More Christmas to Share

[eve_prime]

Lawrence Ferlinghetti, the Beat poet, wrote this, and last night the rector included it in his Christmas sermon. Copyright 1958.

CHRIST CLIMBED DOWN

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no rootless Christmas trees
hung with candycanes and breakable stars

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no gilded Christmas trees
and no tinsel Christmas trees
and no tinfoil Christmas trees
and no pink plastic Christmas trees
and no gold Christmas trees
and no black Christmas trees
and no powderblue Christmas trees
hung with electric candles
and encircled by tin electric trains
and clever cornball relatives

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no intrepid Bible salesmen
covered the territory
in two-tone cadillacs
and where no Sears Roebuck creches
complete with plastic babe in manger
arrived by parcel post
the babe by special delivery
and where no televised Wise Men
praised the Lord Calvert Whiskey

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no fat handshaking stranger
in a red flannel suit
and a fake white beard
went around passing himself off
as some sort of North Pole saint
crossing the desert to Bethlehem
Pennsylvania
in a Volkswagen sled
drawn by rollicking Adirondack reindeer
and German names
and bearing sacks of Humble Gifts
from Saks Fifth Avenue
for everybody's imagined Christ child

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no Bing Crosby carollers
groaned of a tight Christmas
and where no Radio City angels
iceskated wingless
thru a winter wonderland
into a jinglebell heaven
daily at 8:30
with Midnight Mass matinees

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and softly stole away into
some anonymous Mary's womb again
where in the darkest night
of everybody's anonymous soul
He awaits again
an unimaginable
and impossibly
Immaculate Reconception
the very craziest of
Second Comings



Here's a nice essay from today's Register-Guard, by Eliza Drummond.

In season of winter, spirit of hope begins to grow

I love winter. The trees are bare, the skies are gray, and the earth lies dormant. The dried and spent leaves have fallen from their branches in anticipation of new growth. And here in this northern country, while it may seem at first glance that winter is the season of endings, I am reminded that the sun is already beginning its climb across the sky, bringing with it more light and fueling regrowth.

So winter becomes a time of hope, not looking back to the past but to the future, waiting to see what will be. And the glory of winter, on a day that falls at the beginning of that season, is a day of hope for Christians all over the world - Christmas.

Christmas: The words of the gospels of Matthew and Luke still surface from memory - the familiar story of Mary and Joseph's travels, Christ's birth, the angel's visit to the shepherds, and the gifts of the magi.

All are stories I memorized as a child and performed in countless church plays. And yet this year, as I read them again, I am struck by their newness. Their message is different now.

Where before my attention was only on the figure of Christ, now I am aware of all the other people whose lives intertwine in the story. Lives that are transformed by the birth of the Christ from despair to hope, from ordinary to extraordinary. Mary is made bold by the news of her new role and becomes ripe with the future, praising God with the exquisite words of the Magnificat, "My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior."

The shepherds' fear turns to anticipation as they follow the star eastward; Joseph's fear of being shamed turns to pride as he comes to understand the miracle that is taking place and chooses to remain by Mary's side. Each in turn has a change of heart as their fear turns to joy at the possibilities of a new beginning.

Where before they questioned the purpose of their life, now they find peace in knowing that they are part of God's plan. They have witnessed hope being born among them in the form of a tiny child and they are in awe.

So this winter season, I will mark the beginning of the new year with my own bold, extraordinary sense of hope. It might seem irrational to some, but I will hold tightly to it. I will watch as my life and others are transformed by this gift we have been given. It is not a one-time gift, but one that renews itself every year, like the seasons that replenish themselves.

Like the sun that begins its warming journey to earth, I renew myself by remembering the stories that surround the birth of Christ. In this season of winter, I look to the future, with bold hope that I can spread the message of peace and new beginnings that mark this Christmastime.

I am reading The Gospel According to Tolkien: Visions of the Kingdom in Middle Earth, by Ralph C. Wood.