Wednesday, December 24, 2014

The Singular Love of Christmas

Merry Christmas Eve! Taking a break from last-minute gift-wrapping/crafting, I want to share another unposted Christmas poem from my book.

It's easy to fall in love with the things Christmas comes dressed in. The joviality, the love, the eggnog (of course!). But let's not forget that the core, the news of a God stooping to dance with His beloved eye to eye, is what gives everything else its beauty. The lights, the gifts, the love - they are the wrapping paper made wonderful for the wonder of their gift.

Christmas is made glorious for His glory, beautiful for His beauty.

May this holiday be a blessing and cause for reflection and introspection. Most of all, may it be a time of reorientation around He who breathes jubilee into the mundane, without whom this holiday would never have been anything more than an obscure festival smelling of age-old ox blood and sage.


The Singular Love of Christmas

Wafts the crisp crystalled waltz of wondrous Christmas snow,
arraying scenes the things of dreams as it collects below.
Softly spill these silent seeds so sown from Heaven’s heights
whose harvest reaps more joy than even the season’s finest lights.
For with the advent of their ice there also arcs to mind
the time when angels left their clime to ‘prise all of mankind,
the time when God the grave allayed in giving up His seat –
choosing in its stead a meager bed twixt cloven hoof and wheat.
That wintry joy, like drifts deployed, can only come from there:
the fact that God afar stayed not, but came to know our share.
His majesty neath infancy, our frailty-furled messiah,
fulfilling every vow foretold through vision-blessed Isaiah.
Of the Christ the prophet penned the reason Christmas sings;
of the Lord he wrote and answered why the bright bell rings,
why all the mortal throng by instinct yearly ‘comes enthralled
and summons love nigh unseen since last the season called.
To this namesake scriptures point: Born…the Prince of Peace.
There shall be no end of His government nor of its increase.

Thus, the calm enrapture all the snow-wrapped hillsides spy.
Thus, the felt serenity lit evergreens descry.
Within the wintry, wind-whipped wisps of Christmas come again,
the Prince’s gift is hard to miss in every yuletide grin –
peace, the ceaseless increase of the coming Christ’s lone sway,
of which the world but glimpses now on every Christmas day.

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