Rearranged

by Erin from here: http://togetherforgood.wordpress.com/2010/12/09/rearranged/

I find the baby Jesus

Stuck to His plastic manger

On the floor by the toy bins,

Squashed down between the couch cushions,

Next to an empty purple sippy cup,

inside a shoe.

His face doesn't change --

Uncanny perfect peace on a newborn--

Though He is far from His stable

And His little plastic mother,

Found this time stranded on the third stair

Behind the gate.

I guess this is the Savior's reality

Since taking flesh to dwell among us--

Spending time in our deep, hidden places,

Lost amid our messes,

Forgotten in the middle of all our busy lives.

And His face shining grace always

Never changes toward us.

Once again I put Him back where He belongs.

Truer gifts

Truer gifts

by Lisa Leafstrand

from A Widening Light, Regent College Publishing, 1984

The whole world (it seems)

is soaring into Christmas

meeting the cold with such proper spirit

hanging up pines with bulbs and best wishes,

meaningless to minds set in tradition

and premature weariness for celebrating routine.

(I never understood it either):

Being fond of dolls then

I got a new one every year

packaged in paper and parent-love.

I ripped away wrappings

and months of anticipation

to touch my own just born babies,

more real than any mangered child

mysteriously coming in the very olden days.

They cried faucet water tears

(not salty but still strong)

I laughed at their damp faces

sometimes.

No one ever told me that santa made money

by stuffing himself in a red rented suit

or that the cookies I left hot for him

were munched by the dog

as I buried my head in a pillow

white with dreams.

It always ended too soon:

hopes flickered away as colored lights blinked

into black

brittle needles left trails behind the retreating tree

and the nativity surrendered the TV top to magazines.

Songs fled the streets and people forgot to smile

snow melted

and dolls lay broken on a closet shelf.

I shall make no neat list this year

(carefully itemized from Sears' catalog);

needing nothing in the way of plastic infants

I ask for truer gifts:

that I might glow sharper than any tinselled star

showing God's good love to every inkeeper

and all astonished shepherds.

The risk of birth

The risk of birth

by Madeline L'Engle

from A Widening Light, Regent College Publishing, 1984

This is no time for a child to be born,

With the earth betrayed by war & hate

And a nova lighting the sky to warn

That time runs out & the sun burns late.

That was no time for a child to be born,

In a land in the crushing grip of Rome;

Honour & truth were trampled by scorn--

Yet here did the Savior make his home.

When is the time for love to be born?

The inn is full on the planet earth,

And by greed & pride the sky is torn--

Yet love still takes the risk of birth.

Housekeeper

Housekeeper

by Elizabeth Rooney

from A Widening Light, Regent College Publishing, 1984

This is my little town,

My Bethlehem,

And here, if anywhere,

My Christ Child

Will be born.

I must begin

To go about my day--

Sweep out the inn,

Get fresh hay for the manger

And be sure

To leave my heart ajar

In case there may be travelers

From afar.

Shine in the dark

Shine in the dark

by Luci Shaw

from A Widening Light, Regent College Publishing, 1984

I From a dark dust of stars

kindled one, a prick of light.

Burn! small candle star,

burn in the black night.

In the still hushed heart

(dark as black night)

shine! Savior newly born,

shine, till the heart's light!

II Into blackness breached with white

the star shivers like a bell.

God of birth and brightness

bless the cool carillion

singing into sight!

Plot its poised pointing flight!

Dark has its victories

tonight, in David's town.

But the star bell's tongue

trembles silver still

in your felicity.

III The stars look out on

roofs of snow.

They see the night,

a velvet glow

with amber lanterns

shining so.

God searches through

the sweep of night.

Is there a heart that burns

warm and bright

to warm God's own heart

at the sight?