On this first day of December…

In the quiet I can almost hear the angel interrupting the world. Do you not know? Have you not heard? He is coming, he has come, he is here. And I feel him now, that deep and abiding peace he brings. Though so much demands my attention, in this moment my frantic heart slows and I settle in to the big comfy chair as I read of the God who intervened. Out of that long-dead stump that had been cut down and left to rot, a shoot of life grew and grows. A shoot that will be an arrow piercing the heart of the accuser, pushing back against hell’s darkness to bring at last the light of salvation.

The Hope of Advent

I wrote this poem in 2018, imagining the moment when Mary, the mother of Christ, arrived and baby John leapt for joy in his mother's belly. I wrote it long before anyone had ever heard of Covid-19. The world was already in pain, though, grieving death and injustice on the streets and in the courts...

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