A poem for the second Sunday of Christmas, January 2, 2022

Posted on January 2, 2022 by coffeehousejunkie

‘Tis the season of ennui. That American season between the week before Christmas and the week after New Year’s Day. The seasonal binge of activities, food and drink. How do the faithful resist this powerful cultural vortex? For my household, almost all plans were canceled due to health concerns. Whether in my house or in others’ homes, the concern that a scratchy throat, a sneeze, or a cough may be something worse than a seasonal head cold.

Christmas Day. My wife and I woke early and walked through the village at sunrise. The village was quiet. One pickup truck passed by us; heading south. But that was all.

Edmund Spenser’s sonnet Amoretti LXVIII includes the lines: “This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,/And grant that we for whom thou diddest die,/Being with thy dear blood clean wash’d from sin,/May live for ever in felicity.” Christmas Day was quiet and full of joy and gratitude.

I introduced the family to Gian-Carlo Menotti’s 1950 libretto “Amahl and the Night Visitors.” There was quiet resistance. It is not a Disney musical. There are no Marvel comics superheroes. The cast is spare: three kings, a disabled child, and his mother. Yet as the opera unfolded, like all good stories, the children were captivated by the narrative. They laughed. Asked questions, what is happening now? Why are they singing? Are they really kings? And at the tense, comedic, warm, pivotal moment of the libretto King Melchior sings of love alone. That may be the remedy to ennui. Quiet, persistent, patient love.

Excerpt from “Amahl and the Night Visitors”
by Gian-Carlo Menotti

The child we seek
doesn’t need our gold.
On love, on love alone he will build his kingdom.
His pierced hand will hold no scepter.
His haloed head will wear no crown.
His might will not be built on your toil.
Swifter than lightning,

he will soon walk among us.
He will bring us new life,
and receive our death,
and the keys to his city belong to the poor.

A poem for the fourth Sunday of Advent 2021

Posted on December 19, 2021 by coffeehousejunkie

Early. An hour before sunrise. Coffee and poems at the kitchen counter. All the apartment was asleep. I read: “Fyre, erd, air, and watter cleir,/To Him gife loving, most and lest,/That come into so meik maneir;/Et nobis puer natus est.”

I love old things. Ancient verse among my favorite. These lines from William Dunbar’s poem “On the Nativity of Christ”^[1] take a bit of reading and rereading to unpack the Scottish and Latin lines. And the poem “Veni, Creator Spiritus”^[2] by John Dryden features the lines: “And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;/And, lest our feet should step astray,/Protect, and guide us in the way.”

What poem best fits the fourth Sunday of advent? The angels announced that the promised Messiah had come to bring peace.

Distracted. For many minutes I was distracted by a web site with images of famous paintings^[3] of the adoration of the shepherds. Maybe it was an hour of distraction. I was frying eggs and toasting bread while looking at the paintings. William Blake’s illustration of Milton’s work^[4] is omitted from the collection. His imagination of a brilliant ball of angels in the sky above shepherds^[5] remained with me.

Then there was an explosion of household morning activities and responsibilities.

It was not until after the noon meal that my thoughts returned to this meditation. The fourth Sunday of Advent. Peace. The priest mentioned in the sermon that there is a liturgy of life we all participate in daily. He encouraged us to ditch the device and be present. Presence. That reminded me of the following poem by Denise Levertov.

Making Peace
by Denise Levertov

A voice from the dark called out,
‘The poets must give us
imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
imagination of disaster. Peace, not only
the absence of war.’
But peace, like a poem,
is not there ahead of itself,
can’t be imagined before it is made,
can’t be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.
A feeling towards it,
dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning them as we speak.
A line of peace might appear
if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,
questioned our needs, allowed
long pauses . . .
A cadence of peace might balance its weight
on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,
an energy field more intense than war,
might pulse then,
stanza by stanza into the world,
each act of living
one of its words, each word
a vibration of light—facets
of the forming crystal.

NOTES:
[1] This is a helpful blog post and video to help appreciate Dunbar’s poem. “On the Nativity of Christ. A poem by William Dunbar” by Celtic Cadences, June 7, 2009. Accessed December 19, 2021. https://celticcadences.wordpress.com/2009/06/07/on-the-nativity-of-christ-a-poem-by-william-dunbar-court-poet-james-4th-iv-scotland/
[2] “Veni Creator Spiritus” by John Dryden. Accessed December 19, 2021. https://www.bartleby.com/337/580.html
[3] “10 Most Famous Adoration of the Shepherds Paintings” by Zuzanna Stanska, December 25, 2017. Accessed December 19, 2021. https://www.dailyartmagazine.com/famous-adoration-of-the-shepherds-paintings/
[4] From John Milton’s poem: “At last surrounds their sight/A globe of circular light,/That with long beams the shame-fac’d Night array’d;/The helmed Cherubim/And sworded Seraphim/Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display’d,…” “On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity” by John Milton. Accessed December 19, 2021. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44735/on-the-morning-of-christs-nativity
[5] Illustration 2 to Milton’s “On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity”: The Annunciation to the Shepherds from the Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens. Accessed December 19, 2021. https://emuseum.huntington.org/objects/64/illustration-2-to-miltons-on-the-morning-of-christs-nativ

A poem for the third Sunday of Advent 2021

Posted on December 12, 2021 by coffeehousejunkie

An ink study of Viktor Paul Mohn’s illustration

Glad for weariness? The idea that things would slow down last week was an illusion I tried to maintain. My desire was to avoid the hectic and dwell deeply during this Advent season. But the pace of projects at work and helping neighbors and family with medical appointments propelled me and my household through the week.

So, my thoughts remained on the themes of the second week of Advent. Though it is now Gaudete Sunday. The annunciation continues to capture my attention.

In Bernard of Clairvaux’s “Annunciation Dialogue,” he considered the gospel of Luke account. “Be it unto me according to your word,” said Mary. There is wonder, mystery, and humility in the story that I can not escape.

From a sea of fractured thoughts, I washed ashore from the shipwreck of last week. I drew a quick ink study of Viktor Paul Mohn’s no room illustration. The plan was to post the drawing, a thought, and a poem. But the thought and poem disappeared. The notes I left myself read:

Shepherd’s Candle
rose or pink
shepherds rejoice at the announcement from the angels
joy and rejoicing

Though the drawing above does not match the following poem, I am reminded of what Fr. Olsen shared to congregants this weekend. From the gospel of Luke, he said, that people were in expectation. The annunciation may have been a secret to all but a few, but there was an unexplained expectation in the hearts and minds of people.

The Shepherd’s Song

by Georg Johannes Gick

I am the shepherd’s song, I sing
here in the stable’s shadow,
and all men come; like lambs I bring
them to the Christmas meadow.

I call them through the winter night,
lost out there in the bitter cold;
Oh come and see how love is bright
in the Good Shepherd’s fold!

If there should come some weary one
still late at night that I could bless,
I’ll be content my singing’s done
and glad for weariness.

A poem for the second Sunday of Advent 2021

Posted on December 5, 2021 by coffeehousejunkie

An ink study of Fra Angelico’s The Annunciation

On a note card is written thoughts and themes about the second week of Advent.

Love
Faith
Bethlehem
purple candle
the prophet, Micah, foretold the birthplace in Bethlehem
the city of David
preparation for the king

My desire was to compose some meaningful prose to mark the celebration.

But, very early this morning, I watched sleet turn to snow and then to rain. My mind drifted in this irrational season. Eventually, I put the pen down, stuffed the notecard in my pocket and went for a long walk with a friend and brother. This poem by Madeleine L’Engle seems most appropriate for this second week.

After Annunciation

Madeleine L’Engle

This is the irrational season
when love blooms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason
there’d have been no room for the child.

A poem for the first Sunday of Advent 2021

Posted on November 28, 2021 by coffeehousejunkie

The youngest child asked, “Why is the candle purple?”

I lit the first candle of the Advent wreath as we gathered around the dining table and prepared to celebrate the first Sunday of Advent.

It is called the “prophets candle” and it is purple to represent royalty, I said. The first candle reminds us of the hope God’s people had that a King was promised.

How does it do that? the child asked.

Let’s read and find out.

We read passages from the prophet Isaiah and the gospel of Luke.

After the first Sunday of Advent celebration, my tired mind tried to find a suitable poem. Thankfully, I had set aside a half dozen poems for consideration last year. This Sabbath poem from Wendell Berry seems to fit with the theme of the prophets candle.

Sabbath Poem VII

Wendell Berry

The clearing rests in song and shade.
It is a creature made
By old light held in soil and leaf,
By human joy and grief,
By human work,
Fidelity of sight and stroke,
By rain, by water on
The parent stone.
We join our work to Heaven’s gift,
Our hope to what is left,
That field and woods at last agree
In an economy
Of widest worth.
High Heaven’s Kingdom come on earth.
Imagine Paradise.
O Dust, arise!

A poem for the fourth Sunday of Advent

Posted on December 20, 2020 by coffeehousejunkie

To Live in the Mercy of God

Denise Levertov

To lie back under the tallest
oldest trees. How far the stems
rise, rise
before ribs of shelter
open!
To live in the mercy of God. The complete
sentence too adequate, has no give.
Awe, not comfort. Stone, elbows of
stony wood beneath lenient
moss bed.
And awe suddenly
passing beyond itself. Becomes
a form of comfort.
Becomes the steady
air you glide on, arms
stretched like the wings of flying foxes.
To hear the multiple silence
of trees, the rainy
forest depths of their listening.
To float, upheld,
as salt water
would hold you,
once you dared.

To live in the mercy of God.
To feel vibrate the enraptured
waterfall flinging itself
unabating down and down
to clenched fists of rock.
Swiftness of plunge,
hour after year after century,
O or Ah
uninterrupted, voice
many-stranded.
To breathe
spray. The smoke of it.
Arcs
of steelwhite foam, glissades
of fugitive jade barely perceptible. Such passion—
rage or joy?
Thus, not mild, not temperate,
God’s love for the world. Vast
flood of mercy
flung on resistance.

A poem for the third Sunday of Advent

Posted on December 13, 2020 by coffeehousejunkie

Making the House Ready for the Lord

Mary Oliver

Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
Still nothing is as shining as it should be
For you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice – it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the walls the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances– but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And
the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard
While the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling
in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly
up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will
come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox,
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,
As I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.

A poem for the second Sunday of Advent

Posted on December 6, 2020 by coffeehousejunkie

Remembering that it happened once

Wendell Berry

Remembering that it happened once,
We cannot turn away the thought,
As we go out, cold, to our barns
Toward the long night’s end, that we
Ourselves are living in the world
It happened in when it first happened,
That we ourselves, opening a stall
(A latch thrown open countless times
Before), might find them breathing there,
Foreknown: the child in the straw,
The mother kneeling over Him,
The husband standing in belief
He scarcely can believe, in light
That lights them from no source we see,
An April morning’s light, the air
Around them joyful as a choir.
We stand with one hand on the door,
Looking into another world
That is this world, the pale daylight
Coming just as before, our chores
To do, the cattle all awake,
Our own white frozen breath hanging
In front of us; and we are here
As we have never been before,
Sighted as not before, our place
Holy, although we knew it not.

A poem for the first Sunday of Advent

Posted on November 29, 2020 by coffeehousejunkie

This Advent Moon

by Christina Rossetti

This Advent moon shines cold and clear,
These Advent nights are long;
Our lamps have burned year after year,
And still their flame is strong.
“Watchman, what of the night?” we cry,
Heart-sick with hope deferred:
“No speaking signs are in the sky,”
Is still the watchman’s word.

The Porter watches at the gate,
The servants watch within;
The watch is long betimes and late,
The prize is slow to win.
“Watchman, what of the night?” but still
His answer sounds the same:
“No daybreak tops the utmost hill,
Nor pale our lamps of flame.”

One to another hear them speak,
The patient virgins wise:
“Surely He is not far to seek,”–
“All night we watch and rise.”
“The days are evil looking back,
The coming days are dim;
Yet count we not His promise slack,
But watch and wait for Him.”

One with another, soul with soul,
They kindle fire from fire:
“Friends watch us who have touched the goal.”
“They urge us, come up higher.”
“With them shall rest our waysore feet,
With them is built our home,
With Christ.” “They sweet, but He most sweet,
Sweeter than honeycomb.”

There no more parting, no more pain,
The distant ones brought near,
The lost so long are found again,
Long lost but longer dear:
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,
Nor heart conceived that rest,
With them our good things long deferred,
With Jesus Christ our Best.

We weep because the night is long,
We laugh, for day shall rise,
We sing a slow contented song
And knock at Paradise.
Weeping we hold Him fast Who wept
For us,–we hold Him fast;
And will not let Him go except
He bless us first or last.

Weeping we hold Him fast to-night;
We will not let Him go
Till daybreak smite our wearied sight,
And summer smite the snow:
Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove
Shall coo the livelong day;
Then He shall say, “Arise, My love,
My fair one, come away.”

Source: Christina Rossetti, The Complete Poems, ed. R. W. Crump (New York: Penguin Books, 2001), pp. 62-64.
https://www.hymnsandcarolsofchristmas.com/Poetry/this_advent_moon_shines_cold_and.htm

Reflections on a decade of sharing Advent poetry and art

Posted on December 26, 2019 by coffeehousejunkie

A 183-word blog post published a few years ago became the most visited blog post I have written. How did this all begin? Part of the story started with a family tradition of creating handmade greeting cards. Part of the story involved a search for good seasonal, Christmas poems. Part of the story was how a father learned about Advent.

Last year I had the ambition to share a poem a day throughout the season of Advent. Newly discovered poems by Czeslaw Milosz, Christian Wiman, Edmund Spenser, and others. Unfortunately, work life became unmanageable due to circumstances beyond my control. Only six poems shared during last year’s 2018 Advent season.

This year the plan was to share twelve poems during the Advent season. But again, work life demands became excessively burdensome. The poems were not released. They remain in the draft category of the content management system. In spite of the hurly-burly of this December, one of the children drew a very nice drawing on the chalkboard. It accompanies the Advent calendar that our family has used each year for more than a decade.

Finally, I wrote a long-ish essay to mark the decade. A story about the handmade greeting cards, the search for good Christmas poems, and how a father learned about Advent. But I decided not to publish it. I doubt anyone is interested in the story. In lieu of that, here are blog links that highlight the last ten years of Advent art, audio recordings, blog posts, and poems.

Coffeehouse Junkie

Tag Archives: Advent

A poem for the second Sunday of Christmas, January 2, 2022

Excerpt from “Amahl and the Night Visitors”
by Gian-Carlo Menotti

A poem for the fourth Sunday of Advent 2021

A poem for the third Sunday of Advent 2021

A poem for the second Sunday of Advent 2021