Wishing for Starlight
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
I never know what I want for Christmas. People often ask what I'd like to find under the tree, and I hedge and haw. Nothing ever rises in my soul as a "must have" gift. But this year, the book Starlight, by John Shea, shines brightly and insistently as a must-read. On the first Sunday of Advent, my pastor shared a bit of Shea's attention-grabbing verse.
How is it that, until now, I've never heard of this soul-brother? He's a storyteller, theologian, poet, author that speaks my language!
The Man Who Was a Lamp is literally 7 book pages long. I wish I could re-type the whole thing for you, but instead I've included the opening of the poem, and a few stanzas from the middle that speak to me:
Legend says,
the cave of Christmas
where the child of light
burns in the darkness
is hidden
in the center of the earth.
Access is not easy.
You cannot just amble to the mantle,
note the craft of the crib child,
and return to the party for more eggnog.
You may see a figurine in this way,
but you will not find the child of light.
The center of the earth is not the surface.
You must journey
and, wayfarer,
you need a guide.
Even the Wise Men had to risk
the treacherous courts of Herod
to consult the map of Scripture.
They knew that a star, no matter how bright,
could not take them all the way.
It is true
that sometimes angels hover in the sky
and sing directions,
but they cannot be counted on
to appear.
Besides, you are not one
to keep watch over a flock by night.
There is another pointer of the way,
a map of a man,
who when you try to read him,
reads you.
Unexpected angels are pussycats
next to this lion,
a roar that once overrrode Judea.
You may not heed
but you will hear
his insistent,
intruding
unsoothing voice.
Some say this thunder is because his father
stumbled mute from the Holy of Holies,
tongue tied by an angel who was peeved
by the old man's stubborn allegiance to biological laws.
The priest was silenced in the temple
because he thought flesh could stop God.
The son of the priest shouted in the wilderness
because he feared God would stop flesh.
His open mouth was an open warning.
His name is John,
a man who was a lamp,
at least that is what Jesus said,
"a burning and shining lamp."
. . . . . . . . .
So do not go fearfully
into John's wilderness,
beaten from civilization by others
or driven by your own self-loathing.
Go simply because it is the abode
of wild beasts and demons
and, given all you are,
you will most certainly feel at home.
Wrestle with the rages of the soul,
talk to the twistedness.
Try no tricks on him.
Parade no pedigree.
Who you know will not help you.
If the children of Abraham and stones
have equal standing in his eyes,
you will not impress him
with anything you pull from your wallet.
Also do not ready your brain for debate.
He is not much for talk.
He has washed his mind with sand.
Injunctions are his game.
If you have two coats or two loaves of bread,
share them.
Do not bully,
do not exploit.
do not falsely accuse.
Do not object that these actions are economically naive,
culturally inappropriate,
insufficiently religious.
Just do them.
Afterwards,
you will be unencumbered,
yet lacking nothing
freer to move, to bend.
The entrance to the cave is low.
As Shea describes it, may we all journey to the
"dungeon of light,"
where we will find John dancing,
"his feet moving to the long-ago memory of womb kicks"
and where we'll find
"darkness pushed back by radiance."
This Christmas may we notice and behold JESUS--the beloved child--with JOHN as our guardian guide.
(To take John's hand this Advent-season, read Matthew 3 and Mark 1. For a little history on John, read Luke 1)
How is it that, until now, I've never heard of this soul-brother? He's a storyteller, theologian, poet, author that speaks my language!
The Man Who Was a Lamp is literally 7 book pages long. I wish I could re-type the whole thing for you, but instead I've included the opening of the poem, and a few stanzas from the middle that speak to me:
Legend says,
the cave of Christmas
where the child of light
burns in the darkness
is hidden
in the center of the earth.
Access is not easy.
You cannot just amble to the mantle,
note the craft of the crib child,
and return to the party for more eggnog.
You may see a figurine in this way,
but you will not find the child of light.
The center of the earth is not the surface.
You must journey
and, wayfarer,
you need a guide.
Even the Wise Men had to risk
the treacherous courts of Herod
to consult the map of Scripture.
They knew that a star, no matter how bright,
could not take them all the way.
It is true
that sometimes angels hover in the sky
and sing directions,
but they cannot be counted on
to appear.
Besides, you are not one
to keep watch over a flock by night.
There is another pointer of the way,
a map of a man,
who when you try to read him,
reads you.
Unexpected angels are pussycats
next to this lion,
a roar that once overrrode Judea.
You may not heed
but you will hear
his insistent,
intruding
unsoothing voice.
Some say this thunder is because his father
stumbled mute from the Holy of Holies,
tongue tied by an angel who was peeved
by the old man's stubborn allegiance to biological laws.
The priest was silenced in the temple
because he thought flesh could stop God.
The son of the priest shouted in the wilderness
because he feared God would stop flesh.
His open mouth was an open warning.
His name is John,
a man who was a lamp,
at least that is what Jesus said,
"a burning and shining lamp."
. . . . . . . . .
So do not go fearfully
into John's wilderness,
beaten from civilization by others
or driven by your own self-loathing.
Go simply because it is the abode
of wild beasts and demons
and, given all you are,
you will most certainly feel at home.
Wrestle with the rages of the soul,
talk to the twistedness.
Try no tricks on him.
Parade no pedigree.
Who you know will not help you.
If the children of Abraham and stones
have equal standing in his eyes,
you will not impress him
with anything you pull from your wallet.
Also do not ready your brain for debate.
He is not much for talk.
He has washed his mind with sand.
Injunctions are his game.
If you have two coats or two loaves of bread,
share them.
Do not bully,
do not exploit.
do not falsely accuse.
Do not object that these actions are economically naive,
culturally inappropriate,
insufficiently religious.
Just do them.
Afterwards,
you will be unencumbered,
yet lacking nothing
freer to move, to bend.
The entrance to the cave is low.
As Shea describes it, may we all journey to the
"dungeon of light,"
where we will find John dancing,
"his feet moving to the long-ago memory of womb kicks"
and where we'll find
"darkness pushed back by radiance."
This Christmas may we notice and behold JESUS--the beloved child--with JOHN as our guardian guide.
(To take John's hand this Advent-season, read Matthew 3 and Mark 1. For a little history on John, read Luke 1)
