Poems: Two Advent Poems

Fear Not

 

Fear Not, he says.

The mere words freeze your soul,

coming, as they dofrom someone with the power

to create, build up, or destroy

with a wave of his hand,

a power to change

your life, change

your future, wipe clean

your past,

or leave you utterly abandoned

to your flaws and failure.

Fear Not, he says

and every weakness is suddenly exposed

and you realize that control is not yours,

and your humbleness, once professed with pride,

evaporates in the reality

that there is much, so very much

to fear.

Except

that beyond your imagining,

the words are spoken with impossible gentleness,

not with threat, but with promise,

with love that knows all of you,

even the darkest corners,

the hidden failures,

the lies you tell others and the lies

you tell yourself.

He knows them, and that is not all.

He knows the greatest secret,

that if you allow it,

there is no fear.

Fear Not, he says.

==================                                                         

The Night Before Christmas

You Wait. 

You wait in the dark

hours of the night,

somehow believing that the sky,

brilliant with dancing stars and

a moon, nearly full,

bring you light.

You wait.

You wait in the silence

of fields and cities,

in those silent hours

after midnight

when sheep and men,

exhausted, sleep.

You wait.

You wait,

out of the habit of your life,

of your world

that prays empty prayers,

unexpectant,

monotonous,

empty and unaware.

Unaware even, that

you wait.

That soon, to the most unlikely

of God's creations,

angels will sing;

a new light,

far brighter than dawn

will enter your life,

a gift, unexpected,

undeserved. A forever gift,

eternally new, powerful

and impossibly loving.

You wait. 

============================

I was recently asked to write two poems for an advent service at Durkeetown Baptist Church.  As I thought about how to do it, I thought about (among other things), the advent wreath, and how each candle has a meaning. There's the Shepherd's candle, the Angel's candle and so on, culminating in the center Christ candle. The unique challenge of these poems were to take the experience of groups the shepherds, or Mary, and translate it into the experience of grace that Christmas really is for each of us. 

The painting is "The Annunciation" by Phillipe de Champaigne. You can click on it for a larger version to take in it's full richness and beauty. 

Tom

A Virginian in Vermont: Christmas Decorations

When I was growing up in Richmond, Virginia. January first was the day all the Christmas decorations had to be down by. It was do or die, and no matter what else was going on, the decorations came down. I don't know what the reason was, but I do know that either New Year's Eve or New Year's day was marked by pulling down the tree, packing up the lights, and rendering the house devoid of the celebration that was Christmas.

It wasn't just us. The entire neighbor hood went from fairly land of lights and wreaths to Plainville, USA overnight.

Traditions dies hard, and when I had a house of my own, I continued the habit (I hesitate to call it tradition, because no one could really tell me WHY we took everything down.), and did the same thing, making sure everything was down and packed away by New Year's, year after year for twenty five years or so.

Take a look at your calendar. And then at the pictures in this post. They were all taken in the last week or so. Yep, it's still Christmas in Vermont. People here keep their decorations up an extra special long time.


I like to think it's because they want to extend the Christmas season, to have reminders of Christ's birth around them for months instead of a few weeks, that somehow Vermonters are a celebratory lot. But asking around give me a does of reality - Winters are brutal around here and people don't spend a lot of extra time outside in the cold and snow.

OK, I can accept reality, even when it doesn't jibe with my rose colored glasses view of the world. Still, whatever the reason, the result, for me, is the same - a months long reminder of the joy of Christmas as you drive by houses with wreaths on the door, or the manger scene in front of Rupert United Methodist Church, or the houses still running their lights late into the night.

I have gotten into the spirit, leaving my wreath up late into Winter. There must be some sort of Vermont magic, because it was a "real" wreath of pine, yet three months after Thanksgiving, it was still green, not brown and dried. I like to think that it's God preserving the Celebration, but I know it's really just too cold to dry out completely. Freezing things is a favorite way to preserve things, after all.


So here I am in March, still surrounded by Christmas and loving it. Maybe we'll think about taking things down by Easter here in Vermont. But I am in no hurry.

Tom

PS, the pictures were all taken in West Pawlet, VT. You can click on them for a larger version.