Advent: Arrival

The newborn king, heralded by angel armies,
Lay without pomp or ceremony
In a feedbox, surrounded by scents
Of hay and dust and manure,
Cattle and afterbirth and blood.

Israel’s Great Shepherd was greeted
Not by her high and holy ones,
But by a band of literal shepherds,
Smelly and earthy and common,
Full of faith and wonder and praise.

The king’s virginal mother sat nearby,
Grateful to be far from Nazareth
And the vicious whispers of neighbors.
She smiled at the shepherds’ amazement;
She, too, had known angel-awe.

Her husband, discreet and righteous,
Quietly rearranged her bed,
Working to provide more comfort
For the wife who was his
And the child who wasn’t.

Thus the Maker came to live
Among creatures He had formed,
And He shared their form:
Tiny, helpless, humble, poor, weakness born
To shame the things the World prized most.

Cross-Posted at the Mustard Seed Conspiracy

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Advent: Reclamation

His smile was grim as he looked over the land:
Thickets of plum and honey locust twined with poison ivy,
Clearings all but choked with thistles, weeds, and vines.

He was old enough to remember when this was a vineyard,
Renowned around the world for its fine wines, subtle yet robust,
And now a family of raccoons resided under the ruined winepress.

The cistern had cracked. The spring that used to feed it
Burbled down the hill now, giving life to other, less ungrateful, lands.
The soil, once rich and fertile, was now drought-dry.

The grapevines had gone the way that wild grapevines go:
In every direction they could. They were prodigiously leafy
And all but fruitless. The few grapes they did have were tiny and bitter.

In short, it was a mess. But, like just about anything,
It could be salvaged, given enough time, tears, sweat, and blood.
He had loved this vineyard once, and it was in his heart to remake it.

He noticed a full-grown timber rattler sunning itself atop a fallen log
And made a mental note to have his son come down
And deal with it. Snakes would have no place in this vineyard.

It was a huge job, but he was unfazed. He had an abundance
Of time and strength and zeal. No matter the cost, he would accomplish this.
He turned to the nearest tree, unshouldered his ax, and started chopping.

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Advent: Vigil

It’s hard to keep watching for dawn
When all you can remember is darkness --
Deep, starless, enclouded darkness --
And Night itself has come for you,
A ravenous, slavering wolf,
Overpowering your last defenses,
Dragging you back to its lair,
Dismembering your best intentions,
Devouring your fondest dreams,
Your love, your joy, your peace,
Bite by soul-shredding bite.

It would take a miracle, you think,
For light to blaze up out of nowhere
And exorcise this darkness
From horizon to sun-kissed horizon,
To rescue you from this wolf’s den,
To restore your ravaged heart,
To resurrect your deadened hope.
But miracles don’t happen, you’re about to say
When an impossible light blazes forth,
Blinding and sudden,
Proving you gloriously wrong.

Cross-posted on The Mustard Seed Conspiracy's Advent devotional

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