The Battles of Advent
Preceding ‘gentle Jesus meek and mild’
The battle raged:
The snake in the garden,
The first murder,
The lies, deceit
And betrayal.
The Old Covenant sad stories
Reveal
The real struggle.
When David stood before Goliath
The real fight
Was in the heavenlies.
When David lusted after Bathsheba
The battle raged in places
Far beyond earth.
When the second Adam
Was nailed to a tree,
The Romans and Sanhedrin
Were not masters
But slaves.
When Christ arose,
The false Prince lost.
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.
John 1:14
Haloes,
The sun’s brightest rays,
The seductive gleam of gold
Or the rich sparkle of diamonds
Are muted and dim
In the radiance of Your glory!
The First Sunday of Advent 2019
A prayer poem
The whole earth is full of His splendour
Isaiah 6:3
Your splendour shines in the DNA of our being,
In the majesty of a sunrise,
Through the first cry of a new born baby.
Your splendour radiates through the myriad colour promises
Of a rainbow,
The majesty of mountains
And the delicate beauty of an alpine flower.
Your splendour glows through
The warmth of unbroken friendship,
The care of a helping hand
And the shoulder of a good Samaritan.
But, sadly, too often …
Our eyes are numbed to splendour,
To Your splendour.
Our hearts are diverted by
Foolish trinkets.
Our minds wander
To the distracting, the temporary,
The screen flickering vacuous.
Forgive us Lord.
When our eyes are really open
We see your splendour.
The splendour of love,
The splendour of Your love
In the promise
In the promises
In the coming of the “only begotten”…
Who is
The fullness of Your splendour.
Amen
Zechariah
(Luke 1)
So it was our clan’s turn
And the dice rolled in my favour.
Beth will be happy.
The old dear has always been proud
When I get my day in the temple.
With people praying outside
I was inside and about to light the incense
And then …
And then …
You wouldn’t believe it …
Next to the altar of incense …
You wouldn’t believe it …
We hadn’t seen one in hundreds of years.
An angel!
AN ANGEL!
Nearly scared the life out of me!
“Don’t be afraid,” he said.
Easy for him to say!
Then he goes on,
Beth, the old girl, will have a son.
Beth!
At her age!
“Call him John,” he said.
Not even a family name.
He was to grow up like a Nazirite
– So no alcohol.
And he will turn people back to God.
How can this be? I said.
And then I said no more.
I couldn’t. I couldn’t talk.
This angel Gabriel,
As called himself,
Struck me dumb.
Until now as I hold John
In my arms.
And I can praise God!
Waiting
Waiting is hard
Fingers twiddling
Feet tapping restlessly
Mind wandering
Head scratching
Watch looking
Pacing.
But
Advent is not just
waiting
But expecting
Looking forward
Anticipating
.. even more, longing
For the Messiah
The Christ
The Saviour
Waiting
… and now
For His return.
And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.”
Gen 3:15
Sin had slithered in
and God living harmony
destroyed.
Life and love became terminal.
Hope less.
Through the human
silence of the guilty
in the garden
the Word spoke again.
Sin and love
declared enemies.
One must go.
An enemy crushed.
A head abolished
forever.
The cost:
The Godman would come
From the broken
Mother of the living.
A divine son slain.
A Word crucified
so that love
and harmony
will rise and rule again.
Pieter Stok
Today’s poem is not a poem by a famous poet but one of mine from last year.
And I will put enmity
between you and the woman,
and between your offspring and hers;
he will crush your head,
and you will strike his heel.’
Gen 3:15
The first morning glimmer
of light
tells us the sun is coming:
A new day
A new hope
And eternal possibilities.
The dawn light
is a daily
covenant promise
that the son is coming:
who with a bruised heel
would crush
the enemy’s head
forever.
From the walls of the Keldby Church, Mons, Denmark
George MacDonald (1824-1905)
My fancied ways why shouldst thou heed?
Thou com’st down thine own secret stair:
Com’st down to answer all my need,
Yea, every bygone prayer!
In this Advent poem the Australian poet, Henry Lawson, connects the first and second Advents and links it with the need for social justice. You may not necessarily agree with his theology.
Where the needle-woman toils
Through the night with hand and brain,
Till the sickly daylight shudders like a spectre at the pain –
Till her eyes seem to crawl,
And her brain seems to creep –
And her limbs are all a-tremble for the want of rest and sleep!
It is there the fire-brand blazes in my blood; and it is there
That I see the crimson banner of the Children of Despair!
That I feel the soul and music in a rebel’s battle song,
And the greatest love for justice and the hottest hate for wrong!
When the foremost in his greed
Presses heavy on the last –
In the brutal spirit rising from the grave-yard of the past –
Where the poor are trodden down
And the rich are deaf and blind!
It is there I feel the greatest love and pity for mankind:
There – where heart to heart is saying, though the tongue and lip be still:
We’ve been through it all and know it! brother, we’ve been through the mill!
There the spirits of my brothers rise the higher for defeat,
And the drums of revolution roll for ever in the street!
Christ is coming once again,
And his day is drawing near;
He is leading on the thousands of the army of the rear!
We shall know the second advent
By the lower skies aflame
With the signals of his coming, for he comes not as he came –
Not humble, meek, and lowly, as he came in days of old,
But with hatred, retribution for the worshippers of gold!
And the roll of battle music and the steady tramp of feet
Sound for ever in the thunder and the rattle of the street!
Travels from Ur 