not know what it means to be the one brought the Word and then to become the one who brings him.

O my Blessed Mother, I too yearn to bring your Christ, my Christ, our Christ, into the world this Christmas, yet I too am confused and afraid.

O my Blessed Mother, I too am learning that each day is Christmas, and each moment Advent, and that the God of all waits patiently to spring forth from my womb too.

O my Blessed Mother, pray for me, that I too may have the courage to accept him and receive his love, for there is no other way I can be if I do not first do this and every day.

Oh my Blessed Mother, I too need to be pointed to your Son--my brother, my friend--and to his cross; you best know the way, for it was your "fiat" that unleashed the reign of love upon the world, your "amen" that led us to the blood-soaked hill called Calvary, your "ecce ancilla" that allows us all, each and every day, to be nailed as well to that cross and have the hope of our own assumptions.

O my Blessed Mother, I too just...

O my Blessed Mother.

I am your Peter

I am no rock, yet I am your Peter,
Not the one who runs skipping to your place of rest,
Hoping for a glimpse of the unfathomably true,
Not the one who stands in front of nations,
Proclaiming what until then I had not understood.
No, I am not these things, but I am your Peter.

I am the one who tells you to call out to me,
Who begs for you to beckon me close,
And when I brave the edges of my safety,
When I thrust my feet into the swelling terrors,
Standing amidst the fury of all great fears,
I am free, even if for one brief moment,
Even there and even then, I am free.
And even there, I am your Peter,

Sinking and crying out to you,
For I have grown weary and afraid.
Your waves looked much smaller from inside the wall,
And you, you looked much calmer, 
When my eyes were fixed upon yours.
Go away from me, get back!
You do not know who I am, nor dare I let you.
For I am who we all are: a sinful man, a sinful woman,
A sinful people; and still I am your Peter.

I don't know what it is, I cannot ever explain.
But I've given you up three times, and that's enough.
I am too tired of doing that, so must we now part?
Is this where you disappear into the clouds of my winter,
And leave me with only your spirit?
Yet even if this be, if this is all that ever can,
I know you will be with me, even unto the end.
And here will I stay, for I am your Peter.

Simeon

You bring me your son, a swaddling little toddler.
No different than the other thousands of sons
I have seen in my aging career: he cries the same, 
His laughter, that of a week's practice,
Which really isn't saying much; 
It's more of a close-eyed hiccup-grunt.
He sleeps like anyone else,
Wakes up to let you know he's passed the food test.
And oh yes! he's got that stink kids his age have,
You know the one I'm talking about.
His eyes, deep, but no rare color, 
Perhaps the same as yours, Rose,
But I dare not look into the heart of purity.

Maybe you and Joe and your son
Live in a home no poorer, no more lavish
Than all your neighbors with young boys.
Maybe someday he'll take up the family trade.
We sure could use someone who'd work with his hands, 
Learn to love the sound of hammer, nail, and fallen tree.
God, he really doesn't look that different.
So why am I crying?  Am I sad?
This is just some kid, from some mom,
From some city 100 miles North of here.
So. What.
Why can I not hold back that skittish feeling,
That standing-on-the-abyss 
of the world as we've known it, and life to come?

Some inexplicable joy ravages my heart,
And across my confused countenance 
Breaks a tearful smile: "It's him." 
I don't know how, I just do. Game-changer.
Anna, shut up! Get out of my head.
I know what you're thinking.
But can't I just savor this for a moment?
A dear friend, more ancient than the rest,
Once promised me something, and now I can go.  
Now I will find him,
Or, better yet, he'll find me.

Old chum, peacefully you let me depart,
You gave me your Word, your life, your own,
And I have held him.
In my tired arms, with aged soul,
I have held all that is, all that shall be:
Salvation, Light, Glory.
May it ever be as when you spoke your first Word.

April of another

This Summer is my last,
Unless I at last see
Something beckoning me further
Through weeping willow trees.

I cannot stay much longer,
For Someone beckons within,
To write, to inscribe my own heart
Before my soul wears thin.

Alas, my dear, I've wandered
Far and sought to be
True to my heart and questions
And now I shall be free.

And now I shall be free
Until my Lord he calls,
To bring me some place elsewhere
Where once again I'm small.

Smaller than where I started
A trifle wiser too.
I pray, my dear, to our God
That I be called to you.