We have come so far;
we’re almost there.
If we could only reach
out, stretch our arm
a bit more, into the
dark, into the air
where a song is
spinning, “Repent! Prepare!”
John interrupts, in his
coarse camel hair,
“Who warned you, snakes?
The ax is sharp,
the fire is hot.
Fruitless? Ruthless.
God is trimming trees
today. On guard!”
But we have come so far,
and we’re almost there.
We hear a prophet’s echo
in Mary’s delivery,
“Emmanuel. That woman’s
child will be
God with us.” God. With.
Us. Impossibility!
Unimaginable intensity.
So yes. Reach and
stretch, as far as you can.
God is coming, and now
arrives, alive,
To demonstrate, to
teach, to embody, to be
the presence of intense,
impossible, unconditional
love.
There is a song in the
air, and that song is called love.
We wait for you,
long-expected Jesus. We prepare for your arrival with familiar sights and
smells and flavors and sounds. Familiar ... and yet new every year. There is a
song in the air, both familiar and new, a song that is and was and ever shall
be, Amen.
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