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John de Graaf
December 20 at 4:44pm ·
CHRISTMAS, 2017--a poem
First, a clarification:
I am not religious,
Though on one still, star-filled,
Winter night when I was
Only sixteen and
Camping beside a frozen
Sierra lake, I came to find
A faith in Divine Providence
That all the world’s chaos and
Sorrow has not yet destroyed.
Yet despite my secular doubt,
Christmas still strikes me as
The most meaningful of
Holidays, when a softness
Envelopes the cold earth,
Bells ring and children sing
And laugh, and the “greatest
Story ever told,” however apocryphal,
Gets told over and again.
It’s a story that breaks the rules.
A baby is born to a poor
Traveling carpenter, and an
Equally poor young mother, in a stable
Because such people were not
Welcome in the Inn. He
Grows up to preach a
Subversive doctrine—
Love thy neighbor,
Give your wealth away,
For a rich man cannot
Enter Heaven’s Kingdom,
Do good to the stranger,
The immigrant, as the
Samaritan did, be a
Peacemaker because they
Are blessed, do not pile
Up treasure on the earth, for
You cannot love both God and Money,
But work instead to bring the
Kingdom of compassion and justice.
On a donkey, he rides to
Turn over the tables
Of the bankers who
Prey on the poor and
Make profane the sacred
Temple. He will die
For his efforts, the
Un-Roman Activities Committee
Having condemned him.
Strange how those who
Profess to follow this
Prince of Peace clamor
For deadlier weapons,
Walls against the other,
Apocalyptic Armageddons,
How they cheer when
Pharisees in Washington
Strip food from the mouths of
Babies to fatten the already
Obese. Why tell the story
But ignore the meaning?
I used to love to walk
Among the carolers singing
Of Peace on Earth, Goodwill
To Men…and women—
On a night when the
Bullets were silenced and
Love was proclaimed…
'To everything there is a season—
A time for love, a time for
Hate, a time for Peace,
I swear it’s not too late.'
Today, on this shortest
Day of the year, I wish you a
Merry Christmas, whomever
You are, and whatever
You believe—you and every
Human being and
Every sacred creature
With whom we share
This verdant planet.
In the winter of our
Discontent, the
Skylarks of spring
Are looking to fly
North again.
Love, John
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