Tag Archives: Mary

Fear Not

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When an angel

snapped the old thin threads of speech

with an untimely birth announcement,

slit the seemly cloth of an evern more blessed

event with shears of miracle,

invaded the privacy of a dream, multiplied

to ravage the dark silk of the sky,

the innocent ears, with swords of sound:

news in a new dimension demanded

qualification.  The righteous were

as vulnerable as others.  They trembled

for those strong antecedent Fear nots,

whether goatherds, virgins, worker

in wood, or holy barren priests.

In our nights

our complicated modern dreams

rarely flower into visions.  No contemporary

Gabriel dumbfounds our worship,

or burning, visits our bedrooms.

No satellite signpost hauls us, earthbound

but star-struck, half around the world

with hope.  Are our sensibilities too blunt

to be assaulted with spatial power-plays

and far-out proclamations of peace?

Sterile, skeptics, yet we may be broken

to his slow, silent birth, his beginning

new in us.  His big-ness may still burst

our self-containment to tell us,

without angels’ mouths, Fear not.

God knows we need to hear it, now,

when he may shatter, with his most shocking

coming, this proud, cracked place,

and more if, for longer waiting,

he does not.

Luci Shaw, Accompanied by Angels:  Poems of the Incarnation

Advent Lullaby

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Advent Lullaby

We are given myriad scenes of nativity.

 Characters the same, yet always different

I return to Correggio’s Holy Night,

feel the sweet warm weight cradled in Mary’s arms,

smile at the glow on her adoring face,

 the loose folds of her dress,

 sleeves mingling with swaddling

Another page, another artist…

each capturing varying images of love on her face, light in her eyes.

I wonder about things she kept in her heart.

Precious ponders.

When I think of promises, I think of Mary.

Promised as a part of her people by God

Promised to Joseph in betrothal,

Promised alone in a new way by God

Promising to participate in this mystery.

I think of waiting when I think of Mary.

The world waited for thousands of years

for One who would help them turn around right.

Mary waited her forty weeks of pregnancy.

Did she smile in wonder?

In those times a baby-in-waiting was hidden.

No sonogram, no reassurance.

Waiting was for the unknown.

I think of songs.

 “May it be to me as you have said,”

The next words we read in Luke ,

she is singing “Joy to the world,

the Lord has come!  Let every heart

prepare him room.

 My heart already has!”

-her first lullaby, and His.

The one who neither slumbers nor sleeps

 but keeps

chose to come as a helpless baby

who needed sleeping, keeping.

 As sweet mystery grew in her womb,

did she sing still?

 As butterfly kicks began

did her eyes grow wide and weepy?

As her body and her heart made room

did she laugh and cry,

 pray to understand?

As birthing began, promise kept, waiting over,

 song became breathing, bearing, tearing.

In this hard work, was God magnified still?

As minor lament changed key to major praise,

did she sing again in exultation?

Did she hold her baby close

 rock side to side,

singing a whispery lullaby of love,

 echoing prophet’s promise?

“He will take great delight in you.  He will quiet you with his love.

 He will rejoice over you with singing.”

I receive the promise. I wait.  I sing Mary’s songs.

Come, O come, Immanuel.

 

Advent Lullaby

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Advent Lullaby

I think of promises when I think of Mary. She was from a people promised by God. She was promised to Joseph in betrothal. She alone was promised in a new way by God that she would conceive a child that would be Himself. Then she herself promised to participate in this mystery and miracle.

I think of waiting when I think of Mary. The world waited for thousands of years for One who would help them turn around right.
Mary waited her 40 weeks of pregnancy. Did she smile in wonder? In those times when a baby-in-waiting was hidden, there was no sonogram, no medical reassurances. Wondering was different then. Waiting was for the unknown.

I think of songs when I think of Mary. She said “May it be to me as you have said” (Luke 1:31) The next words we read , she is singing praise that sounds like “Joy to the world, the Lord is coming! Let every heart prepare him room. My heart already has!” This was the first lullaby for Jesus. He who neither slumbers nor sleeps and keeps me, chose to enter the form of a helpless baby who needed keeping and sleeping.

Did Mary press her hand to her belly in amazement? As this sweet mystery grew in her womb, did she sing still? As the little butterfly kicks began did her eyes grow wide and weepy? The biggest thing that ever happened to her was so small it could not be seen. As her body and her heart made room did she laugh and cry equally as often and pray to understand?

Did she talk to her baby and confess:
“I’m not the least bit ready,
But come, come anyway.
I’m not the least bit worthy of you,
But come, come anyway.
You need to know that I
Can hardly wait to see your face
So come, come anyway.
Come.
– adapted from the song Come Anyway by Carolyn Arends, and
– printed in the book “We’ve Been Waiting For You”

As the birthing began and song became breathing and bearing, in the mighty work and pain, was God magnified still?
As the minor lament changed key to major praise, did she once again sing with exultation? Did she hold Jesus close and rock side to side in that instinctual gesture all mothers do? Did she whisper her love lullaby and tenderly cradle him as she pondered? Did she remember the prophet Zephaniah’s words? “He will take great delight in you. He will quiet you with His love. He will rejoice over you with singing.”

I sing Mary’s songs. I wait. O come, O come, Immanuel