An Advent Poem
the season of new,
of impossible come true
life in a virgin womb.
Light in the promises:
I am always with you,
I am making all things new.
Let those with ears to hear
hear the good news.
Let those with eyes to see
see the working of the Spirit
as it descends, rests
enlightens, lifts up.
The Spirit is fire and light
burning in the word and world
like the bush that was never consumed.
Africa, Asia, America, Europe. . .
the ground where you stand is holy.
Do you feel the dust between your toes?
Remember the feel, gritty and real.
Holiness exists in the least likely place,
the Divine image rests on the least of these.
You too are dust,
but dust deeply loved.
How can it be?
That the Father-Creator burns for you,
that his face shines on you,
that you may shine his image in the world
and discover he is already shining wherever you go?
Yes, everywhere you go, there He awaits you.
He calls you to carry the light
even as you discover the light.
God sent his only, beloved Son,
and here is a mystery:
He still sends Him!
Do you not perceive His presence
in the shelter, the street, the hospital room?
He goes before you.
The kingdom has come and is still coming.
Where you stand, His light shines.
Where you live, His love burns.
Blessed are you when you search;
you hunger and thirst for what is right.
Blessed are you when you mourn;
you long for a world reborn.
Blessed are you when you pour out all you have and more;
you shall be filled from deeper wells than you have ever known,
your empty cup shall overflow.
Blessed are you when you seek the light you cannot see;
take refuge in the longing.
Even when you cannot trust your hands, your tongue, your eyes,
the longing is a sign your heart is still alive.
Hope not in what you have, but in the possibility of what could be.
Yes, the mystery:
He is with you always,
yet, seeks you always.
Forever together, yet seeking to close the distance.
Though you have never seen Him
you know the shape of His face,
the kindness in His eyes,
feel the pain in His hands and side,
hear His cry, “it is finished”
He does not lie,
but “finished” is not the whole truth:
where one story finished
a new one began.
Always, a new beginning,
a new chapter,
a next page unwritten,
another advent entering in,
a light shining brighter than encroaching darkness
without and within.