The messenger

After Malachi 3:1-4 

The messenger is coming,

sent by the Lord;

the messenger is sent

to prepare the way of the Lord

 

The messenger is coming,

in whom you delight;

the messenger of the covenant

is coming, says the Lord.

 

But who among us

can stand when he comes?

Who can endure the day

when he appears among us?

 

But he is coming;

the messenger is coming.

 

Photograph by Wonderlane via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Tuesday Readings

 

More than merely a magician with words – Michael Hurley at The Critic Magazine on a new biography of Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

 

Inhabiting the wide world – Padraig O Tuama on the poetry of Marie Howe.

 

For shadowment: Villanelle for the solstice – Angela Alaimo O’Donnell at The Christian Century.

 

Christmas, Whidbey Island. 1975 – Kelley Keller at Story Warren.

 

Violet Bick Gives Back the Money – poem by Megan Willome.

The promise

After Jeremiah 33:10-16 

The Lord will fulfill

his promise, the one

made to the house

of Judah, to the house

of Israel. The Lord

will raise a branch,

a righteous branch,

a branch who will

bring justice, who will

bring righteousness,

to the land.

 

Judah will be saved.

Jerusalem will be

Secured.

 

And the branch 

will be called

the Lord is our righteousness.

 

This time will pass.

This time is not forever.

This will become 

what it is designed

to be, the design

of the branch

of righteousness.

 

Photograph by Osama Khan via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Monday Readings

 

How God Used A Christmas Carol to Resurrect Literature in My Life – John Sommer at Story Warren.

 

Wonder Confronts Certainty, Then and Now – Gary Morson at Public Discourse.

 

The Real Christopher Lasch – Paul Baumann at Commonweal.

 

How the West Became Pagan –Again – Derek Rishmawy at The Gospel Coalition.

Well, I Guess It’s Christmas, men plow our roads, I remember Dad and Presents – Katie Andraskie at Katie’s Ground.

The light burst

After Isaiah 7:14, 9:2-7

The light burst

upon the darkness.

The people who had walked

in darkness suddenly could

see the yoke, the burden,

has been broken and

removed. The child is born,

born of a virgin;

a son is given,

born of a virgin;

a birth like no other

before or since has

happened, a son born

to rule, to govern,

to bring peace,

to be forever.

 

Photograph by Casey Horner via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

“Gerontion,” poem by T.S. Eliot – Joseph Bottum at Poems Ancient and Modern.

 

A Concise Theology of Failure – Samuel D. James at Digital Liturgies.

 

Dear Josephine – Sarah Dixon Young at Story Warren.

The telegram

After Isaiah 9:6 

The telegram comes

seven hundred years

or so early, a herald

and the promise

of the promise

of a child to be born / stop /

a son to be given / stop /

and more to come / stop /

carrying the government

upon his shoulder / stop /

and given four names / stop /

Wonderful Counselor / stop /

Mighty God / stop /

Everlasting Father / stop /

Prince of Peace / stop /.

He will be 

the promised one,

he will be

the promise.

 

Photograph by Sandra Tan via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Herod's Lament

It is whispered, a faint but urgent murmur.

These fools surrounding me think I don’t see them turn away or suddenly stop speaking as I approach or paste their sickly courtier smiles on their sickly courtier faces.

It’s in the bazaars like a rumor of free pomegranates, or figs fresh from the orchards; in the caravans passing through to Egypt and Damascus. It slinks its poisonous venom among my own barracks troops. My sons speak haltingly, stuttering their nervousness in front of me, not concerned for their father, of course, never for their father. They hear the mutterings and their self-obsession trembles for their futures.

It’s in the very wind that dries and sears my palace walls, the burning that parches my throat with a thirst no wine or water can satisfy, the wind that taunts and dares me to respond.

Messiah.

The wind blows its foul breath and whispers Messiah. The Messiah comes.

I order my priests to search their precious scrolls, my scribes to examine the court archives, my astrologers to study the stars and the heavens and tell me what they find in the alignments and movements. They come before me, my priests, my scribes, my astrologers, they come before me with the necks bent, waiting for the sword to slice their impunity.

Messiah.

My wife tells me she dreams of Messiah.

All of them fools. A pack of fools. Superstitious idiots.

They do not know what kings do to messiahs.

We destroy them.

Even if the wind whispers the name.

Messiah.

Illustration: Bust of Herod the Great, 1^st Century B.C.; Florence.