Why Christmas will never go away

It was the night before Christmas and Darlene and I decided to attend the late Christmas Eve service at United Protestant Church in Palmer. I needed to hear again the message that new light and new energies were entering our trouble-plagued world.

I was not disappointed.

Four days earlier we had again endured the false prediction of the end of the world. It was refreshing to my soul to ponder the possibilities of life rather than to fear a culminating disaster.

The renewing message on Christmas Eve was not delivered in the words of a sermon; rather, it came to us in the forms of storytelling, music and poetry. The messengers did their jobs very well. I have been chided for my confidence in a God, who graciously brings hope when despair lifts it ugly head, a God who overcomes evil with good, a God who encourages us to love in the face of hatred. I have heard the Bible stories of a special birth enumerable times. The carols that we sang were all familiar. The sounds of music worked their miracles with familiar harmonies and movements. Faith was renewed and I left the service with new confidence in the Gospel message. I was renewed and reinvigorated.

Poetry, music and mythology have special powers. I have a special love for the poetry that was written by an eighth century BCE prophet named Isaiah. His poetry provides the foundation of the entire Christmas message. Here are words from Chapter 9 of his written legacy.

The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light.

Those who live in a land of deep darkness, on them light has shined.

The yoke of their burden and the bar across their shoulders,

the rod of their oppressor has been broken.

For the boots of trampling warriors and all their blood garments

shall be burned as fuel for a fire.

For a child has been born for us, a son given to us.

Authority will rest on his shoulders

and his authority will grow and there will be endless peace.

The peace theme continues in chapter 11.

A shoot shall come out from an old stump.

The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him,

the spirit of wisdom and understanding.

He will not make decisions on what he sees or hears,

but with righteousness he will consider the poor,

and with equity he will decide for the meek of the earth.

A wolf will live with the lamb,

and the leopard shall lie down with the kid,

and a little child will lead them all.

That which is holy will no longer be hurt or destroyed.

In chapter 40 of the Isaiah collection, a disciple adds to the vision.

A new path is being cut; a new road is being built.

Mountains are being leveled, chasms are being filled.

Uneven ground is being leveled; rough ground is being made smooth.

Power is given to the faint and strength to the powerless.

My own Christmas experience is largely defined by singing poetry set to music. I never tire of singing great Christmas carols.

O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,

O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem.

Come and behold him, born the king of angels.

O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord.

Sing with me one more time.

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,

the little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.

The stars in the sky looked down where he lay,

the little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay.

An email friend, Owen Virgeon, a retired Anglican priest in England, shared with me some of the poetry that he had written about the Christ child. I share with you a shortened version of one of his poems.

Let’s sing a carol of power in weakness.

Let’s sing a carol of foolishness wise.

Let’s sing a song of compassion and meekness,

sparked by our joy in the Christ baby’s cry.

Sing of the goodness that overcomes evil,

sing of a love that overcomes hate.

Sing of a God who doesn’t have favorites,

sing of a kingdom with no nation state.

Weep for morality fueled by terror;

weep for the souls who “know” they are right.

Weep for the minds, who are sure what God’s thinking;

weep for confusion of darkness for light.

These are the songs of the Lord of our Christmas,

this is the carol that angels would sing.

These are the songs that men dub as irrelevant;

These are the songs of our newly born king.

As long as there are poets, the Christ child message will never die.

The Rev. Howard Bess is a retired American Baptist minister, who lives in Palmer. His email address is hdbss@mtaonline.net. Some of the material was published in a column three year ago.

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