Poem For The Sunday Lectionary (Advent 4, Yr B)

(Luke 1: 26-38)

Behold the moment that is not of time’s evolving,
nor of history’s wandering choice of destinations,
placing as it had into memory’s darkened pockets
the shadows cast by years of loss and pain,
the endlessly cycling wars, the many defeats,
hope itself a distant memory from a time before
nostalgia, before the longing for a fallen line
of kings, the promises made by prophets seeming
porous, fragile, fragmented as a broken wall
that crumbles to the relentless press of time.

Behold the moment that is not of human making,
not a product of political manipulation
nor of the powerful’s careful calculations,
coming as it does to a woman on the margins
of a society and a world where oppression
was a fact much like the night: implacable,
unassailable, and surely as eternal as the hills.
Behold the moment that is not of human choosing,
selecting no one who would offer any power
to shake the rulers, mighty, secure upon their thrones.

Behold the moment that is a doorway, a threshold
upon which history itself has paused its stride,
poised to take a new unguessed direction, sensing,
like someone whose eyes have seen dawn coming
on a different horizon, that this moment is God’s creation,
the earth turning as it did before but light appearing
where it did not, sounds of a distant song of joy
beginning where song had not; and from beyond the rim
of the shadows of grief there rises like the first day’s sun
a new day’s gleam, new life’s birth, a new way, new world.

Copyright ©2014 by Andrew King

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