THE LOOPING PIGEON ...and other Christmas images copyright Doug Blair 2015 , Waterloo, ON
A little bird takes credit For one particular night His family all made fun of him For his peculiar flight With one wing short And one too long He looped and curved mid-air And moreso when excited No straight trips anywhere. And that Night something special A stable perch for all Behind the Inn
With lodging thin For travelers come to call. The call had been a census To count the simple folk A weary inconvenience Beneath a Roman yoke. And in this barn a couple The woman large with child Their only chance at nursery The Mother sweet and mild. And pigeons strained to witness A wondrous birthing sight Celestial music beckoned This clear and chilly night. The shuffling on the rafter Each bird pressed to his friend Until the looping pigeon Was pushed right off the end! The launch so very shocking Then out the window too And flapping, arching, curving Was all that he could do. Beyond the Inn, across the square And down through lane-ways tight The misdirected pigeon Was sure a curious sight. And sight even to shepherds Down from the hills to see A babe of royal promise To set their people free.
Some angels had directed Some stall in Bethlehem The place of His arrival And so dispatched the men. And here they were The Town for sure But where the Hope of men? The wee bird held the answer As he regained his poise And made his straightest homeward flight To happy manger noise The sheep would bleat contentment The cattle mooing peace The pigeon gained his rafter perch The World, a soul’s release.
Music of Angels
He was there All pink and peaceful. The animals’ breath And bulk Made the place strangely warm. I was warm anyway From the hasty trek Down from the hills. Uncle Tobias had Stayed with the flock. Music of angels
Still sounding in every heart. The Mother had gestured To us, ‘Enter’. I think she was smiling And eager to present The magical New Life. Somehow, it seemed That he was ours too. Father’s voice had a strange Tightness and pitch As he repeated the words “Deliverer, at last… Deliverer, at last.” And squeezed my shoulder. We had some cheeses and loaves And a little wine For the young couple. Happy congratulations. As the town All around us Slept in the chill. There was a tear On that new father’s cheek. And pigeons cooed In the rafters.
While Shepherds Watched...
They rested on the hillside Content in shepherds' care
The darkness held no terror No looming peril there And chilly-damp the grasses And star-bedecked the skies And comforting the campfire And happy songs besides.
And light came from the heavenlies And music's other-world And angels rapt with Good News To earth the missive hurled The waiting now was over The best of Shepherds come The love and light all-sovereign That left their shepherds numb.
And quickly they departed It seemed so right to go While sheep securely rested Held in the after-glow The Town lay still and silent Beneath their drowsy eyes And sleep prevailed so sweetly Until the new Son-rise.
Could?
Could the love that seeks a child Swaddled in the still of night Come to set the Law aright Rest upon my heart? Could the gracious mother mild Who said yes to God’s great charge Birth in me relinquishment Holy trust impart? Could the wisdom traveling far Seeing signs that beckon men Purge my every thought again Let the Advent start!
Fall Down and Worship
I have the wisdom of the East Have studied the stars Poured over the ancient scrolls Made discoveries like thunderbolts. But now I journey With some learned friends And the trip seems “One-of-a-kind”. A King is expected The fates tremble with anticipation. Even our desert mounts Sense a change As they plod and jangle Over the miles. The heavenlies show One Great Star In unprecedented alignment. We are onto something. Gifts in hand. David’s City comes into view. The small house…the doting little mother. The Child in precious simplicity. We have found the Truth. We fall down And worship Him. No longer able to stand On our own two feet.
One Little Hand
Little Hand that ruled the crèche Reaching out to fondle life From the straw and simple beasts Greeting tradesman and his wife. Little Hand from God come down Made the trip so whole and hale Soon to bear religion’s frown Soon to feel the sledge and nail.
(Note: The juxtaposition of manger and cross we saw back in 1985. The Anderson Farm became a walkabout picture book from Gospel scene to scene, using mannequins, costumes, country props, subtle lighting and piped-in hymns. People came from all around. Evangelism. Little Lauren never forgot the display case with crown of thorns and spikes.)
Christmas Coach
Christmas Eve Night-time shift Number Eight Loop Crystal drift Bus a-humming Toasty warm Pulling over
Waving arm She a mother Stroller too Baby bundle All in blue Tears were present Face was flushed Folding door would Groan when pushed. Can you help me But no cash Had to make A fearful dash. Boyfriend livid High on dope Jobless Christmas Little hope. “Come in Sweetheart Shut the door” All of this He’d seen before. Blanket tucked in Precious kiss Harvey whistling “What child is this?” Let her rest here Newfound friend Women’s shelter At the end.
All Too Pristine
The Nativity Scene in the park is colourful, spotlit, orderly...and inaccurate. In our climate it is portrayed outdoors with softly settling snow around. The piped -in music overhead reminds us of the vulnerable sweet babe in the manger. Years ago, I was given another impression. By Phillip Keller in his book "A Layman Looks at the Lamb of God". The author had been on a nature photography trip to East Africa. A threatening storm had caused their guide to seek out shelter in order to avoid a drenching. Eventually they found a simple village of mud thatch huts. The skies darkened. An older gentleman motioned for them to duck and enter the flap doorway of one residence. As they entered, the growlings of the tropical storm commenced. Lighting was so sparse inside that it took a minute for eyes to adjust. Before them were a couple of goats; at one end a long wooden table; an old woman sitting cross-legged smoking; a central fire burning an offensive fuel of manure chips; an inner pollution gathering around the wall torch. On the other side of the room, scarcely illuminated, was a teen-age girl with large, liquid eyes and an infant at her breast. Keller and his colleagues felt a little awkward in this situation, but realized that these locals were happy to offer simple hospitality. Another thunder clap sounded outside. But the greater impression came to Keller's spirit. It was as if the Heavenly Father had stated by His Spirit: "My Son came into this world in just such a fashion as this!" Keller heard himself responding, "Yes, Lord, and He almost missed out on even this, because there was no room until the last moment." At this time of year do we really get it? The impression of how great a humiliation our Jesus underwent to launch a rescue mission for undeserving sinners? I am sure that an imaginative artist would take this scene in the hut and portray an implement or fixture somewhere casting the shadow of a cross. Let us not lose sight of the fact that this celebrated infant became a man of great physical energies and charisma, sterling character, preaching hope, comforting the bruised, convicting the hypocritical, telling of a forgiving God and Father. Removing the blinders that needy people might see and aspire unto the Kingdom of Heaven.
Peace
https://twelfthmonth.wordpress.com/2015/11/20/peace/