Yesterday, while I was driving to Co Springs (I’m speaking here this weekend), I thought to share a few favorite Advent poems with you but just never had the chance. Then, this morning, Amber Benson sent a Naomi Shihab Nye joint to me—a miracle of a poem, honestly (you can hear Pádraig Ó Tuama read it here)—and I decided I had to make time to write up the post. So, here you go!
(Fair warning: I sneak in one of my own at the end.)
The photograph is Zoë’s!
I Feel Sorry for Jesus
Naomi Shihab Nye
People won’t leave Him alone. I know He said, wherever two or more are gathered in my name… but I’ll bet some days He regrets it. Cozily they tell you what He wants and doesn’t want as if they just got an e-mail. Remember ‘Telephone’, that pass-it-on game where the message changed dramatically by the time it rounded the circle? Well. People blame terrible pieties on Jesus. They want to be his special pet. Jesus deserves better. I think He’s been exhausted for a very long time. He went into the desert, friends. He didn’t go into the pomp. He didn’t go into the golden chandeliers and say, the truth tastes better here. See? I’m talking like I know. It’s dangerous talking for Jesus. You get carried away almost immediately. I stood in the spot where He was born. I closed my eyes where He died and didn’t die. Every twist of the Via Dolorosa was written on my skin. And that makes me feel like being silent for Him, you know? A secret pouch of listening. You won’t hear me mention this again.
The Implications of Saying “Yes”
Mark Harris
The neighbors talked about it for a while, How the young girl who was beginning to show Came back from meeting her cousin And seemed kind of quiet, How she was seen leaving her house Early one morning with a small sapling Bundled in rough cloth in one hand, And a shovel in the other. Later she was seen coming back, No sapling, the shovel over her shoulder, Her hands and dress smeared with dirt, Her eyes red and swollen. Later, sitting with the others, she spoke Of her longing for a lost simplicity And her preparations for realities that follow from her quiet Yes. Years from now, she said, There will be need for this tree grown, Just as there is need now for this Child that grows in me. The tree will bear the body of the Man, As I bear the Child. We will each be ready in our turn To do as the Holy One requires. We will, with the Holy One we bear, Be broken by the bearing, And will give our lives For the healing of the nations.
Prayer
Kevin John Hart
O come, in any way you want, In morning sunlight fooling in the leaves Or in thick bouts of rain that soak my head Because of what the darkness said Or come, though far too slowly for my eye to see, Like a dark hair that fades to gray Come with the wind that wraps my house Or winter light that slants upon a page Because the beast is stirring in its cage Or come in raw and ragged smells Of gumleaves dangling down at noon Or in the undertow of love When she's away Because a night creeps through the day Come as you used to, years ago, When I first fell for you In the deep calm of an autumn morning Beginning with the cooing of a dove Because of love, the lightest love Or if that's not your way these days Because of me, because Of something dead in me, Come like a jagged knife into my gut Because your touch will surely cut Come any way you want But come.
Light Affliction
Christ, you made me wait so long patience perfected her weary work and now— now I can leave you, weighty too.
These are marvelous. Thank you so much for taking the time to post them.
Love them. Pics are beautiful