"The House of Christmas"

by G.K. Chesterton 
 
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.

For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.

A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost – how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky’s dome.

This world is wild as an old wives’ tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.

The Stable, from the imagination of C.S. Lewis

“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,
    though you are small among the clans of Judah,
out of you will come for me
    one who will be ruler over Israel,
whose origins are from of old,
    from ancient times.”

Micah 5:2

Two Poems for Your Wednesday

This is the irrational season
When love blooms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason
There’d been no room for the child.

-Madeleine L'Engle

That Holy Thing
by George McDonald

They all were looking for a king
To slay their foes and lift them high;
Thou cam’st, a little baby thing
That made a woman cry.

O Son of Man, to right my lot
Naught but Thy presence can avail;
Yet on the road Thy wheels are not,
Nor on the sea Thy sail!

My how or when Thou wilt not heed,
But come down Thine own secret stair,
That Thou may’st answer all my need-
Yea, every bygone prayer.

Mary's Song

Have you ever read Mary’s song Luke 1, like really read it? Christendom calls it The Magnificat. It is indeed magnificent—not because of anything a simple young woman in Nazareth did, but everything that the Almighty God did through her.

It is very possible that Mary was not literate, yet her song, so beautifully recorded by Luke, is rich with the themes of Israel’s prophets.

And Mary said:

“My soul glorifies the Lord

     and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
    of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,

     for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
    holy is his name.
 His mercy extends to those who fear him,
    from generation to generation.
 He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
    he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
 He has brought down rulers from their thrones
    but has lifted up the humble.

 He has filled the hungry with good things
    but has sent the rich away empty.

 He has helped his servant Israel,
    remembering to be merciful
 to Abraham and his descendants forever,
    even as he said to our fathers.”

(Luke 1: 46-55)

The season of Advent is about waiting. If you read closely through the Gospels, you’ll notice every character in the Christmas story was waiting for something. Zechariah and Elizabeth were waiting for a child. The shepherds were waiting for a break from the doldrums of living and working with sheep. The Magi were waiting to see if the result of their “science” was for real. Simeon and Anna were waiting to see the promised Messiah. Jesus was waiting to fulfill the will of the Father. 

Yet I often have trouble seeing what Mary and Joseph were waiting for. Like the rest of rural Israel, I’m sure they were living in constant hope that the Lord would send some relief from the oppressive Romans. But other than that, it appears as though the God’s plan caught them by surprise. Mary wasn’t pining for a husband. Joseph wasn’t searching for his dream job. They most certainly were not hoping for a baby (not yet, anyways). 

But in her Song, Mary sings, “for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.” There was definitely something on her heart; something she was waiting on from the Lord. And God knew that. He knew that from the beginning of time; from the moment He hatched the plan to send His Ambassador to Earth. He was mindful of all her human obsessions and failings and quirks—and still, He chose to use her to be the carrier of His Son.

How many times (while we’re waiting and waiting, and waiting some more) do we question our qualifications before God? “He can’t use me,” we say. Or “Why would God ever bless me like that?” We ask. When in reality we all fall short of God’s standards. It is His mercy that He chooses us, broken and leaky vessels, as a part of His plan; His grace that we can sing His praises. 

This is a Peaceful assurance as we light the second Advent candle.

God With Us

I recently heard a great sermon on what it means for Jesus to be called Emmanuel, God with us. He came to the Earth to be close to us; to dwell with us; eat with us; experience life and death with us. These two poems reflect that same theme.

The Coming

by R.S. Thomas

And God held in his hand
A small globe. Look, he said.
The son looked. Far off,
As through water, he saw
A scorched land of fierce
Colour. The light burned
There; crusted buildings
Cast their shadows: a bright
Serpent, a river
Uncoiled itself, radiant
With slime.
                       On a bare
Hill a bare tree saddened
The sky. Many people
Held out their thin arms
To it, as though waiting
For a vanished April
To return to its crossed
Boughs. The son watched
Them. Let me go there, he said.

First Coming

by Madeleine L’Engle

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine. He did not wait

till hearts were pure. In joy he came
to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!