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  • Still Dark!

    So we've reached the end of another week of rather dark poems!  It has been interesting to ponder the responses of those who have read them - some have enjoyed revisting poems they last read many moons ago, others have fund the 'darkness' oppressive.  I suppose in some ways, it reflects our expectations of Advent, and the way that it has shifted from its dark focus on 'the four last things' (death, judgement, heaven and hell) or on the Second Coming (with equal measure of despair and destruction) to a saccharine build-up to Christmas festivities.  The idea that our forebears would have fasted and seen this as a penitential season is unknown to many, to most; it is scary how many churches either ignore the great Advent themes (and they are many and varied) or start singing Christmas carols on December 1st.

    Anyway, yesterday was the bright Gaudete Sunday, I wore my pink suit (pink!  me!  yes!) and we had a wonderful evening carol service with a children's choir to augment and counterpoint our adult voices.  It is still dark, but the light is growing... soon it will be Christmas!

    Here's one of the poems we used last night which seems to capture some of this waiting and hoping and darkness and light...

     

    Jesus is Coming

    by Lucy Berry

     

    Jesus is coming.  But not yet.

    First there must be water, blood and milk.

     

    Jesus is coming.  But not yet.

    First there must be blessings, shame and outrage.

     

    Jesus is coming.  But not yet.

    First there must be journeys, vists, exiles.

     

    Jesus is coming.  But not yet.

    First there must be terror, torture and death.

     

    Ah, Lord, hurry to be born.

     

    Ah, Lod, hurry from womb and tomb to save us.

     

     

  • 'Haphazard by Starlight' - Day 16

    The Bat

    by Jane Kenyon

    I was reading about rationalism,
    the kind of thing we do up north
    in early winter, where the sun
    leaves work for the day at 4:15

    Maybe the world is intelligible
    to the rational mind;
    and maybe we light the lamps at dusk
    for nothing...

    Then I heard the wings overhead.

    The cats and I chased the bat
    in circles - living room, kitchen,
    pantry, kitchen, living room...
    At every turn it evaded us

    like the identity of the third person
    in the Trinity: the one
    who spoke through the prophets,
    the one who astounded Mary
    by suddenly coming near.