Incarnation

Poem commissioned by my friend and pastor, #MichaelLawrence, for our Jazz Night event at Hinson Baptist Church.

Scarlet On Canvas

The painting starts with scarlet on canvas,

scarlet across a rampant field of white. 

Stroke upon stroke, layer upon layer,

edge to edge and splashing on Heaven’s floor.

Royal blue next enrobes the stretched out skin. 

The mix of colors darkens to purplish midnight hues.

Next a star:  Star Light, Star Bright, first star, Shine Hope.

Here we go again, it's the give-me get-me time of year

again, give-me get-me time.

Buy and wrap, wrap, buy, then buy some more

joy, more peace, Goodwill toward men. 

Strains of hymns drift from shops and malls, radios and playlists,

as Silent Night, Holy Night

rushes into Frosty Santa Chestnuts Jingle Sleighbells. 

In the hustle bustle rustle of all

the bustle rustle hustle I drown in,

I sigh a soulful heave, shut out the noise,

and let myself breathe sadness, loss and grief. 

Christmas in my soul is empty filled up; 

looks candle-lit hearth-and-home inviting,

but is filled up empty, barren, wanting. 

Where find hope when hope despairs,

and love and touch, meaning and purpose, hang their hats on air?

Give-me get-me time again

again, it's the give-me get-me time of year. Here we go!

Pour me hope in a bottle!

Blunt the ache of loss, blur the scalding shame of my failures,

ease my guilt-stained dark day dreams. 

Silent Night star shine bright down on shepherds,

Shine on shepherds, on a hill.  Is it real?

Can it be?  Touch of wonder.  Touch of Grace.

Eternity steps into time for me?

Hope in a bottle cast from heaven's shores. 

A full cup drunk! Bouquet of the aged vine!

Hope in a baby sent from heaven's shores. 

Here we go again again. 

Wrap joy in peace, wrap peace in joy, from human pain is born a boy

swaddled in sovereignty. 

Transcendent resplendence tucked in vulnerability. 

Can it be? Forgiven sin?

I can not believe it is really true. For me. To live. 

Give-me, get-me, give and give. 

The hustle bustle rushes in again. 

Rustle noise hustle noise sets my thoughts a-spin. 

Notes from Holy Night fade to Reindeer flight,

and peace — sweet peace on earth — came down — .

Wee gentle baby, architect of time,

sleeps full and warm, sleeps full of love and warm.

Gentle baby sleeps full of love and warm. 

Painting done; brush laid down and dry. 

Starlight shines on sleeping Son —

born to cry, born to sigh, "Not my will, not my will, but…

Not my will…but Thine… be…done."

Immanuel child, here with us, 

in the silent silent night here with us,

fill our empty space

from edge to edge and splashing on Earth’s floor.

John Willsea 

November 2014