Silent Night

star1

Now that Advent has arrived, I suppose it is time for my annual Christmas lament. I am reluctant to speak. I am afraid of adding another shrill note to the year’s collective shriek. Everybody, it seems to me, is up in arms. Every word is an affront.  It is tempting to blame our national mood on the election, but I believe its roots go deeper. If the outcome of the election had been different, I do not think that the tone would have changed. It would only have meant that different voices would be singing the same parts. We are all outraged now.

Outrage, of course, is often appropriate. It was the chord struck by the biblical prophets. An ancient aphorism often attributed to St. Augustine says that hope has two daughters: anger at the way things are and courage to see that they do not remain the same. Without a doubt there is much in the world that deserves outrage. But I am struck by how little modern outrage is able to accomplish. For all its heat and fury, it has not proven to be an especially powerful engine for driving change. Perhaps this is because we are really enamored of a different set of twins. Proverbs 30:15 declares, “The leech has two daughters. ‘Give! Give!’ they cry.” The cry of our age is not the cry of love or even of justice. It is the cry of “measureless ambition,” a voice which says “me first” and “I’m here now.”

I cannot help being struck by the difference in Jesus’ tone. It was predicted by the prophet Isaiah who declared, “He will not shout or cry out, or raise his voice in the streets” (Isaiah 42:2). Despite the shout of joy that Heaven uttered at His birth, Jesus came into the world in relative obscurity and deliberately refused the limelight. When they tried to make Him a king by force, He opted for the path of solitude and suffering instead (John 6:15). This was not because He shunned royal office. Jesus knew it was His by right. Rather, He took this route because He knew that the only way to put things right was to take the wrong upon Himself. The beauty of Christmas is not the romance of a babe in a manger but the mystery that poet Richard Crashaw celebrates when he speaks of  “eternity shut in a span.” It is the astonishing fact that God became flesh and lived among us in order to take our sin upon Himself, working justice by His own death and resurrection.

I realize how foolish such measures will seem to those who are focused on tales of power. Yet it is God’s own self-admitted folly, designed for those who would rather exclude Him from their world than make room for His definition of justice. As for me, I will kneel in silence with Richard Crashaw and wonder at the sight:

To thee, meek Majesty! soft King

Of simple graces and sweet loves,

Each of us his lamb will bring,

Each his pair of silver doves;

Till burnt at last in fire of thy fair eyes,

Ourselves become our own best sacrifice.

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The Announcement to the Shepherds

shepherds

We were taken

by surprise

when the light broke.

Blinded and afraid

we cowered

and the poor

sheep fled

into the hollow.

“Do not be afraid”

the angel said.

But we could

not help it

and we could not

follow the flock

that had forsaken us.

So we just stood by

in white light

and trembled hearing

the angel trumpet

his good tidings.

And then we too

like scattering sheep

fled among the hills

of Bethlehem.

Until we came to

the place where

the Child lay.

Advent Poem

bethlehem

Mary went down

to Bethlehem,

bone weary

and riding

on a donkey.

Great with Child,

she did not feel

like the queen

of anything.

While

the constellations,

wheeling

in their courses

like drunken sailors,

shown a little

above her.

And all of us

shuffling

a long road

longing to hear

the morning stars

shout for joy.