Around the corner from us
is the most decorated house in town,
disproportionate if decorations
be reckoned by the square foot.
Lord, I don’t know how you feel
about the artifical lights, blinking and still,
or wreaths of bells or toy soldiers inflated,
spotlighted by night, flaccid by day.
I don’t know the cost of
of a Frosty snowglobe.
I only know these things
are a hedge against the darkness.
They bring no real light,
though we hope for a glimmer
of peace when we drive by,
a distraction from the real world.
Because people are marching,
lying as if dead in the street,
Some interpose their bodies
between marchers and police cars.
Some say Christ interposed himself.
The words are in my favorite hymn,
“he, to rescue me fom danger,
interposed his precious blood.”
And sometimes I think we hold back,
thinking we are not worthy,
or not powerful enough,
or not called to it.
We safely wait and watch and listen —
or we drive by the light displays
on our way to the mall
instead of really thinking about it.
We have to work to remember:
you came to us as one of us,
“pleased as man with men to dwell
Jesus, our Immanuel.”
You came willing to spill blood
real blood, when nailed or speared,
to interpose yourself
between innocent and empire.
You are the one who came after,
the one who exalted valleys
and broke down mountains,
who came at a time you were needed.
It is just such a time now.
show us the truth.
Come, Lord Jesus. Come.