After sharing about a past mentor yesterday, I thought I’d lift the literary standard of these posts (which shouldn’t be hard…) by bringing you a poem today.
I wrote this poem many years ago after a session with my mentor, whose name is made clear in the post title, which is also the title of the poem.
Despite appearances, the poem actually does relate to Christmas because it’s all about Jesus. Here it is:
With the words, ‘Let there be light’
From the corners of eternity erupts creation.
With boundless imagination creatures are formed
Intricately moulded, and humanity itself-
The divine maker bestows his image
Upon those as lowly as us.
Yet his heart broke as those he loved turned him down
A love story gone wrong
A rejection, a refusal, a denial of the created order
The offer of life, a life together
Everything that you’d ever desire
But the words, ‘No thanks’ chucked back in his face.
Such was our debt that formed God’s anger
Which only by blood could be calmed
Jailed, locked in our sin
With no method for salvation
But due to love God took our form in his creation
And through death removed his own anger
A new life, a new offer,
A reworking of the old.
The same love story
Swirled out onto a new canvas
With the beauty of sorrow and the open arms of desire.
A love that never refuses those who seek it.
But due to love God took our form in his creation.
God was angry at us because we ignored him. But God himself offered the solution.
The solution came at Christmas time centuries ago, born in Bethlehem. That’s why Christmas is a time to celebrate. Yes, we see family and friends and eat lots of amazing food.
But food, family and friends whilst wonderful, are not what Christmas is all about, really. It’s about God activating phase one of his rescue mission.
What do you think about Christmas? Is it a fun time? A busy time?
It may be both those things, but perhaps we need to realign out thoughts with those of God’s when it comes to Christmas, so we can think about it correctly.
In terms of this planet, it is his birthday party after all.
Yours ever the muse (perhaps),
Alison
