Christmas Poem, 2017: In the Morning, Joy and Light

Here is this year's Christmas poem.  Keep in mind, as always, that these poems have a good deal of reading between the lines in them ... as I try and place myself into the history and wonder about the sorts of things that may have gone through the minds of the various players in the incarnation accounts. I'm wondering these things aloud, not to try and re-write the story (much less to assert that my imaginings are factual), but simply as a way of getting at the narratives afresh, and trying to draw some lessons from them.

You can listen to the poem here, or read it below the page break.

Christmas Poem, 2015: A Thousand Thoughts Ran Through Her Mind

I've just completed this year's Christmas poem ... to be read, Lord willing, at tomorrow evening's Christmas Eve gathering at PRBC (6:30pm).  Keep in mind, as always, that these poems have a good deal of reading between the lines in them ... as I try and place myself into the history and wonder about the sorts of things that may have gone through the minds of the various players in the incarnation accounts.  I'm wondering these things aloud, not to try and re-write the story (much less to assert that my imaginings are factual), but simply as a way of getting at the narratives afresh, and trying to draw some lessons from them.

You can listen to the poem here, or read it below the page break.

Christmas Poetry

Most every year at our church's Christmas Eve service, I read a Christmas poem - an imaginative (but biblical) angle on the incarnation ... seen, each succeeding year, from the perspective of a different player in the drama of the incarnation. Here some are, collected in one place, now with audio files included:

2003 - There's Always Wheat Among the Tares (Simeon) - Read - Listen
2004 - Let them Say what they will Say (Joseph) - Read - Listen
2005 - The Not-So Wise Man (Magi) - Read - Listen
2006 - Lost Sheep, that's who the Shepherd's for (shepherds) - Read - Listen
2007 - Pregnant Pause (Zachariah) - Read - Listen
2008 - The Day I Leapt for Someone Else (John the Baptist) - Read - Listen
2009 - House of Bread (a shepherd) - Read - Listen
2010 - Just when you Think all Hope is Gone (Anna) - Read - Listen
2012 - The Return of the Magi (Magi) - Read - Listen
2014 - Good News, Great Joy for People All - Read - Listen
2015 - A Thousand Thoughts Ran Through Her Mind (Mary) - Read - Listen

Reading the Leaves

Recently our family had occasion for an autumn walk at Amberley Park.. The leaves were just beginning to change, and some to fall, brittle, down upon the earth. And the children had just a delightful time in piling them together, and sprinting like Olympic long jumpers, down an invisible track, and into the pile. Oh, to be a child again! And to be able to enjoy God’s creation, whether in old age or young. That is the primary lesson I want to draw, autumn by autumn, from the changing of the leaves. God is a marvelous Creator; and the changing of the seasons also reminds us of His promise to be a marvelous Preserver, too. “While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest … shall not cease" (Genesis 8:22). And the reds and yellows that signify the onset of fall remind us of that every October.

But the leaves have something else to teach us – especially in those days when, after their brilliant chameleon act, they fall to the earth dry, and brown, and dead … crackling under our feet, and soon to be blown away like chaff and forever forgotten. Because here in the deadness of autumn’s leaves is a portrait of lost mankind in his own deathly falling down into the earth. “The wicked” says Psalm 1, “are like chaff which the wind drives away.” Or, if you read the famous poet George Gordon (Lord Byron), the wicked are like the autumn leaves, fallen from the trees and never to return to their heights again.

That’s what Lord Byron wrote in his famous poem, “The Destruction of Sennacherib”, which is based on the biblical events described in 2 Kings 18-19. Sennacherib, king of the Assyrians, was threatening to sack Jerusalem and raze it to the ground. And godly King Hezekiah trembled within his palace. And he prayed! And. in the night, the angel of the Lord passed over the Assyrian encampments and slew 185,000 of Sennacherib's men in their sleep. Or, as Lord Byron put it majestically:

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,

That host with their banners at sunset were seen:

Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,

That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

The whole poem is worth your time, and I’d urge you to read it … both as a sample of excellent writing, and as a testimony to the power and glory of God. But for now I just draw your attention to Byron’s autumn leaf imagery. The wicked “lay withered and strown”, he says, like the leaves of autumn, fallen dead from the trees. And I say to you, so it will be with all the wicked when such a scene as we find in 2 Kings 19 is repeated on a worldwide scale at the coming of Christ. The wicked will crackle under His feet … and in the eternal flames … like fallen leaves at a campground. And perhaps, in addition to beholding the beauty of the fall, we should also think of this when we hear the leaves crumbling beneath our steps in the weeks that are ahead. God forbid that any of us should continue in our sins, and suffer this fate! And God forbid that we should have no concern over those who are hurtling headlong toward this fate with no sense of what their death will really mean, apart from Christ.

This autumn, then, let us read and apply the lessons of the leaves, both as they bask in the afternoon sun; and as they grind, lifeless, beneath our footfalls. And let us turn ourselves, and point others, to Jesus – our Maker and Preserver, and the giver of autumn's beauty; and also the One who, alone, can save us from being gathered like autumn leaves and thrown into the fire.

George Herbert's "Christmas" (1633)

What a quote from George Herbert's poem entitled Christmas (courtesy ccel.org):

O Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted light,
Wrapt in nights mantle, stole into a manger;
Since my dark soul and brutish is thy right,
To Man of all beasts be not thou a stranger:

Furnish & deck my soul, that thou mayst have
A better lodging then a rack or grave.

Thanks for pointing this out, Justin!

2014 Christmas Poem: Good News, Great Joy for People All

I've just completed this year's Christmas poem ... to be read, Lord willing, at our worship gathering tomorrow night.  Read it below the page break, or download the Word document and/or the mp3.

And here's a link to the whole collection of Christmas poems, from 2002 until now.

Christmas Poems

Most every year at our church's Christmas Eve service, I read a Christmas poem - an imaginative (but biblical) angle on the incarnation ... seen, each succeeding year, from the perspective of a different player in the drama of the incarnation. Here they all are, collected in one place, now with audio files included:

2003 - There's Always Wheat Among the Tares (Simeon) - Read - Listen
2004 - Let them Say what they will Say (Joseph) - Read - Listen
2005 - The Not-So Wise Man (Magi) - Read - Listen
2006 - Lost Sheep, that's who the Shepherd's for (shepherds) - Read - Listen
2007 - Pregnant Pause (Zachariah) - Read - Listen
2008 - The Day I Leapt for Someone Else (John the Baptist) - Read - Listen
2009 - House of Bread (a shepherd) - Read - Listen
2010 - Just when you Think all Hope is Gone (Anna) - Read - Listen
2012 - The Return of the Magi (Magi) - Read - Listen
2014 - Good News, Great Joy for People All - Read - Listen

Christmas Poems, Collected

Most every year at our church's Christmas Eve service, I read a Christmas poem - an imaginative (but biblical) angle on the incarnation ... seen, each succeeding year, from the perspective of a different player in the drama at Bethlehem. Here they all are, collected in one place, now with audio files included:

2003 - There's Always Wheat Among the Tares (Simeon) - Read - Listen
2004 - Let them Say what they will Say (Joseph) - Read - Listen
2005 - The Not-So Wise Man (Magi) - Read - Listen
2006 - Lost Sheep, that's who the Shepherd's for (shepherds) - Read - Listen
2007 - Pregnant Pause (Zachariah) - Read - Listen
2008 - The Day I Leapt for Someone Else (John the Baptist) - Read - Listen
2009 - House of Bread (a shepherd) - Read - Listen
2010 - Just when you Think all Hope is Gone (Anna) - Read - Listen
2012 - The Return of the Magi (Magi) - Read - Listen

Christmas Poem, 2012: "The Return of the Magi"

Taking a cue from the final stanza of TS Eliot’s famous poem, “The Journey of the Magi,” I wrote my own counterpart ... wondering what it must have been like for these sorcerer/magicians to return to their pagan homelands after having witnessed the world (and life)-altering birth of the Messiah.

The first stanza begins below.  Click "read more" to continue with the whole thing.  Click here for audio.

With gifts unloaded, greetings said,
Bent on our knees beside His bed –
We stayed down low, who knows how long,
And licked the dust, where we belong.
It seemed a stone had rolled away,
With new born hearts, we longed to stay
And bask beside the splintered crib,
Without the glitter and the glib
Of home. How could we leave this Child
And re-traverse the deserts, wild,
And trav’ling home find all was gone
Of old lives we had left that dawn
With gold and incense in our hands
To set out from our pagan lands
To find a King?

The Destruction of Sennacherib

By George Gordon (Lord) Byron, 1815
Based on 2 Kings 19.8-20, 32-37

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

Just When you Think All Hope is Gone

Each year, I write a poem, based on one of the people in the Christmas narrative, to be read at our Christmas Eve service. This year, I chose Anna, the prophetess who spent every day in God's temple, fasting, praying and waiting for the Messiah who would redeem Jerusalem (Luke 2.36-38). Particularly, I wondered why Luke thought to include the name of her father (Phanuel) and her family's place of origin (Asher). Why was she waiting so intently? What human means did God use to mold her into the woman she was? Did her dad and her 'home county', if you will, have anything to do with it? Of course, we don't know for sure. But the poem below is a gathering together of my thoughts on how, perhaps, God may have worked His wonders in Anna's life. I hope, while imaginative, it is true to the biblical lessons that her life, and the rest of Scripture, place upon us. Enjoy!

The hills of Asher in the north
Are gold and green and bubble forth
Like olive bunches on a tree,
And tumble down toward Galilee.
From this rich soil grew faith in Christ:
Where five loaves and two fish sufficed
To feed a crowd five thousand strong;
Where God forgave the sinners’ wrongs;
Where wonders were too rife to count
And Jesus taught upon the Mount.

But Galilee and Asher’s land
Were once as fertile as the sand
That has no place for roots to hold,
And bring forth faith like olives gold.
It’s people jumbled truth and not
And stirred it all into one pot –
The Gentile’s faith mixed with the Jew,
And cooked into a poison stew
So that true faith was almost gone,
And few looked for Messiah’s dawn.

But sometimes sand becomes a pearl …
And, thus, there was a little girl
Whose father sat her on his knee
On Asher’s slopes beside the Sea,
And said: “I know this land is bare,
And people live without a care,
And sin is ripe and faith seems gone,
And few look for Messiah’s dawn …
But we live in a privileged place!”

A furrow grew on Anna’s face.

“Remember what the prophets told?”
Her father said. “The green and gold
Of faith will sprout here once again
Just like the olives after rain!
Isaiah put it best, my pearl” –

And then, as she began to twirl
Her fingers in her tangled hair,
He said, now with a distant stare,
The land is now under contempt
Like hair, or gardens, long unkempt.
It’s dark now, like the winter sea
Here in this Gentile Galilee.
But those whose land is grayed with blight
Will see a great and glorious light;
And those benighted in this land
Will dwell no more on shifting sand.
For unto us a Child is born
To hide our shame and bear our scorn.
For Israel’s glory comes a Child,
And for Galilee’s lost Gentiles.
Just when you think all hope is gone,
Then comes the Savior’s blessed dawn!


Young Anna’s heart began to race.
Into the furrows on her face
Were planted seeds of blessed hope
Which grew in clumps and helped her cope
With famine spread in Asher’s land,
Whose faith was built on shifting sand.
“The Christ will come!” became her cry.
“Perhaps I’ll see Him with my eye,
And bend and kiss His holy feet,
And see Isaiah’s promise, sweet,
Come true and spread o’er Galilee
And Asher’s hills beside the Sea.”

Ten years passed by, Anna was grown.
Her faith was now all of her own …
But shared, now, with another man
Who, like her dad, had more than sand
Beneath his feet. With sandals strapped,
He’d walk with her to where she’d clapped
Her hands that day in pure delight
When daddy spoke about the light,
About the Christ, about the day
When Asher’s tears He’d wipe away.
For seven years they made that trek.
And each year, faith grew by the peck –
Like olives beaten from the trees –
As she would sit upon his knees
And look into the sunrise, gold
And quote the words Isaiah’d told:
For unto us a Child is born
To hide our shame and bear our scorn.
For Israel’s glory comes a Child,
And for Galilee’s lost Gentiles.
Just when you think all hope is gone,
Then comes the Savior’s blessed dawn!

The eighth year, though, she went alone,
And came back to an empty home –
But sure as she had ever been
That, even with all Gal’lee’s sin,
And even with her own regret,
Messiah’s dawn was coming yet.
“A Child is born to wipe away
The tears that flood my eyes today;
A Father for this daughter’s cry;
A Husband that will never die;
A Savior who’ll our sins erase;
My God I will see face to face!”

The years passed by, her face grew old.
Her skin began to crease and fold
Like olives set aside to dry
For winter. She’d no longer try
To travel back to Asher’s land –
She had arthritis in her hand,
And in her knees, and in her spine.
Her neighbors blamed it on the time
She spent all hunched down on the floor
Behind a little hidden door
Inside the house of God. She’d pray …
And skip at least a meal a day.
“O God our help in ages past*,
Come now, and heed this widow’s fast.
Come, bring the light to Asher’s hills …
And also to this town that kills
The prophets and the men of God –
This city where the peasants plod,
Where harlots play their games of chance,
And priestly phonies march and prance.
Reverse our fortunes, ever grim!
O God, redeem Jerusalem!”

Each day she’d hide behind that door
And plant her knees into the floor
In hopes that answered prayers would grow
Like olive clumps so long ago
In Asher. And she’d make the walk,
In her mind’s eye, and hear him talk
Again – her father Phanuel.
Some days she thought she almost smelled
His cloak, all fragrant from the herds.
At times, she thought she heard his words:
For unto us a Child is born
To hide our shame and bear our scorn.
For Israel’s glory comes a Child,
And for Galilee’s lost Gentiles.
Just when you think all hope is gone,
Then comes the Savior’s blessed dawn!

And then, one day, she did! She heard,
As, clear as day, her father’s words:
For Israel’s glory comes a Child,
And for Galilee’s lost Gentiles.

“My dad’s been gone for sixty years”
She thought, her eyes now filled with tears
Of joy. “Who could it be?” she said.
A thousand thoughts ran through her head.
And then she flung the door all wide –
And there, amidst the pomp and pride,
A simple man, holding a child.
“Our light is no longer exiled”
He said. “My eyes have seen the King –
The end to all our suffering
And sin.”

“He’s right” said Anna now,
And curved her back into a bow.
“Isaiah put it best” she said.
Our hopes and dreams, as good as dead
From sin that covered us with night
Have given way to glorious light.

Then Anna took Him on her knees –
The answer to her years of pleas;
The hope for Asher’s barren hills,
And for Jerusalem that kills.
She ran her fingers through His hair
And said, now with a close-up stare:
Now, those whose land is grayed with blight
Will see a great and glorious light;
And those benighted in this land
Will dwell no more on shifting sand.
For unto us a Child is born
To hide our shame and bear our scorn.
Just when you think all hope is gone,
Then comes the Savior’s blessed dawn!

So widows: Hope when hope seems vain,
And when you’re overwhelmed with pain.
Like Anna, wait and watch and pray.
A Husband comes to be your stay.

And children: Hope when parents die.
A Father comes to wipe your eye.
So make you parent’s faith your own,
And be like Anna when you’re grown.

And parents: Take them on your knees
And put their little souls at ease.
Tell them: “I know this land is bare,
And people live without a care,
And sin is ripe and faith seems gone,
But look out for Messiah’s dawn!





*This line, of course, comes from Isaac Watts's great hymn by the same title.

House of Bread

This past Sunday, as a sort of Christmas sermon, I preached on how Jesus is "the bread that came down out of heaven" (from John 6.41 and making comparison with the manna in the wilderness in Exodus 16). For our Christmas Eve service, I wrote a poem about how, fittingly, that Bread came down in a town called Bethlehem (which, translated from Hebrew, means House of Bread). So, here ya go:

Jacob’s fam’ly lived along

The outer fringe of town among

The peasants, widows, tradesmen, and

The shepherds who traversed the land

Outside the city gates with rams,

And billy goats, and little lambs.

Their house was simple, sturdy, small –

With sand-hued stucco on the wall

That faced the west and bore the wind.

Each winter Jake and dad would mend

The cracks and patch the crumbles tight

To keep out all the draft that might

Keep Jake and sisters from their sleep.

Sometimes by night he’d watch the sheep

For neighbors closer into town.

He’d lead them through the gate and down

The stony path out to the field

And bring back home his tiny yield:

Two copper coins for mother’s tin.

He’d dash inside, and drop them in,

And know he’d helped his fam’ly gain

A little extra weekly grain.

Their clothes were old, their pantry sparse.

And nothing hurt his father worse

Than knowing that his son was gaunt

And how the biting wind would taunt

The hovel, far too small and cramped –

And smelly when the chickens camped

Inside at night.

Young Jake could sense

His father’s grief and watch him wince

On colder nights when each of four

Familial quilts went on the floor

To cover wife and girls and son;

And how he’d wait ‘til they were done

With supper before standing up

And spooning some into his cup.

But Jacob’s father lived in trust

That God had promised and He must

Make all to work out for the good –

Even his fam’ly’s lack of food.

Some nights as he scooped out a few

Of mother’s lentils which she grew

In their side yard, he’d pause and say:

“I’m looking forward to the day

When God will open up the skies

And rain down bread before our eyes.

We may not sup on cakes or rolls …

But manna’s coming for our souls.”

“For our souls?” Jake’s heart would say inside.

“Food for our souls?” It sounded cheap.

And so when Jake would take the sheep

Out through the gate, he’d stop and read.

The words carved there would make him bleed

Inside. ‘Beth-lehem: House of Bread’.

“That may be what the ancients said”

Jake thought, “when David walked this town

And spread his blessings all around.

But things these days are pretty sparse.

That moniker seems like a farce.

‘Beth-lehem: House of Bread’ she was.

But now we say that just because;

Or with a vague religious twist –

‘True food will fall down like the mist’

Dad says. ‘Bread for the hungry soul –

Just like the prophets have foretold.’”

“I do not know” Jake thought. “Perhaps

Dad’s right.” But then his mind would lapse

Into a twelve year old’s day dreams –

With eyes glazed over and moonbeams

Across his face.

He’d almost dozed

When all the sheep around him rose.

The neighb’ring shepherds stood upright …

And in the sky a distant light

Grew brighter … and more glorious still

Until, hov’ring above the hill

Where shepherds watched their flocks by night –

And robed in splendid, glorious white –

An angel spoke and Jacob fell,

Sure that the news he’d come to tell

Was justice, wrath, and death assured

For doubting all his father’s word

About the bread, about our souls,

And how life’s more than cups and bowls

And yeast and grain and stomachs full.

But then he felt a kind word pull

Him off his face and to his feet:

“My news for you is true and sweet,

Like wafers spread with honey wild –

In Bethlehem’s been born a child!

A king – like manna for your souls!

You’ll find him near the donkey foals

Inside a manger filled with hay.

For unto you is born this day

A Savior who is Christ the Lord,

The Son of God, the Living Word!”

As Jacob rushed back down the trail,

He tripped over a water pail

And tumbled down upon his back.

As he looked up into the black

Of night … his eyes fixed on that gate.

And now its slogan filled with weight.

Once more: “Beth-lehem: House of Bread”.

It was just as his father said!

So learn the truth of Bethl’em’s gate.

It’s not the food that’s on your plate;

Nor if your body’s strong and whole.

The bread of God is for your soul!

Christmas – a tale of bread from heav’n

Which to our race is freely giv’n.

The Day I Leapt for Someone Else

Marveling at the humility and Christward focus of John the Baptist in John 1 and 3, and pondering what went into the making of such a man, I wrote this poem for tonight's Christmas Eve Service:

When I was just a tiny lad
I’d crouch down on my knees with dad
Leaned back, with age, upon his bed,
Three pillows stacked beneath his head.
He’d whisper stories of our faith,
But often pause to catch his breath.
Time had conspired to take its toll.
He’d withered like an ancient scroll
So full of truth, and yet so frail –
Long pauses between every tale.

He’d nap sometimes and I would wait
An hour to learn of David’s fate
After he’d sinned; or what came next
When Job was by his friends perplexed.
He’d tell of Moses in the sands,
The bread, the quail, the Promised Land;
Of Jonah and God’s mighty gale;
Of Sis’ra’s head, and Jael’s nail.

But he was tired; his lungs were weak;
The color faded from his cheeks.
And so he spoke with head laid back,
Eyes often closed, and muscles slack –
Except … Except for now and then
He’d say to mom, “Remember when
The angel came?” Eyes open wide
Now he would raise up on one side.
With grimaced face and teeth clinched tight
He’d slowly push himself upright.
This story was too full of grace
To tell it from his normal place.

“Remember when the angel came?
Son, he’s the one who chose your name.
God really did, I guess I’d say.
I remember like yesterday.
He spoke of you – your mission great;
And how we’d have a baby late.
But most of all He spoke of Him
Who’d come and save us from our sin!”

And so he’d give us his report,
But mom would always stop him short –
You know how older couples do –
She wanted in the story, too!
So she would rise up from her chair,
And her side of the story share:
“As I recall, now, six months passed.
Your aunt came by. She talked so fast
I had to calm and slow her down.
And angel’d come to her home town,
To her, in fact – she grinned so wide –
‘Before’ she said, ‘I’m made a bride,
I’ll give birth to God’s very Son.
Messiah! The Anointed One!’
And do you know what happened then?”
Mom always asked. “You leapt within
My womb, dear son. I don’t know how
You knew.”

And then she’d always bow
And thank the Lord for giving both
A Son and Savior, by His oath.

She’s right. Somehow I always knew
That, though among the chosen few,
And though a preacher of God’s word
Whose voice is by the thousands heard,
“I’m not the Christ; I am not He.”
So let my voice drown in the sea
Of waves that crash upon His shore;
Of Christward praise forever more.
I publish this from east to west:
"He must increase, I must be less."

I guess I always knew these things.
I leapt before I knew to sing.
The Spirit came, and from the womb,
In my small heart prepared Him room.

But it sure helped, as days went by,
To have a dad whose lips were dry,
Whose heart was weak, whose eyes were tired …
But who, for Christ, became inspired.
It helped, that twinkle in his eye,
And how he’d push and pull and try
To sit up straight and tell it right,
When speaking of that holy night;
When speaking of God’s only son,
Before whose path I was to run.

It helped that mother’s fav’rite part
Was not how Johnny won her heart;
Was not her infertility,
Was not the miracle of me!
Instead, the part she always tells?
The day I leapt for someone else!

So moms and dads, your kids adore …
But let them know you love Christ more!
Train them to like the Baptist be:
“More of Jesus … less of me!”

Pregnant Pause

I wrote this today, imagining what went through Zacharias’s mind when the angel Gabriel appeared to him (Luke 1.8-18); what he thought about in his year of silence (Luke 1.19-20); and how he was so ready to burst forth in messianic song as soon as his lips were opened (Luke 2.57-79). Highlighted sections are links to the Scripture passages I am paraphrasing/extrapolating.

I wish that I could speak—could shout—
And spread that angel’s words about
In villages among the hills;
In brothels where men get their thrills;
And temples where man’s pride is rife.
But I can’t even tell my wife.

How foolish I! How slow of heart!
I thought the horse behind the cart.
“This news—a son? That sounds absurd”
Was my reply to heav’nly word
From angel lips untried by sin.
“You see the wrinkles on my skin,
And come to me with stories wild:
‘Old Zach and Lizzie bear a child!’
I’ve prayed, I know—that’s what priests do—
And told my wife about it too.
She’s smiles, looks down, and bats her eyes
Like girls whose hope is to disguise
A crush. She tucks her hair, now gray
Behind her ears. ‘What can I say’
She says, ‘but God is truly good.’

She’s just been saying what she should.
But how can I believe this news?
Messiah comes to save the Jews—
And old Zach and Elizabeth
Will bear a son to blaze His path!
Come on! How’ bout you show a sign,
To prove that this is God’s design."

Those were the last words that I spoke.
To prove his words were not a joke
That angel wired shut my jaws—
Nine months, so far, of pregnant pause.

We’ll have a son—they all can tell
From watching Lizzie’s belly swell.
‘God has been good’ they stop to say.
‘Old Zach, you’ve taught us how to pray.’
I wish they knew it wasn’t me.
My faith is like an olive tree—
All shriveled, gnarled, twisted, stooped—
In spite of myself, yielding fruit.
I’d like to preach to them of grace—
How all of us, the human race,
Are like a barn, whose paint is old;
Whose wood is cracked and filled with mold;
Whose roof is gone; whose rafters sag.
“Our righteousness is filthy rags.”
And when their eyes and hearts are full
With tears, to say: “Your sins, like wool
And like the driven snow shall be,
Though now a crimson, bloody sea.”
Rejoicing as I am, you see,
To have a boy for Liz and me,
My thoughts are wrapped like balls of twine—
I cannot put it out of mind—
The other boy the angel said
Would soon lay down his holy head
Upon another mother’s breast.
This was the news that sounded best
Of all. Messiah comes to save;
To rescue us from shallow graves
We’ve dug ourselves with our own hands,
With picks of cruelty in the sands
Of sin. Messiah will not fail
To enter in behind the veil
That I, the priest, could never cross.
He’ll enter in through pain and loss
Of His own blood—just like the ram
God gave to father Abraham.
A substitute absorbs the rod,
And opens up the way to God.

And so I set this poem down,
And I’ll recite it in the town,
In villages among the hills;
In brothels where men get their thrills;
To priests, like me, whose faith is weak…
And in my heart until I speak.
I’ll tell them, yes, about my son,
But focus the other One:

“Blessed be the God of Israel
Who saves His people from the hell
That they deserve, and has raised up
A full and overflowing cup
Of grace—salvation comes to man.
Messiah comes from David’s clan
Just like God said in days of old,
And prophets spoke with valor, bold:
‘Salvation from our enemies’
And mercy from the Lord who’s pleased
To keep His promises of grace,
His covenant with Abram’s race:
That we might serve Him all our years
In holiness and without fears.
And my son, so the angel says,
Has come to pave Messiah’s ways.
To preach about the One who wins.
Forgiveness of His people’s sins.”

I’ll save this for my son, I think,
So that when he is on the brink
Of preaching, as the Lord has said,
That he will have it in his head
That priv’leged as His lot may be,
He never will the Bridegroom be,
But publish this from east to west:
“He must increase; I must be less.”

Christmas Poem, 5

Lost Sheep! That’s who the Shepherd’s for!
Considering why God chose to reveal Christ first to shepherds (Luke 2.8), and what they may have felt like that night.

With moon hung low behind the trees
Josiah bent his creaking knees,
And with a low and muffled groan
Sat down, his back against a stone.
His face was old, his cheeks were drawn.
His eyes were dim, his hair was gone.
And like a leather shoe, his skin
Was tough and creased, but gentle when
He smiled—especially round his eyes
Where flesh was pinched like when one ties
A goatskin tight with corn silk twine—
A bottle filled with fresh red wine.
The skin will harden, dry, and crack—
Yet house the best wine in the rack.
That was Josiah—great in years,
His wrinkles carved by many tears.
But inside beat a heart of flesh
Where tenderness and zeal could mesh.

He’d wield his rod to guard the sheep
And tell old yarns to beat back sleep.
The rest of us would squeeze in close
Like lepers, for a healing dose
Of truth and grace from ‘Siah’s lips.
His tales came in like mighty ships
From distant lands, with golden yields—
And yet he’d never left these fields.

He was a shepherd, just like we,
Who for a measly beggar’s fee,
With flute to while the hours away
Would work all night and sleep by day;
And come home with a muddy gown;
And keep his home at edge of town.
He smelled like sheep, and like his dog.
He’d been banned from the synagogue.
O yes—he was a pious sort—
But ‘unclean’ by the high priest’s court.
Our shepherds’ task is crude and mean.
Some Sabbath’s he would not be seen
At meeting time because a sheep
Had crumpled in a broken heap,
Or hurled itself upon a rock,
Or cut itself off from the flock.
So like the other shepherds he
Was spit on by the Pharisee.
And because he could not afford
A Paschal Lamb to give the Lord
(Or sometimes to have meat for dinner)
He was an outcast and a sinner.

Yes, he watched sheep, but they weren’t his.
They took them for the Temple ‘biz’—
The priests—so they could line the folds
Of priestly garments with pure gold.
A pawn in a religious game,
Still, ‘Siah called upon the Name.

Straight from the Bible, all his tales—
Of parting sees and giant whales,
Of milk and honey from Gods’ store,
Of kings when they go out to war.
But all the yarns that he would spin—
One thread ran through time and again—
The story of a coming King
Who’d ride in while the people sing;
Who’d love the shepherds and the thieves;
Who’d forgive ev’ryone who grieves
For sin—religious or out cast;
Who’d blot out all our filthy past;
Whose blood, just like a Paschal Lamb,
Would satisfy the great I AM.
We all, like sheep, astray in sin,
But God would lay it all on Him!

‘For us?’ we’d say. ‘How can this be?
For us and not the Pharisee?’
‘For all,’ he said, ‘who turn from vice
And trust this Shepherd’s sacrifice.
For Pharisees with vain conceit;
For shepherds with their dirty feet;
The harlot with her painted face;
For heathen of the Gentile race.’

We’d laugh. He’d heard our boastful lies.
He’d seen us walk with bloodshot eyes
Back into town at dawn’s first light,
So drunk we could not see aright.
He’d heard us lash our razor tongues
And watched us fill our desperate lungs
With smoke of hash and pride of life,
And how each man would treat his wife.
And most—he knew the synagogues—
How they saw us as hollow logs,
Twice dead, uprooted, worthless waste.
We were not of religious taste.
And yet he’d tell us all the more:
‘Lost sheep! That’s who the Shepherd’s for!
His lambs He’ll come and gather in—
Even the ones who’ve strayed from Him!’

But still we’d drink and still we’d cuss—
‘Messiah will not come for us’
We’d say. ‘You know not where we’ve been.
For all you’ve said, we’re still unclean.’
Besides, if this Messiah comes
He will not waste His time with bums
And rabble here in Bethlehem.
He’ll ride into Jerusalem!
He’ll visit Kings, and eat with priests
Not with us and our mangy beasts!

Our friend would stretch a leathered smile
Across his face. ‘A little while
And you will see that you are wrong.
And then you all will join my song!’

But scoff we did with all our might.
Until one cold and gusty night
We sat and felt the wind grow still
The way the wise men say it will
Before a storm—and we grew stiff.
And then, as though a giant rift
Had torn through heaven’s starry scroll
Like lighting, but without the roll
Of thunder—just a blazing light.
And angel dressed in dazzling white—
His waste cinched with a golden band,
A burning scepter in his hand—
Appeared.

We fell down on our faces.
And, like that light, flashed all the places—
Raunchy, lewd—that we had been,
The lies we’d told, our boasting wind.
And on our cheeks, like guilty blood,
Now hung the grass, the urine, mud,
And filth left by a hundred sheep.
It symbolized how poor, how cheap,
And how unclean we beggars were.

The next few moments were a blur.
All we could do was burrow down
Our faces further in the ground
And wait for him to wield his rod
With all the wrath of holy God
And crack our ribs and break our teeth
Like wolves who’d come to play the thief.

We lay in slop what seemed like years
Until he said, “Push back your fears!
I did not come here to destroy
But to announce a baby boy;
And with good news of joy and mirth
For all the peoples of the earth!
Tonight in David’s little town
Of Bethlehem, amid the sound
Of sheep, of oxen crunching hay—
And in such mire as you now lay,
A Savior’s born for Pharisees
And men of state with high degrees—
But also for the harlot cheap,
And for the men who watch the sheep!”

So Come to Christ! Come one, come all.
Come not, though, to a lavish hall,
But to a manger filled with straw.
Come you who have not kept the Law.
Come to a cross and see the cost
Christ paid to rescue all His lost
And wayward sheep, so far astray.
Come all you sinners, come today!
Christ has flung wide the heav’nly door!
Lost sheep! That’s who the Shepherd’s for!

A Freebie

Okay, this isn't technically a Christmas poem...but it is about Jesus! So I'll throw it in for free with your annual subscription! I'll post this year's Christmas poem (#5) on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.

The Disciple’s Song
Based on 1 John 1:1

1. What Was from the Beginning
As darkness hovered o’er the deep
And earth was still a miry heap;
Before the Dippers hung in place
Or moon was lit with manly face,
And man had not from clay been wrought
And paradise was just a thought;
Before the dawn by sun was kissed
Our blessed Christ still did exist.

Before the devil scoffed His might
And led his angels in their flight,
Or left his tracks on virgin sod
And bade man shake his fist at God;
Before man’s fall was yet fulfilled,
Before His blood must needs be spilled,
Before all flesh in sin was damned,
Christ waited, slain, the precious Lamb.

When Abram lived in ancient Ur,
Where nomads dressed in cloaks of fur,
God plucked him up like desert rose
And led him to the land He chose.
He promised him a mighty clan
While Abram still was just one man.
Before his offspring God did bless,
Through faith Christ was his righteousness.

It did not take the fall of man,
Nor promise made to Abraham,
Nor God’s creation turned to vice—
He always was and is the Christ.

2. What We Have Heard
Our hands were blistered bloody red
From mending nets where fish had fled.
Our temples beat like warring drums.
Our ears were filled with seaside hums
Of market slang and bickering
And haughty laughs and snickering.
But then above the deaf’ning noise,
A gift of God: The Master’s voice.

The beauty of “Come follow Me”
Made boats and nets and fish and sea
Seem like a chasing after wind
Given the chance to follow Him
Whose words could sting like whirling sand
“Gouge out your eye! Cut off your hand!”
and even harsher phrases said,
“Repent or you shall all be dead.”

But harshness always dripped with grace
As sweet as honey to the taste.
A word could meet a beggar’s need
Or splint a bruised and wilting reed.
That voice robust with sovereign might
Became a salve for blinded sight,
A balm for leper’s rotten skin,
A flood to cleanse the stain of sin.

This word that caused out hearts to burn
Will never shade, nor shift, nor turn.
We testify to what we heard—
The Son of God, the Living Word.

3. What We Have Seen with Our Eyes
He grew up as a tender shoot.
He wore no jewels, nor sash, nor suit.
His clothes were of the working trade—
Sturdy, clean, and slightly frayed.
A carpenter with hands rubbed raw
From gripping hammer, adze, and saw.
This Nazarene, a faithful son
Was also the Anointed One.

Before our eyes He fed a host:
Five thousand men, two fish, five loaves.
With gentle hands He felt at ease
To bounce the toddlers on His knees,
Or tickle them and watch their grins,
Or wipe the crumbs off of their chins.
He was a Shepherd for His flock;
A gentle, kind, but solid Rock.

This Man the leaders put to test.
With blackened hearts they tried their best
To lasso Him with Moses’ Law,
But in Him they could find no flaw.
And when He did not take their bait,
A story they did fabricate—
“He does not do as Caesar said!”
“O Pilate, we would have Him dead.”

And so we watched His form be marred—
In cowardice, watched from afar.
On that good day we saw God’s grace,
Eyes fixed on Him who took our place.

4. What Our Hands Handled
This one who washed our sinful feet
Was now wrapped in a corpse’s sheet.
But mangled flesh and strangled screams
And bloodsoaked garments filled our dreams.
But then burst Mary in the room—
“I have been to the Master’s tomb!
He is not dressed in fun’ral shroud.
I kissed His hand. He spoke out loud!”

Alive, He came to us that night;
And robed in garments glorious white.
Our hearts whose light had been so dim,
Burst open wide to worship Him.
We bowed our knees with trembling souls
To kiss His feet—and felt the holes
Where flesh was to that wood affixed
And blood with rust and splinters mixed.

Unworthy men touched hands and side
Where God’s own wrath had been applied.
Those wounds in hands and feet and head,
Our nightmares while his frame lay dead,
No longer red like aged wine,
But firm and white, as healed by time.
This truth now touched our fingertips—
“Death could not hold Him in its grip!”

Our hearts were filled with holy hush.
The One whom God was pleased to crush
With Roman lash, and stake, and sword
Was in our arms, the risen Lord.

Number 4...

The Not-So-Wise Man
Pondering how it was that the magi in Matthew 2 knew that the star in the east was the herald of the birth of the Savior…and how this pagan set of astrologers became worshippers of the Lord.

My name is Shar-Ezer the great.
I made my fame by staying late
Out on bald Babylonian peaks
Where all is black and star-light leaks
Through tiny pinholes in the sky
And makes men ask the question “Why?”

Night by night I’d march through town
All regal in my magi’s gown
With ox-cart full of shiny tools
That proved me smart and others fools.
I thought that science made men wise
And opened up the blind man’s eyes.
And thus I thought with mounds of books,
With telescope and nightly looks
At heav’nly sights most eyes can’t see
That I should be impressed with me.

So I would stay out late at night,
‘Scope fixed on planets in their flight,
Observing comets, moons, and stars
Like fireflies trapped in ancient jars—
“My jars.” I thought I’d roped them all
And hung the dippers great and small.
I fancied that the heav’nly sea
Was poured out by the likes of me.

But then, one night, all science failed.
The stars of Betelgeuse all paled
And from a land who knows how far
Arose a new, uncharted star!
And, breaking all the rules I knew,
I watched it dance across the hue
Of midnight blues and sunrise pink.
It seemed to call my name and wink
And bid me gaze, bow down, and come
Follow.

My heart banged like a drum.
What could this be? My mind was vexed.
Had I missed something in the text?

I hurried home and scanned the pages
Of all the wisdom of the sages.
But nothing quenched my newfound thirst.
I think this was the very first
Time I realized that I was small.
And that I did not know it all.
This ‘wise man’ had to swallow pride
And load his donkeys for a ride
To that old shack on Prophet’s Hill
To seek one who was wiser still.

Old Kaphtor’s face was thin and gaunt
With leather skin and eyes that haunt
Young fools like me, so tall and proud.
“Behold, He’s coming with the clouds”
He said.

“Who’s coming?” I replied.
“The One whose star has made you ride
These thirty miles out to my place.
You’ve seen the star. It’s in your face.
And you must ride through deserts wild
To gaze upon that lovely Child.”

Kaphtor was of a dying breed—
The old magi who trace their seed
To prince Daniel the ancient Jew
Whose words, they say, always came true.
His power to interpret dreams
Made him a fav’rite of the kings
And made him all the wise men’s prince.
And so there has been ever since
A school of men who read his words
And trust his God like helpless birds.
A magi class who serve the LORD
And work for no earthly reward,
But share His truth with all who seek…
Whose hearts are teachable and meek.

“What child?” I said. “What do you mean?
Can you explain this star I’ve seen?”

His glance forced me to hang my head.
“Swallowed your pride?” at length he said.
“And now you’re fin’lly asking why?
Young magi, look up at the sky.
A thousand stars that you can name;
That let you play this wise man game,
Parade through town and make your boast
That you’re the man who’s charmed the host
Of heav’n.”

And then he smiled at me.
“A million more you’ll never see,
And moons a thousand lives away.
So gather up your toys and play
And wonder at the starry night.
But know this—It was not your might
That hung Orion in its place
Or lit the moon with manly face.
You did not give the stars their names.
Nor do they shine to speak your fame.”

I wept. My tears he humbly dried—
And with them wiped away my pride.
“I’m glad you came to call,” he said.
“We’ve quite a journey just ahead.
You’re just the one to go with me.
Ready, at last, to bow the knee!
The old man Daniel had it right.
He told us that one moonlit night
We’d see the “star of Jacob” rise
And that the wisdom of the wise
Could not explain the gracious hand
Of God who would become a man.”

“The message of the star in heav’n?
‘For unto us a son is giv’n!’
He’s come! I’ve waited all these years!
He’s come to wipe away our tears.
He’s come and washed away your pride.
He’s come to gather up His bride.
He’s come to set the captives free.
He’s come to see us bow the knee!”

“Now what?” I asked. His eyes grew bright,
And glassy looked into the night.
Then trembling lips began to sing:
“We go to find our newborn King!”