Cold Advent

Here's a repost of an Advent poem I wrote last year...

It was sufficient for us

To be the seekers.

A new stellar sign

Was all we needed

To spur our pilgrimage

Through barren wildness,

Blistering winds, stinging nights,

With only our parchments

And our intellect

To bolster our certainty.

We did not need

The heavens to burst open,

Like those simple shepherds

Who, half-asleep on the job,

Wiped the sand from their eyes

And found the glory of God

Ripping open the sky.

Who had angels’ wings

And harps of gold

And Be Not Afraids

And Good Tidings of Great Joy

And all the style and spectacle

Of heavenly holiness

In one giant pageant.

Of course they got up

And did as they were told.

But for months all we had

Was a pinhole in the sky,

A nick, a puncture

In the darkness.

And when we reached the Babe

In that tomblike stable

It was enough to see Him

To know we were right.

We left with our dignity in tact,

Requiring no reward,

No unearthly visions

Of celestial upheaval

To inspire us

Or cling to

Long after

When the sky was resealed

As tight as a drum.