The Light of the World

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Now burn, new born to the world,
Double-natured name,
The heaven-flung, heart-fleshed, maiden furled
Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame.
GM Hopkins

Each family is indeed a kingdom, a little church,
and therefore a sacrament of and a way to the kingdom.
Alexander Schmemann

I.
Oh Christmas Eve,
The eve of the great light.
Augustine said, God is younger than all.
He is light and life
He is color and being and action.

We are black and dull.
We are tired and old.
and empty of God.

He is brilliance.

We are dirty reflectors.

Was it hard for God to become man?
Once he was young,
A babe in a manger.
The vibrancy of new life was not hard for this little one.
Who was younger than all.

II.
Oh Christmas Eve.
This moment I am black soil,
Lumpy with rocks and lazy farming,
Acidic from poisons and lack of rest.

Flare up and burn these worn sugar fields.
Make of me softer soil
And richer ground.

III.
Oh Christmas Eve.
By my side and in my heart
Is my one and only.
To love and to cherish,
Until we are parted by death.
This is my solemn vow.
She is my gift from the Light
A glow within peering into me.
She is my gift from the Fire
A crucible of fire.

Glowing tongue of flame
Bursting bright above the heads
Of our wedding crowns.
Flowers afire, but not consumed.
This our little kingdom,
A house of God.

Light of the World
Fill us with your brilliant Winter flame.
Christmas Pentecost
“Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame.”

IV.
Oh Christmas Eve.
Your match of light sets about its work
Upon our dead wood.
And with empty hands
like leafless branches,
We go up in flames.

And then … out of season, in the middle of the night
We glow with blossom.
What seemed like a flaming tree…
Was a flowering one,
Glowing in the midnight sun.

Oh Christmas.
Oh candle indoors,
Oh flame of Christ.
Inside our house and hearth and heart.

This was my Christmas Poem for 2008 (I write one for Tara each year).

Comments

Cameron Lawrence said…
Really interesting ideas and images, J. I especially loved the last section. The idea of our "dead wood" being burned up to reveal "blossoms" in the fire of Christ is a beautiful one (if I'm reading you correctly)--the fire consuming what of us isn't love/Christ, perhaps? And the last stanza has the near-character of a Celtic prayer. Must be those prayer books of yours seeping through. :) Nice work.
February 5, 2009 at 7:45 PM
Kris McDaniel said…
J,

really good stuff. karyn and I nearly cried. I love your way with words.

Beautiful, friend. Beautiful.
February 6, 2009 at 6:18 AM
Meghan said…
Gorgeous.

So rich and good and true. Reading this brought to mind the smell of soil being turned over, pungent and rich and POSSIBLE.

Love your way with words.
February 16, 2009 at 7:44 PM
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