When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and the princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flocks,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among brothers,
To make music in the heart.
Howard Thurman, The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations
(Friends United Press, 1985)
As this year draws to its end,
We give thanks for the gifts it brought
And how they became inlaid within
Where neither time nor tide can touch them.
The days when the veil lifted
And the soul could see delight;
When a quiver caressed the heart
In the sheer exuberance of being here.
Surprises that came awake
In forgotten corners of old fields
Where expectation seemed to have quenched.
The slow, brooding times
When all was awkward
And the wave in the mind
Pierced every sore with salt.
The darkened days that stopped
The confidence of the dawn.
Days when beloved faces shone brighter
With light from beyond themselves;
And from the granite of some secret sorrow
A stream of buried tears loosened.
We bless this year for all we learned,
For all we loved and lost
And for the quiet way it brought us
Nearer to our invisible destination.
John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space between Us (Doubleday, 2008)
God of all gentleness, God of pure love,
you do not watch us from heights far above,
you are no tyrant, but patient and mild,
present with grace in the poor, in the child.
God of all mercy, may we be the ones
bearing your love to your daughters and sons,
not out of pity but humbly, with grace,
for in the poor we see your human face.
God of all justice, give us hearts to care,
hope to free prisoners of fear and despair,
courage to challenge the ways that oppress,
deep love to reach out to heal and to bless.
God of compassion, your Spirit now pour
into us all, for it’s we who are poor,
hungry for justice, for healing and grace,
and for full life for the whole human race.
Steve Garnass-Holmes, unfoldinglight.net December 39, 2021
(The
first North American Christmas carol)*
Twas in
the moon of wintertime
When all the birds had fled,
That God, the Lord of all the earth,
Sent angel choirs instead;
Before their light the stars grew dim,
And wond’ring hunters heard the hymn:
Jesus your King is born! Jesus is born!
Glory be to God on high!
The
earliest moon of wintertime
Is not so round and fair
As was the ring of glory
Around the infant there.
And when the shepherds then drew near
The angel voices rang out clear:
Jesus your King is born! Jesus is born!
Glory be to God on high!
O
children of the forest free,
The angels’ song is true.
The holy child of earth and heaven
Is born today for you.
Come, kneel before the radiant boy
Who brings you beauty, peace, and joy.
Jesus your King is born! Jesus is born!
Glory be to God on high!
*Written in 1640 in the Huron language by the Jesuit priest, Jean de Brebeuf. It was sung by the tribe until 1649 when the Iroquois destroyed the Jesuit mission, killed de Brebeuf, and drove the Hurons out. Many survivors fled to Quebec where the carol re-emerged and was translated into English and French. It is beloved throughout Canada today.
It was a time like this,
War & tumult of war,
a horror in the air.
Hungry yawned the abyss-
and yet there came the star
and the child most wonderfully there.
It was time like this
of fear & lust for power,
license & greed and blight-
and yet the Prince of bliss
came into the darkest hour
in quiet & silent light.
And in a time like this
how celebrate his birth
when all things fall apart?
Ah! Wonderful it is
with no room on the earth
the stable is our heart.
Madeline L’Engle, a-poem-a-day-project.blogspot.com December
25, 2016
He was the strong, the silent one,
carrying no dry cliches
about aloneness as manliness.
The pain was a shard of ice in his heart;
it stilled his voice and dropped his gaze.
Quietly, he made his decision.
This girl: he would send her back home
without touching her. Save her from the
whispered looks, corrosive laughter — or worse.
Then came the dreams … the angel’s words …
he could recall them all as if etched in fire:
“Do not be afraid to take her as your wife …”
He loved her in his silence; she was quick
and unafraid. He matched her confidence
with trust. They would together find their way.
Four dreams defined his life:
Take her to wife, take them to Egypt,
return to Judea, settle in Nazareth.
Then he exits stage left and we are left
to see him, a silent man without pretense,
stolid and strong behind his Mary.
Barry Casey, journeywithjesus.net September 10, 2022
We’re long past racing downstairs
Christmas mornings breathless
for surprises under evergreen branches,
and our stockings now are the support kind
to hold things together south of our knees.
Michael Bublé may sing “White Christmas”
instead of Bing, and Amazon.com
may replace Woolworths on Black Fridays,
but we’ve moved on to richer gifts
of spouses and children, our own homes
glowing in holiday lights of December.
And over the now many miles of age
we still hold close the love of friends,
those we meet for coffee and conversation,
who check in with texts and morning emails,
those with whom our hearts have a history,
who make every day of every season
the most wonderful time of the year.
Edwin Romand, yourdailypoem.com December 25, 2021
Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.
In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.
We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.
We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.
Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
Implore you, to stay a while with us.
So we may learn by your shimmering light
How to look beyond complexion and see community.
It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.
On this platform of peace, we can create a language
To translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.
At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ
Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues at the coming of hope.
All the earth's tribes loosen their voices
To celebrate the promise of Peace.
We, Angels and Mortal's, Believers and Non-Believers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at each other, then into ourselves
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation
Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul.
Maya Angelou, a-poem-a-day-project.blogspot.com December 25, 2014
You know what I’m
like when I'm sick: I’d sooner
curse than cry. And people don’t often
know what they’re saying in the end.
Or I could die in my sleep.
So I’ll say it now. Here it is.
Don’t pay any attention
if I don’t get it right
when it is for real. Blame that
on terror and pain
or the stuff they’re shooting
into my veins. This is what I wanted to
sign off with. Bend
closer, listen, I love you.
Alden Nolan, Do Not Go Gentle: Poems for Funerals (Bloodaxe, 2003)
The Earth is yearning.
I can see it
in the strings of
lights,
so many more this
year
dangling so much
earlier.
I can hear it
in the music of the
season
playing before that
November feast.
I have seen it
in the Yuletide
movies
streaming in
summer, and even spring.
We are yearning afar
communally.
Yearning for calm,
an end to fear
Yearning for excitement
and wide-eyed joy
Yearning for warmth
and presence too.
This year, this lonely year.
We yearn for more,
A Light brighter
than those dangling
strands.
So let us go
to that moment in time
guided by starlight
to a stable far
deep in the night.
We go
seeking to hold
the intangible
made tangible.
We go, you and I,
and offer our
hearts
as manger,
a place
for the precious
Child to lay.
We prepare the space
the heart—the
manger
Allowing our hearts
to open
and soften,
making space
for the Child
that is
the Christ.
A cry rings out:
Emmanuel!
Into the embrace of the warm manger
the Blessed Mother
places the Child.
Arise, what feelings
as I cradle the
divine Child.
Shall my heart be touched
as his tiny hand
reaches out?
In his tender gaze
are offers divine:
love
peace
joy
hope
comfort
healing
renewal
wholeness.
I accept the gifts
in the manger of my
heart
and dare to realize
the Light of the
World
is holding my
heart.
Rebecca Ruiz, ignationspirituality.com accessed on December 8,
2022
Toward the end she only wore
her brown ones, the Velcro not quite
holding anymore; toes scuffed
from Wednesday ballroom class,
sand for melting snow embedded
in the soles. She had others:
concert pumps, her shearling slippers,
flip-flops for the Cape. These stayed
lined up beneath her dresses, expectant,
but her husband always fetched
the brown ones, helped her
to the armchair, eased the crew socks
past her bunions, rubbed
her vein-mapped calves, slipped
the left one then the right one on
the way a kindergarten teacher helps
a scared new pupil into her galoshes; then
he placed each foot, each gorgeous foot,
against the wheelchair’s rests, and
wheeled her deferentially
to the dining hall for breakfast.
Frannie Lindsay, If Mercy (The Word Works, 2016)
They knelt down and
paid him homage.
Then, opening
their treasure chests,
they offered
him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
—Matthew
2.11
I offer the gift of my gold,
my generosity.
May all that I spend be done in faith.
May every dollar reflect my love for you
and your will.
I offer the gift of my frankincense,
my prayerfulness.
May all I do be in mindfulness of your presence.
May I treat every person with reverence,
every moment with gratitude,
every action with trust in your grace.
I offer the gift of my myrrh,
my mortality, my being.
I shall one day die;
meanwhile my life belongs to you, not me.
May I spend my short time in this life
with love and humility.
I willingly surrender my life to you,
that I may enter into the new year
not as a self-protected individual,
but as a generous, trusting, joyful member
of the Body of your Love.
Here. Receive me.
Steve Garnass-Holmes, unfoldinglight.net December 31.2921
Pick a number from one to ten. Okay, now multiply that
number
by nine. You will have a two-digit number. Add those two digits.
Now subtract five from that number. Take that number and find
its corresponding letter in the alphabet (1=A, 2=B, etc.). Now
think of a country that begins with that letter. Now name an
animal that begins with the last letter of the country. Finally, name
a fruit that begins with the last letter of that animal.
Kevin Griffin, Denmark, Kangaroo, Orange (Pearl
Editions, 2007)
December twenty-first
we gather at the white Church festooned
red and green, the tree flashing
green-red lights beside the altar.
After the children of Sunday School
recite Scripture, sing songs,
and scrape out solos,
they retire to dress for the finale,
to perform the pageant
again: Mary and Joseph kneeling
cradleside, Three Kings,
shepherds and shepherdesses. Their garments
are bathrobes with mothholes,
cut down from the Church's ancestors.
Standing short and long,
they stare in all directions for mothers,
sisters and brothers,
giggling and waving in recognition,
and at the South Danbury
Church, a moment before Santa
arrives with her ho-hos
and bags of popcorn, in the half-dark
of whole silence, God
enters the world as a newborn again.
Donald Hall, poemhunter.com January 3, 2003
Daybreak until nightfall,
he sat by his wife at the hospital
while chemotherapy dripped
through the catheter into her heart.
He drank coffee and read
the Globe. He paced; he worked
on poems; he rubbed her back
and read aloud. Overcome with dread,
they wept and affirmed
their love for each other, witlessly,
over and over again.
When it snowed one morning Jane gazed
at the darkness blurred
with flakes. They pushed the IV pump
which she called Igor
slowly past the nurses' pods, as far
as the outside door
so that she could smell the snowy air.
Donald Hall, poemhunter.com April 24, 2015
(An Incomplete List)
Don’t let your cell phone rest
against your ear or any other body part. Don’t use the same
ear
for every conversation. Don’t use your cell phone
while you’re driving
since it must continually reconnect with antennas,
which uses more power,
and the signal is reflected by the metal around you.
All of the above doubles the chances for salivary gland
anomalies, gliomas
and acoustic tumors.
Don’t own a cell phone.
Never leave the house
without a cell phone
because you never know when you’ll
need someone.
Digitally Enhanced Cordless Telecommunications (DECTs)
constantly emit radiation.
Try never to use one while you are using one.
Don’t use computers, printers, iPhones, iTouches,
BlackBerries, etc.
Wireless signals are a source of electromagnetic
radiation.
Don’t doubt the truth of this; Google it for yourself.
Don’t ever use the Internet.
Every search you execute exposes you to viruses.
Even if you don’t have wireless
service, don’t leave your Wifi setting
in the on position;
the device will emit electromagnetic energy
in a continuous search
for the nearest available router.
Don’t own a computer.
Try never to breathe on Ozone Alert days.
Don’t stand within twenty feet of an
operating microwave.
Don’t believe you’re safe.
Set your cell phone inside your microwave
to test it for radiation leakage. Call it
with another cell phone. If you can hear it ringing,
it means that microwaves can pass through the walls
of your microwave oven.
Don’t microwave
your cell phone.
Don’t own a microwave.
Don’t forget to microwave leftovers to kill bacteria. Try not
to eat leftovers.
Don’t waste food.
If you can help it, don’t eat.
Don’t own a plasma TV
which generate high levels
of dirty electricity,
linked to fatigue,
headaches,
difficulty concentrating
and cardiac symptoms
in
sensitive people
(known as electrohypersensitivity).
Don’t forget to watch programs on your plasma TV about
household safety.
Don’t, if you can avoid them, own a television or
a home.
Don’t put your feet up while relaxing; we don’t know why yet,
just don’t.
Don’t forget to try to relax.
Don’t do anything stressful.
Don’t forget that stress is a sign that you are probably
living.
Don’t wake up; don’t sleep.
Don’t do anything that feels good.
Don’t do anything that feels bad.
Don’t do anything.
Don’t forget to breathe.
Don’t forget to eat vegetables.
Don’t forget to remember that the fertilizers they use to grow
vegetables can leave
trace amounts of carcinogenic nitrates in those salads you
eat.
Don’t forget there’s nothing you can do about any of this.
This poem is already outdated.
This poem will never get old.
Don’t try to avoid reading this; it could save you.
Don’t ever read this poem … it’s a proven killer.
Jeff Vande Zande, Rattle #36, Winter 2006
