I. WE WAIT ON THE LORD by Hari Smith

Life is a journey. How long that journey will be is unknown to us. We must take the journey in faith, not knowing where the next step will take us. Our constant questions are always haunting our minds. What is my destination? How will I know when I have arrived if I have no concept of where I’m supposed to be? What is expected of me once I finally get there?

These queries only serve to give us a sense of worried anticipation. To overcome this feeling of desperation, it is imperative that we learn to wait on the Lord.

Waiting on the Lord doesn’t mean there is nothing we can do to help ourselves. Especially during this horrible pandemic. We can lift ourselves out of this abysmal gloom by following the prescribed guidelines of practicing social distancing, constant hand washing and wearing masks.

As we wait on the Lord, let’s call on the Lord. Since we are called by his name let’s humble ourselves and pray, seek his face and turn from our wicked ways as he has implored us to do. He has given us his promise to hear our voices, forgive our sins and heal our land.

Let’s mount up on our eagle’s wings and soar above the fray of this pandemic. Let’s run to victory for we know we won’t grow weary. We wait on the Lord to make us a blessing to others when all seems lost. Though this might seem like our darkest hour, even so Lord Jesus come, as we wait for you.

II.    Resurrection in a Modern Church  by Melissa Bancks

“You must change your life.”

- Mary Oliver, “Invitation”

Today the floors gleam

With the pre-storm blue that fills the pulpit

And washes down the aisle

From pew to pew

As if the whole place were a baptismal pool

As if each of us who waits for the blessing

That is written in each of our names

And millions of names we’ll never know

Will find it --

As if each has agreed

Without speech, just a gentle nod

And a long look

That we are ready to fall

Under water’s great weight,

As if we can trust

We’ll rise and breathe,

That so many who lived

the Word And loved this room

before us, who trusted

this space

Who have gone on and crossed

Styx to the bank beyond

And wait not for answers

But for us --

As if they can see us and hear us

And believe in us --

the Book’s values are their values, 

Are our values

His words are theirs are in our mouths

As we lift from the water for air

And then stand dripping

to witness these windows

When they catch

The late afternoon light,

The blue storm moving through us,

The air rich with its scent,

Its charged current

Beautiful and dangerous--

It will change your life

It will take your life

No other gift like this

III.  "Grandpapa And The Angel

              For Grandmama"   by Judy Carter Gurley

The Angel knocked and knocked again

And called through the door,

"Please, please dear sir, please let me in,

I'll only knock once more."

"I only come to speak to you

I come not as before

Please Sir, just come and hear me speak;

Please open up the door."

Then from within she heard the words

of him who lay abed,

"I know why you are here again;

I will not go," he said.

"I ask just that you hear me speak,"

the distraught angel pled;

"You've come just as you did before;

I will not go," he said.

And then she heard his feeble voice

with fire still in his eyes,

"Go on and say just what you will,

But I'll not go," he cried.

At that she op'ed the rusty door

and to the bed she ran.

Once there she softly touched his head

And knelt and kissed his hand.

Oh good kind Sir, I come to tell you

of what lies ahead.

But then he stopped her with a nod

"I will not go," he said.

"Oh dear, dear man why must you wait?

I've asked you ten times this.

Why must you always tell me 'No,'

When I speak of love and bliss?

For first you'll see our heavenly Father

and wonderful you'll feel

As with the touch of a healing hand

You'll be no longer ill.

And you could walk within the woods

As once you loved to do,

And see the quail and deer and bear

and mink and raccoon, too.

You'll sit and hold a friendly squirrel

and pet a trusting doe.

And laugh your jolly silent laugh

at things going on below.

All these and then a million more things

wait for you above.

Why will you not come back with me

to the place of God and Love?"

"I'll tell you why I've answered no

each time that you have come;

I have here those whom I love,

my daughters and my sons.

And my Mary most of all

so you see that you must let

me stay with them these other years;

I must not leave them yet."

"But Sir, the place where you will go,

there is no hurt to mend,

You'll sit and see all your children

Perhaps can help them now and then.

And you will kiss your Mary

with every drop of rain;

And you will hold her close to you

as clouds sweep by again.

And you can hover near her

Whenever snowflakes fall;

And always you'd be there to hear

if ever she should call.

And then you could caress her

with every ray of sun;

And she will surely understand

for she knows your work is done."

He thought of Mary and his life

and slowly shook his head,

"I think I'll wait just one more hour

and then I'll go," he said.

"If you will tell my Mary and

my children not to grieve,

For I know where I am going

and I'm ready now to leave."

IV.  WHAT DOES IT MEAN? by Cindy Collins

I'm told He was born in a manger

          With the sheep all around? . . . What a danger!

I'm told He's a gift from our Father

          But I'm also a kid!  What's the bother?

I'm told there were prophets foretelling

          I'd like to know what they were selling!

I'm told there were wise men come calling

          Without a smart phone?  How appalling!

I'm told that they call Him the Great I Am

          But the Mary I know had a little lamb.

I'm told Joseph took Mary to Bethlehem

          On a donkey?!! . . . What could she have thought of him?

I'm told shepherds said they saw angels in the sky!

          But I have to wonder if they were all high.

I'm told angels sang of "Peace on Earth"

          But only because of a baby's birth?

I'm told He was born to save even me!

     But I've got to wonder just how this could be.

He was only a baby so long, long ago

          But He sounds like someone I'd like to know.

All these stories, they're telling me of things I've not seen

          I can't help but wonder . . . Just what does it mean?

V. Christmas Poem for 2020 by Brooke Justis

Disease spreads like new growth

With fear at its deepest root.

While we sit and wait—

For something

To save us

We are free birds

Now bound to our nests

To save ourselves

From others. 

Some of us mourn.

Some rage.

Some feel the end will never come.  

But, on this day of all days

The fog lifts

For hearts broken

Or mended

We reach up our hands

To you who knows our pain

And you offer a chance for

Perfect Love.

VI.  Christmas Fire  by Jerry Keeney

What is this fire, this Christmas fire

That ignites the world’s life?

Is it desire, this Christmas fire,

That simmers ‘mid earth’s strife?

Desire: Love’s Fire,

Spark in the heart of God,

Igniting the Creator’s delight,

Sparks, too, in the heart of our clod:

Aglow ‘spite the pall of earth’s plight.

Fire: Desire’s Fire,

Living flame of God’s love

Burning the bush that isn’t consumed,

Birthing a Cosmos thereof:

Landscape where Life’s hope dares bloom.

Light: Desire’s Light,

Patterns of insight, the Way,

Emerging as moments evolve,

Recombinant Wisdom, new Day:

Grace’s forms forged of resolve.

The Fire of this Light,

Revered though it burn

And threaten harsh loss,

Yields all the heart yearns.

The Light of this Fire

All-hallowed with Good,

Illumining earth’s night,

Its evil withstood.

Light-Fire-Desire,

Ignite us within:

Is this what we pray

When we sing, Christmas Day,

“Be born in us,” again?

Take care how ye pray;

Now this may seem cruel,

But if God is the Fire,

Then we must be fuel.

So, rekindle our hearts,

Spark of God, as we pray:

O holy Child of Bethlehem,
Be born in us today.

Caveat to Christmas Fire by Jerry Keeney: Some poems turn out to be well-woven patterns of image and theme, delivering sparks of insight, maybe even wisdom. Others turn out to be a hodge-podge of occasionally rhyming words that deliver only a faint hint of wannabe wisdom, reaching just short of their aim. Even such poems as these, perhaps, can spark a hearer/reader’s intrigue, opening portals through which may pour the poem’s aspirational longings, unrequited in present form. Maybe this is part of poetry’s vocation. Maybe a spark, though flickering weakly, can be sited here, sighted faintly, cited for its faint warmth felt, even here; if so, may its beckoning draw us in. Even faint light is light, may even be Light, and faint Light penetrates deepest dark.