There are eight parts to this anthology. It was written in December 2005 in five days. Each time I sat down to write, the words flew from my fingers. This is not of me. I was simply the conduit.
Around the first of Christmas, an angel came to say
A child will come to Bethlehem, a virgin birth this day
Be not afraid, O chosen one, through you our Lord is born
In fulfillment of the ancient words, His star will light the morn
In all the ancient Hebrew texts, a theme runs loud and clear
A Son will come to right the faith, a Son whom we will hear
God’s promise made whole in His own time. For who’s time is it at all?
Do we suppose to make it ours? Do we think God’s that small?
The maker of the earth and stars. Of atoms, quarks and space
The trees, the seas and mountaintops, each special in their place
Do you say, “No, it cannot be.”? It must be myth and fable.
A God that made both you and me would never take the label
Of human being, with faults galore. So glaringly apparent.
A servant born a bastard child? A virgin as a parent?
Wait and see, my doubtful friend, it’s a story told in tales
Of prophecy from early on – from birth to three large nails
And leading up to Christmas morn, this story will continue
It bears retelling every year. God in flesh and bone and sinew.
No comments:
Post a Comment