Today (30th November) was the MCC creativity day. Much activity and togetherness. After lunch I grabbed 30 minutes in the chapel, alone in the peace. After a while, resting in stillness, I took a pen, and an empty notebook I've carried for weeks and not opened. I have turned from any urge to write for years. Now is the time to begin. To learn. To make fractured, amateur, flawed attempts at expression. These are the results of today's quiet minutes. Written here as in the notebook, throwing words out as seemed fit, without editing or going back to turn them into something more pleasing.
The Afternoon before Advent
(St Martin's Chapel, Byker, in the stillness, the advent wreath prepared but cold. To be read at my slow, chew-on-words pace)
Candles, dimmed,
Blackened wicks,
Standing proud, yet dead.
We wait for life, for fire
For the dull tool to become beacon,
For darkness, invisible in the dark
To be darkness, intangible in the light.
For bare sticks of wax, waiting, waiting
To signify your light, heat, triumph.
You came. The light was lit.
Prophets sang. The light was lit.
A yes was spoken. Be it done to me.
The light was lit. Darkness forced back.
Candles, lit, you came, you remain,
Come, come again, again, come again.
Light us, symbols of you
Not to reveal darkness but to be light
You, great light of the world
We, your lights for the world.
But, for today, candles, dimmed.
No defeat. Just expectation.
Light will come. You will come.
And in light, all will be lit,
All will be well.
Advent
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
To the poor, wrapped in poverty;
To the lost, beyond sight of the found.
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
That my potential, still in the womb,
May birth, grow, ascend in you.
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
You, discovered, truth in human flesh,
Reveal the discovery of my wonders.
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
Born to be self-offering
Teach me my self, that I may offer.
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
Godhead in inconsequential circumstance
Lead me to great consequence in you.
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
God, creator, helpless, all powerful
Bless with the weakness of strength.
There they are, poems of sorts, unpolished, unworthy. But pouring out of the peace today and revealing that I might still have some kind of faith after all.
The notebook has many pages. By the time I fill them I may have learned something of an art of writing. The forgotten gift, almost extinguished, like the advent candles after services, may still, like the candles, be lit again and bring a little light and warmth.
The Afternoon before Advent
(St Martin's Chapel, Byker, in the stillness, the advent wreath prepared but cold. To be read at my slow, chew-on-words pace)
Candles, dimmed,
Blackened wicks,
Standing proud, yet dead.
We wait for life, for fire
For the dull tool to become beacon,
For darkness, invisible in the dark
To be darkness, intangible in the light.
For bare sticks of wax, waiting, waiting
To signify your light, heat, triumph.
You came. The light was lit.
Prophets sang. The light was lit.
A yes was spoken. Be it done to me.
The light was lit. Darkness forced back.
Candles, lit, you came, you remain,
Come, come again, again, come again.
Light us, symbols of you
Not to reveal darkness but to be light
You, great light of the world
We, your lights for the world.
But, for today, candles, dimmed.
No defeat. Just expectation.
Light will come. You will come.
And in light, all will be lit,
All will be well.
Advent
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
To the poor, wrapped in poverty;
To the lost, beyond sight of the found.
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
That my potential, still in the womb,
May birth, grow, ascend in you.
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
You, discovered, truth in human flesh,
Reveal the discovery of my wonders.
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
Born to be self-offering
Teach me my self, that I may offer.
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
Godhead in inconsequential circumstance
Lead me to great consequence in you.
Come to me risen one,
Come as you came before:
God, creator, helpless, all powerful
Bless with the weakness of strength.
There they are, poems of sorts, unpolished, unworthy. But pouring out of the peace today and revealing that I might still have some kind of faith after all.
The notebook has many pages. By the time I fill them I may have learned something of an art of writing. The forgotten gift, almost extinguished, like the advent candles after services, may still, like the candles, be lit again and bring a little light and warmth.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments are welcome. But not spam and not obscenity. It's not all politeness though - religion and politics aren't banned.