An Advent Toast
There is a certain time of year
When children lean in close to hear
The gentle ebb and flow of life
(And we disdain the hectic strife
Of jobs, and money's cloying pull)
—To hear the swelling anthem, full
Of whispers of the Coming One.
Have you not heard? We're due a Son.
Of God and human flesh combined—
Not demigod, but Man, divine.
He came to answer Satan's cry:
“If there be God, why must you die?
And why, if he be ‘good’ and who
He says he is—'not old, not new',
But everlasting Holiness—
Then why allow this human mess?”
So Satan says, and Pavlov's son,
(The middle one) agrees: "He's done
A poor job in creating us,
And yet he still demands we trust—
This 'god' who hears the baby scream
In agony, when who would dream
Of letting one poor baby shed
One tear, and not give up his head
To save that child from pain?”
How now to give this God acclaim?
(Thus Dostoevsky poses it.)
“Perhaps eternal bliss might get
For us our long-sought recompence
From Life. Perhaps. But then from whence
Will we seek justice when our hope
That 'God is good' has interloped
With all our need that God be God?”
And thus it is that Christ has come
As as God enfleshed (and yet His Son)
To be Eternity concealed
In Mary’s womb: to be revealed
As Man of Man, and God of God.
And so His ancient feet have trod
The paths worn deep by weary men
Who trudge through misery and sin
And lift their heavy gaze to ask:
“Why then does God give me this task?
Who can endure this darkened world...”
— He answers, like a rose unfurled:
“I have not come to give you pat
And easy answers. More than that,
I’ve come to answer with my Blood
The chaos like a rushing flood:
I AM your God! And on the tree
I proved you have more worth to Me
Than pearls or coins—what metaphor
Will show you that I love you more
Than Life itself?”
A gentle pause.
And then He stoops from holding stars
To put his nail-rent hand in ours.
“It was not just the veil He tore
When on that rough-hewn tree I bore
Your wickedness. My heart was killed.
And though, in hopeful faith, I thrilled
That now at last the human race
Would have its only chance at grace,
Do not for any moment think
That I was not upon the brink.
Yes, I am God. But I am Man.
Indeed, no theologian can
Imagine what it is I did;
Some things from human eyes are hid.
“And no, I did not deign to give
To Dostoevsky, while he lived,
An answer to his deepest plight.
And even now, in heaven’s Light
He will not eagerly disclose
The simple answer that he knows.
‘Far better does it seem to me
To walk and talk with him and see
It written on his Face,’ he says,
'I could say more, but I'll say less.'"
And so, my friends, the time has come
To lift our Nog glass filled with rum;
To sing our merry songs and smile
(Perhaps He joins us for a while).
But let us with our Yule-tide mirth
Recall that God has walked the earth.
And while he walked he bore our pain;
He suffered, died and rose again,
That we might also die to sin,
To live eternally with Him.
Christmas, Anno Domini 2008.
