Poem For Christmas 2014

Concerning the Angels

Of the ox and the ass and the vigil 

they kept I have nothing to tell.

But if they happened to be dumbed 

anew by star-eyed devotion, still 

one would lie who claimed to spy

silent wonder only.

For there was music, 

for there were choirs,

for here were angels,

for here is heaven.

And, since the song is 

heaven’s song (hear!),

they sang the core of all singing sung:

of Glory. 

That Glory is, already is and always is, and, since 

Glory is, let Glory be.

And, 

since they sing to us who are mud,

(mud and blood and breath and bile,

unlovely bruised and ugly bruisers: 

us), they sing (as must) to sign us

not to fear, but fearless go,

now go

and leave all woolly wealth

and see, be off to see

the come-to-pass thing, come

(which passes understanding, 

who will not pass).

And 

the miracle here, from angels’ angle, 

is that all this is

heard and met (‘we will do and we will hear’),

and heeding humans do head off to see 

and wonder more.

Much more there is –

on how the come-to-pass one sides with love

(his touch, it heals, it frees), and of

his own side pierced (how he gets killed) –

and more than this yet, yes.

But, now, here and now, hear now, 

let angels rest, both voice and wing rest well, 

for heeding’s done: in spite of

spite, the world will bear its health

and Immanu El stays true;

now comes to pass as truth.