Christmas Poetry, um, I mean, Low-etry

            Writing Christmas limericks was my husband’s idea. Unless you like them. Then it was my idea. Highlighting the poems in garish colors was my idea. Unless you don’t like it. Then it was my husband’s idea.

Though he’s a respectable elfie

He’s not above posting a selfie.

So Santa Claus dressed

In his holiday best

And posed with the elf on the shelfie.

A jolly old elf known as Santa

Found his flight stalled at Atlanta.

So upset was he

In his jiggly tummy

He chugged a bottle of Mylanta.

Poor old Saint Nick wants to cry.

He doesn’t know why he should try.

“Global warming, I think,

Will make my sleigh sink

Before the reindeer start to fly.”

There was a toymaker called Nick

Who knew that he couldn’t get sick.

Because of the cost

His coverage he lost

Leaving Nick and his elves up a crick.

The sleigh is much lighter this year

Since readers have new high tech gear.

Their Kindles and Nooks

Replace heavy books.

War and Peace is now lighter than air.

            Send me your original Christmas limerick, and if it isn’t any worse than mine, I’ll include it in a future blog post. (Keep it clean, folks.)

Unchain Jesus

            I crossed the street to get a better look at the large crèche outside a local business, and lingered to admire the figures. A donkey rested, a shepherd held a lamb, and Joseph stood guard, as Mary tenderly knelt near the animals’ feeding trough that served as cradle for her newborn son.

            Something out of place in the traditional scene—shiny, metallic—jarred me, and I leaned closer. Not quite hidden, a chain secured Baby Jesus and the other statues to the nativity scene. That was understandable; I’d heard of holiday decorations disappearing. The owner was thwarting thieves or mischief-makers. He didn’t want a manger with a missing Messiah.

            After New Year’s Day, the business owner will unchain Jesus, box him up, and stow him away for eleven months. That’s understandable, too. That’s what you do with December’s decorations. I anticipate again enjoying this three-dimensional profession of faith displayed in Milton.

            However, I hope that the real Jesus will not be handled like his plastic reproduction:  chained as an infant in a manger for a few weeks, then boxed in storage for most of the year.

            Jesus experienced similar treatment at times during his sojourn in Galilee two millennia ago. His biographers Luke and Mark recount Jesus’ visit to his hometown congregation. While there, he read a messianic prophecy from the scroll of Isaiah, then proclaimed, “Hey everybody, this is about me!”

            The response of the locals? Isn’t this the carpenter—Mary and Joseph’s boy? We know his family—he couldn’t possibly be anybody special! Who does he think he is, claiming the scripture is about himself? His neighbors still pictured Jesus as the cute tot toddling after Daddy in the wood shop; they took offense when he taught about his Father in heaven.

            Twenty centuries later, some still react like Jesus’ contemporaries: The mute baby-in-the-manger creates warm, fuzzy feelings, while the meddling adult Jesus makes us hot under the collar. We love the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay, but resent the wake-up call, “So why do you keep calling me ‘Lord, Lord!’ when you don’t do what I say?” (Luke 6:46, NLT)

            The chained baby in Milton’s manger reminded me that every person must choose how to respond to the real, crucified, resurrected, ascended, and still-living Jesus:

            Deplore him, like his offended neighbors and the religious hierarchy who wanted him dead.

            Ignore him for most of the year, becoming misty-eyed in December, like even many who consider themselves Christians.

            Adore him. Study his teachings and try to live them. Write him on every day of every month of the calendar.

            Jesus—he’s not just for Christmas.

Healing Wings

My brother, Dave Tucker, recently wrote:

            While loving Christmas music, I have two problems with carols.

            First is that we generally sing only the first verse. The older of the carols were written as a total unit, not just to commemorate a holiday, but to teach a largely illiterate audience actual Bible doctrine about the birth of Christ. Singing just the first verse of any hymn cheats us of the full story.

            The second problem is that the carols are so familiar, we tend to sing or hear them on autopilot. We hear the tune, we might mouth the words, but we don’t think about how those words come together and so miss the story they tell.

            Oh, what we miss! (http://gomandate.org/theres-a-problem-with-christmas-carols/)

            Christmas carols provide not only poetry, story, and straightforward theology, but also some wonderfully obscure nuggets of truth. “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” contains these mysterious lines.

Hail the heav’nly Prince of Peace!
Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings,
Ris’n with healing in His wings.
Mild He lays His glory by,
Born that man no more may die.
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.

            Your first reaction might be to wonder why Charles Wesley used “sun” instead of “son.” Way to mix up your homophones. Secondly, you might wonder why he gave Jesus wings. After all, he didn’t rise as an angel. What’s this verse about?

            Wesley must have been referring to Malachi 4:2, “But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings; and ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall.”

            But wings? It helps to love you some Torah. Among the interesting and odd commands Moses received from God is this one in Numbers 15.

            The Lord said to Moses, “Speak to the Israelites and say to them: ‘Throughout the generations to come you are to make tassels on the corners of your garments, with a blue cord on each tassel. You will have these tassels to look at and so you will remember all the commands of the Lord, that you may obey them and not prostitute yourselves by chasing after the lusts of your own hearts and eyes. Then you will remember to obey all my commands and will be consecrated to your God.”

            These tassels or fringes (zizith) were still worn by observant Jews in Jesus day (and still today). In the first century, “In popular belief, the clothes of holy men, and especially the fringes, were thought to possess miraculous power” (Zondervan Illustrated Bible Backgrounds Commentary, I, 238).

            Specifically, people believed that when the Messiah came, the zizith he wore would have healing power. Would now be a good time to mention that these zizith were also called wings?

            The account in Mark 5, with parallels in Matthew 9 and Luke 8, of a woman who had been sick for twelve years demonstrates this belief. She only wanted to touch “the hem” of Jesus’ garment, and when she did, she was healed.

            Was Wesley thinking of all this when he penned his hymn? Probably. He was a pretty smart guy. And I see his original version of the carol has even more verses jam packed with theology. (http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/h/h/a/hhangels.htm)

            That should make my brother very happy.

Child of Bethlehem

Precious child of Bethlehem,

Heaven’s little Paschal lamb,

Son of Father Abraham,

And heir to David’s throne,

Nursing at sweet Mary’s breast,

In poor swaddling clothes well-dressed,

All God’s glory manifest

In this wee child alone.

Holy angels softly sing
To the barefoot Hebrew king;
Wide-eyed shepherds wonder bring
And kneel at manger throne.

Christmas Lights Deprivation

            In addition to broken ankles and a host of other physical and psychological ailments, I suffer from Christmas Lights Deprivation. This disorder is caused (in my case) by being confined indoors—note earlier reference to broken ankles—without access to the beauty of illuminated outdoor Christmas displays, or IOCDs.

            That is one reason I was thrilled to attend the Christmas program at Watsontown Christian Academy on December 5. In addition to the inspiring (and sometimes hilarious) entertainment and the joy of reuniting with my students and friends, I rode six miles there and back with my nose pressed against the window like a dog, panting for Christmas lights.

            I enjoyed every house that had so much as a solitary electric candle in a window, and many homes and the town itself offered much more. Back home, from my bedroom window, I can see only one IOCD:  The neighbors across the street have several strings of white and colored lights across the front of their rental. God bless them for leaving them turned on all night!

            When my sons were little, we frequently drove from our home in Montandon to Mt. Pleasant Mills, about 25 miles, to visit their paternal grandparents. One Christmas evening the weather turned nasty, and we made our return trip through snow flying at the windshield, reminding me of the view from the bridge of the Enterprise as it zips through space at Warp 8. As a Trekker, I enjoyed that sight, but as a white knuckled passenger even on sunny days, I was clinging to the door and praying for mercy as we crawled along, unable to glimpse the road ahead.

            Every few tense, blind minutes, Christmas lights magically appeared to our left or right, assuring me our car was still on Route 35, inching toward Selinsgrove. I doubt the homeowners had us or other confused travelers in mind when they illuminated their properties, but their IOCDs guided us that night.

            Not only did Jesus proclaim, “I am the light of the world (John 8:12),”  he also told his followers, “You are the light of the world (Matthew 5:14) .”  

            He explained, “A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven (14 – 16).” 

            Indulge me my paraphrase:  A house built alongside the road cannot be hidden. Neither do people hang Christmas lights and fail to plug them in. Instead they turn them on every night and they give light to everyone on the road. In the same way, let your IOCDs—the lights on your houses AND the light in your hearts—shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.

            May you give and receive the gift of Christ’s light this season.