Feast-Keeping: The Longest Night of the Year

In much of the Northern Hemisphere the days are growing shorter, colder; the darkness catches us off guard with its earliness. The trees have passed their peak of autumn splendor and now are giving up their withered leaves one by one; the flowers are fading fast; the browning grass is going to sleep until the spring. All nature is making the long descent into winter, to the longest night of the year, but we humans rage against this dying of the light.

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and yet here’s Truth

tell us, bethlehem
how the King will come —
enfleshed in the frame of a
child obscure?

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wednesday

against a gray and gloomy sky
the crimson oak leaves wildly wave
they’ll drift into an early grave
forgotten by the passers-by

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good friday

today the warmth returned
and the blond-haired boys were
running wild through beds
of brittle hydrangea
and barren rose canes
when the littlest
still unsteady on his feet
caught his teddybear bib on a thorn

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Jesus at 33

This year my half birthday falls on Good Friday; I will be halfway through my 33rd year. I’ve thought a lot about Jesus over these past six months, wondering what human life was like for Him, wondering whether He started counting down the days to the cross, knowing full well what was coming.

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vanquished is the lonely night

look, light has broken
on the darkened world
vanished is the lonely night —
eternity dawns

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