Some people deride Christmas pageants, viewing them as a seasonal entertainment for overly sugared kids and exhausted parents. But the tradition is long and noble, dating arguably back to the live nativity scene staged by St. Francis’ in 1223 (discussed in a previous post).

Still, I never sensed the magnificence of Christmas pageants until my first occasion to see one in the small city of Weimar, Germany. It was Christmas Eve and the place was the Jakobskirche (Jacob Church), a small church near the ring-street that was the “moat” back in the days of knights and castles.

The church has a wonderful history. The cornerstone dates from the 1180s, while the interior is a delicate but simple Baroque wash. The poet Johann von Goethe was married in the Sacristy.  J.S. Bach, who worked in Weimar, knew this church well. But to me, the most interesting part of its history came in 1806, when it became an infirmary during the Battle of Jena in the Napoleonic Wars.

Scanning the balconies filled with excited families straining to see their costumed children below, I tried to imagine those same balconies more than 200 years earlier when German and French soldiers lay in agony. It was hard to envision. All around me was the magic of Christmas Eve, complete with the hush of snow. Yet, the modern children before me were likely speaking the same pageant lines as children back in Napoleon’s time.I was transfixed by one boy in a fleecy shepherd’s cloak, standing inches from the wall candles that illuminate the church. “Yikes,” I thought, “how many centuries have nine-year olds stood on this same spot, oblivious of the blaze behind their heads?”

But isn’t that the power of tradition? We repeat the same acts of devotion perfected by our forefathers. We recite the same lines and sew the same costumes. And by passing this long chain of tradition to our children, we knit them to those who came before us. And we equip them to take our faith more strongly into the future.

May this short video bring you a moment of wonder. Perhaps it also will bring a bit of amusement too: after all, kids are kids. They may wear modern microphones, but they still aren’t sure of their lines. Merry Christmas to each of you!

Jakobskirche Christmas Pageant from Carol Reynolds on Vimeo.

Image by R. Möhler – Creative Commons

Is anticipation of the “end of Advent” in full swing at your house? Probably your children won’t express it quite that way. Christmas is coming! That’s more likely the cry. Things may be getting calmer, or busier, depending on your family. Either way, the long season of anticipation is drawing to a close.

In these four weeks, we’ve explored beloved traditions – many of them ancient. We’ve considered specific aspects of Christian history and worship. We’ve examined seasonal songs, paintings, and poems. Perhaps today we can take stock.

No matter how hard we try, we aren’t likely to create the “picture-perfect” Christmas. We have to remember that professional photographers a film those perfectly designed rooms and décor to dangle before our eyes in the December magazines. Not parents of active families. The magazines have a staff of cooks to try out the recipes that inspire us to greater culinary heights.  These are the  recipes that remain plastered (untried) to our refrigerators beneath magnets until April.

Meanwhile, many of us are stuck in last year’s promise to purge the broken ornaments and untangle lights that have lain in the attic for years. Except, we didn’t get to it this year either.

Our first consolation is spiritual: Christ gave us the perfect Christmas. And every tradition, song, painting, poem, or gesture we’ve considered in this Advent Calendar is a human expression, inspired by that gift. All of the power and strength derives from the light of Christ.

Beyond that, your children may develop fond memories of traditions that we don’t even realize we are establishing. Maybe it’s the fact that, every year, you pull out the spices and leave them on the counter for days . . . until you face facts, give up on the cookie-baking-from-scratch, and head for those wonderful slice-and-bake rolls.

Or maybe it’s a scramble you have every year as your children try to figure out who has the scissors and tape. It could even be the annual discussion as to whether the Nativity Set is so badly cracked, you really shouldn’t put it out, but need to get another. A thousand tiny actions will strike your children as special, predictable, comforting. These will remain in their memory.

I remember my mother sitting me down each year to grate blanched almonds for the one cookie she enjoyed making. Enjoyed is the wrong word: she was committed to baking these cookies. And she made them for everyone in the whole world, it seemed (i.e. endless batches). I complained bitterly. It was hard, churning that handle. I remember sprays of grated almonds flying around the kitchen and her accompanying distress. Picture-perfect it was not. Yet it was, in retrospect, a cherished annual event.

Years later as a young adult, if I went home during cookie-baking week, I took my same place at the table, and my mother and I had nearly the same discussion as to whether I was grating the almonds finely enough, or missing the bowl. That was our tradition, and I recall it with a tear in my eye today.

Look around at your family’s traditions. They don’t have to be designer-perfect.

Those people who first strung popcorn or assembled to sing carols for the downcast and homeless didn’t worry about the photo shoot. They expressed what was in their hearts. They were anticipating the Advent of our Lord.

Tomorrow, for the last day of Advent, we will offer a final post. It’s a short video from a Christmas Eve service in Weimar, Germany. You may recall in an earlier post that I mentioned a Christmas Eve pageant in a German church used as a hospital during the Napoleonic Wars? Well, this clip comes from that pageant.

But that’s for tomorrow. Today, take stock of all that you have prepared, rather than those things you didn’t. Embrace the old traditions you are following, and the new ones you create for your family, even in their oddest forms. And rejoice.

Advent is nearly over, and so it’s time for the Christmas Markets in Germany to shut down. Most of the gingerbread hearts, woolen caps, Italian cakes, and hand-blown glass ornaments have been sold. Vendors working in the cold for weeks are eager to pull down their wooden kiosks and return to the warmth of their homes.

And yet, there’s a sense of regret as the community bids farewell to the annual festivity. Now, undeniably, the time is moving closer to the apex of the season: Christmas Eve.

In German-speaking countries, Weihnachtsmarkt or Christkindlmarkt becomes the focus of civic life in this season. The tradition stretches back to the Dresden Christmas market, 577 years old this year. But older forerunners are documented, including in Vienna as early as the 1290s. So the basic elements of this tradition have strong roots.

The central square of many towns is filled with rustic kiosks and decorated with evergreens. The façades of buildings are outlined with white lights. The air thickens with the aroma of cinnamon, chocolate, powdered sugar, and mulled wine. And anchoring it all is a big Christmas Tree, set right in the center.

To me, the most striking thing about the Weihnachtsmarkt is the daily lure it has for the regular townspeople. Yes, tourists do make up part of the crowd. In fact this year, the Christmas Market in “our” small city of Weimar (our second home) was named by CNN as the world’s best. This surprising accolade absolutely will result in more tourist visits next season.

But it’s the townspeople who fuel Christmas Markets. Friends and family trek regularly down to participate. Toddlers enjoy the kiddie rides and miniature Ferris Wheels. Children gravitate to the petting zoos placed around the life-sized Nativity Scenes. Moms and daughters browse the hand-blown glass ornaments and rows of candles. Ah, the candles, from stout ones for table tops to small tapers whose flames power the blades of the Adventspyramiden (multi-tiered wooden pyramids).

And everyone eats and drinks! Steaming bowls of soup and plates of dried fish, slabs of bread filled with cheeses direct out of wood-burning ovens, lollipop-like sticks of fruit dipped in chocolate, and, of course, Gluhwein, mulled wine (which, I think, must be an acquired taste!).

We’ll go down one last time tonight. I’ll eat spiced lentil soup and pakora from an Indian kiosk—a new addition to the line of traditional vendors. My husband will have a bratwurst, of course! I’m debating between caramel apples and a stick of chocolate-covered strawberries. But we need to hurry. The countdown has begun. And there’s much still to prepare in this season of preparation.

Shepherds.  I’ve gained a lot of respect for them in recent years.

Sheep were the primary source of food, milk, wool, and hides in Biblical times.  Shepherding as a profession dates back at least to 6000 B.C when people started keeping flocks of sheep and goats apart from the smaller animals around their household.

Shepherds were often younger sons who didn’t inherit land or older persons with no other usefulness.  Unlike farmers, shepherds could earn wages by guarding the flocks of others.  But their wages were never high.

The primary duties of a shepherd were to keep the flock moving towards good grazing area and to protect them from predators (especially at night).  A shepherd also had to keep the sheep from doing incredibly stupid things to themselves (like following one another off of cliffs!).  Because, as sweet as they look, sheep and goats are . . . how to say this politely . . . really dumb.  I say that reluctantly because, I raise goats.

I love my goats.  They are curious, patient, and funny.  But they are not bright.  They can get nicely from point A to point B, but don’t expect them to get back again.  They might see something and want it.  But they can’t figure out how to go around a simple object to get it.

Most importantly sheep and goats are helpless against predators.  Out where we live in North Central Texas, that means coyotes and an occasional bobcat.  We have two “canine shepherds”: Anatolian Shepherds, large, amazing dogs of a breed I never knew back in the city .  Alert and barking all night, these “shepherds” guard with 100% devotion.

And that’s what ancient shepherds were called to do.  By day they moved with the flock and at night they slept at the edge, ready to spring into action at the slightest disturbance.  In their isolation, shepherds became poets and songsters.  A shepherd’s pipe (flute) would calm animals and fill empty hours.  Not surprisingly, there are endless folk songs in most cultures generated by and for shepherds.

We love the references to Christ as the Good Shepherd.  But have you noticed how many Old Testament patriarchs were shepherds?  Abraham, Jacob, Moses, David, and Amos: these men started on the lower edge of the “socio-economic” scale.

How fitting, then, that shepherds were the first people to receive the news of Christ’s birth.  But try to imagine their terror when God’s angels burst into their dark isolation.

Unless they’ve spent time in the country, children may not realize just how dark night really is.  I’ve re-learned that since moving out to our ranch.  In contrast to the dark, the stars blaze like torches.  The full moon gives enough light to read by.

Ask your children to imagine the arduous and numbingly dull life of a shepherd.  What would be the consequences of failing at this job?  The Bible reminds us:

So they were scattered because there was no shepherd, and when they were scattered they became food for all the wild animals.  Ezekiel 34:5

Help your children conjure up a sense of being in a remote area, and enduring the endlessly dark night.  Into that scene came the radiant light of God – the electric energy of angels proclaiming the birth of Christ.

Remind them of the shepherds’ choices upon seeing Angels: 1) to run to the village, leaving the animals vulnerable? 2) to shake off the experience as a hallucination? 3) to ignore the importance of the news?  How confusing it all must have been!  But they made their choice, as Luke 2, 15-16 tells us: “Let us go, then, to Bethlehem to see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.  And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.”

These nameless shepherds have a lot to teach us.  We can remember, too, that the important title “Pastor” comes directly from the Latin word for ahepherd.  Perhaps, in the next Christmas pageant, playing merely the “lowly” shepherd will take on greater importance in your child’s mind!

Painting: Govert Flinck, Angels announcing Christ's birth to the shepherds (1639)

A friend sent me a card, saying he hoped O Come, O Come Emmanuel would be a topic for one of the remaining days of the Advent Calendar.  This song, for him, evoked special memories of childhood.

That set me to thinking.  It’s certainly not the first Christmas Carol most children learn.  In fact [flash!], it isn’t a Christmas Carol at all.  It’s a 100% Advent hymn whose text lays out a complete statement of the Advent narrative in progressive verses.  Depending on which hymnal you use, you’ll even find the appropriate dates between December 17 and December 23 tagged to each verse.

As we know, our popular culture isn’t well-tuned to Advent, so in modern times, O Come, O Come Emmanuel is perceived as a Christmas Carol, and one of the most deeply moving!  Let’s take a closer look.

The hymn is known popularly by its opening words: Veni, veni Emmanuel.  Veni, in fact, is the imperative, or command, form of the Latin verb “to come” (venire).  Yes, it’s the same verb that stands at the root of “Advent.”  The beguiling melody is an old plainsong or chant.  That’s what gives it the antique flavor to our modern ears.

But the real story of O Come, O Come Emmanuel lies in the text.  The words are old, maybe as old as the 8th century.  And they are actually a collection of words – sets of sentences that were read or sung before the reading of something else.  This kind of added-in “pre-text” was called an antiphon (anti+phon).

I smile when I remember struggling to understand the word “antiphon” in my first college music history class.  I’m sure I got it wrong on the test!  But once I attended a service where the entire  liturgy was chanted, rather than read, it all made perfect sense.  Our understanding changes, doesn’t it, when we realize that an “ancient form” in church tradition was once a brand new way of worshipping God.

Each of the seven verses in O Come, O Come Emmanuel begins with the exclamation “O,” so they are known as the “O Antiphons.”  Even more wonderfully, the antiphons present the prophetic names for Christ taken from the Book of Isaiah.

There’s one more surprise: the first letters of those prophetic names in Latin make an acronym: SARCORE.  If you read that SARCORE backwards, you get ero cras. And that, in Latin, means “Tomorrow I come” or “Tomorrow I shall be.”  Well, there you have it!

The credit for turning all of this into a hymn goes to John Mason Neale (1818-1866) an English minister and translator who was particularly devoted to traditional texts from Latin, Greek, and German.  His scholarly interests mirrored an interest in old church music that blossomed in the 19th century.  You might say that “retro” was in!

But it took a lot of work for someone like Neale to dig these things out, make translations, and find an appropriate way to harmonize the ancient tunes.  Today, we can click to find ancient manuscripts pop right up on our computers, and click again to hear dozens of beautiful performances of the old tunes right on Youtube.  Can you imagine what Neal would say to find O Come O Come Emmanuel spread across the Internet?  I think he’d be pleased.

Enjoy these tender and worshipful renditions of O Come, O Come Emmanuel.

Christ’s entry into the world was not what a parent would choose.  Newborns should be placed in a soft bassinette and wrapped in satin-edged blankets.

We sing about the “manager” and it sounds poetic.  But, think seriously for a moment.  For His Son, God ordained a dusty, crusty trough as a bed.

Would you put a baby there?

The word “manger” is a noun derived from the Old French mangeure (mangeoire), taken from the verb to eat: mangier. Today we are likely to call a manager a “feed trough.”  The very idea of a feed trough implies a group of contained animals who cannot graze on open land.

Cultivating livestock was long a nomadic practice, overseen by shepherds. With broad stretches of open land, animals ate where they found something growing.  When it was gone, they moved to find more.

As animals were contained within fences or stables, whether for a season or long-term, the problem of feeding arose.  When dealing with contained animals, you can’t put food down on soiled ground.  So a trough of some sort is needed.  Troughs must be constructed to ensure that grain and hay aren’t knocked out and wasted.  Plus a trough must be rough and tough. Contained animals are bored animals: they will chew and knock apart anything they can find.

But the animals surely weren’t bored that night in Bethlehem.  Not with two humans moving in.  Not listening to the familiar pangs of birth, and the cry of a newborn.  And certainly not once visitors came to the stable to see Our Lord.

If there’s anything animals understand instinctively, it’s birth.  The astonishing ability of a goat, for example, to birth triplets and, within 60 minutes of the first one dropping, have them up on their feet, nursing, is a miracle, no matter how commonly it occurs.  Animals understand, and yield space, when a birth is about to occur.  Imagine those stable animals, understanding that a new critter was about to be born.  Picture them yielding way, in their patient, timeless manner, even giving their manger to this Holy Child.

Today, with the science of Animal Husbandry, we have elaborate solutions for feeding, using troughs made of everything from hammered metal to polyurethane.  Troughs today are easy to clean out, either by knocking them or rinsing them with a hose.  My favorite trough is a two-foot tall device, with a v-shaped wire hayrack at the top, and a long polyurethane trough underneath.  I can dump it out easily to clean it, and it’s built so that the goats can push each other out of the way yet still manage to squeeze in and eat.  It’s not a place I’d want to put a baby.  But then, nothing about Jesus’ experience on this earth will be clear to our limited understanding, be it the manager or the tomb.

Ask your children to think about the symbolism of a trough as the welcoming place of the infant Jesus.  What do they think about the fact the Good Shepherd who would feed the world took his first nap in a vessel that fed livestock?  You might even go to a farm supply store, and look at the many fancy items used by ranchers and farmers today to feed animals.  It will form a vivid contrast for them, as they contemplate the Bethlehem stable and that long-ago manager.

In the first post for this 2011 Advent calendar, we talked about the roles different family members would play in lighting the Advent Wreath.  The youngest child would light the first candle, the oldest child, the second.  The mother would light the third rose-colored candle for “Rejoice” Sunday (Gaudete).

On this fourth Sunday of Advent, tradition calls for the father to light the fourth candle.  There are many prayers you can use.  Or, the following traditional prayer may be said:

Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation,
that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a
mansion prepared for himself; who lives and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.
 Amen.

Which brings me to the subject of fathers.

Strong males have fallen out of fashion in our society, and we’re all paying the price for it.  But instead of giving you my rant on the subject (when you probably have a good one of your own already), perhaps this is a good occasion to consider fatherhood in art.  And, of course, to consider that particular father relevant to Advent: Joseph, the husband of Mary.

Some have called him “St. Joseph the Ignored” because he is often forgotten – all the focus being on Mary and Jesus.  But at other times he is held up as the extreme example of what a father should be.  The Gospels tell us very little about Joseph.  We know that he was a “just man” before he understood the circumstances of Mary’s pregnancy, intending to deal with the matter quietly.  But after learning in a dream that Mary was to bear God’s son, Joseph became an example of obedience and faith.

He is usually at Mary’s side in paintings of the Nativity Scene. But the most interesting paintings, to me, are those that examine his dilemma, as well as depictions of him with Jesus.

Let’s look at several.  First, Rembrandt’s famous depiction of Joseph’s dream, where the angel comes and explains that he must take Mary and the Babe, and flee Herod’s wrath.

In an era where dreams were an acknowledged means of communication, this poor man nonetheless surely was shocked!  And disoriented. Yet Joseph’s obedience to this dream saved Jesus’ life.

How lovely, then, to consider a second painting, at the other end of Joseph’s chronology, showing him rewarded by the risen Christ.  In fact, the painting’s title calls this a crowning (coronation).

These are dramatic events.  Yet, I find myself more fascinated by renditions of Joseph in his daily role as earthly father to Jesus.  After all, Joseph likely was the person who taught Jesus carpentry.  And taught him to fish and swim, and to do the thousands of things a father teaches a child.  How intriguing it must be for an artist to fill-in those years.  And many have.

On this final Sunday of Advent, the circle of the Advent wreath is complete.  All of the candles are aglow . . . except the primary one in the center: the white candle that symbolizes Christ.  For that, we must wait until Christmas Eve.  For that, we must focus our prayers and activities to move us ever closer to His advent.

Paintings by: Juan de Valdés Leal and Georges de La Tour

On what surely is a busy day for all, let’s give ourselves a treat and explore two wonderful numbers from Johann Sebastian Bach’s Christmas Oratorio: the opening chorus Rejoice! Exalt! (Jauchzet frohloket) and the short aria “Prepare Thyself, Zion” (Bereitet dich Zion).

The Christmas Oratorio was written as a six-part work intended for six separate church services of the Christmas season. Think of it as six different cantatas that narrate the Christmas story.

Let me go out on a limb. To my ears, the opening chorus is the most magnificent of all Baroque choruses. Bach went wild with the drums, at a time when timpani were still used sparingly. Plus, barrages of timpani and trumpets weren’t typical for music that narrated the birth of Christ. People expected to hear flutes and oboes. Not this time: pow-bang. Bach got their attention!

Give it about 3 hearings at a good volume level. See if it doesn’t have you dancing across your kitchen. For a wonderful performance on “historical instruments,” try this. You’ll hear and see natural trumpets without valves, timpani constructed like those in the 18th century, and performing forces that would have been extravagant in Bach’s time.

Bach wrote his Christmas Oratorio in Leipzig where he’d been in charge of music for two eminent churches: Thomanerkirche (St. Thomas Church, founded in the 12th century) and the Nikolaikirche (St. Nicholas Church). You can go there today and practically hear his music bouncing off the gorgeous walls.

Or, take a cyber-visit, plus hear another great version of Rejoice! Exalt! sung by the world-renown St. Thomas Boys’ Choir, the Thomanerchor. Be prepared for your heart to melt.

Now, the first aria follows a couple of minutes later. Prepare Thyself, Zion is a direct and strong piece for alto solo with text from Isaiah. The singer’s line is answered by a melodic line of strings and the oboe d’amor, which you’ll see in this performance.

May we dance in our hearts today, as timeless music helps prepare us for the Coming of Christ.

John Collier, an artist living in Dallas, produces some marvelous works of art on religious themes.  I encourage you to spend a little time viewing his paintings and sculptures.

John is also a dear friend, and when I asked him to talk to the Circle of Scholars about his painting “The Annunciation,” he graciously agreed.

The painting appears below.  You can hear John’s comments on the video just below the painting.

John Collier’s “Annunciation” from Carol Reynolds on Vimeo.

Not that long ago, poetry was still part of our popular culture.  It appeared regularly in the pages of the popular press, from fashion journals to fishing magazines (my friend remembers his dad reading aloud the poems in Field and Stream magazine).

That common enjoyment of poetry meant that there was easy access to a stream of new (and old) poetry.  Yet, most of these poems  no longer see the light of day . . . until we stumble upon them.

Stumble is the right word!  Looking for “Advent poetry” brought me to the door of the Scottish novelist, poet, and early Christian fantasy writer George MacDonald (1824-1905).  A contemporary of Mark Twain, MacDonald was highly regarded on both sides of the Atlantic.  Perhaps most telling was C.S. Lewis’ open admiration of MacDonald.  Lewis wrote:

I have never concealed the fact that I regarded him as my master; indeed I fancy I have never written a book in which I did not quote from him.

So, what kind of Advent poetry might we expect from this admired writer (whose Christmas stories are particularly endearing)?  MacDonald’s best known poem of the season is called “That Holy Thing” and packs a lot into three short verses.

That Holy Thing

They all were looking for a king
To slay their foes and lift them high;
Thou cam’st, a little baby thing
That made a woman cry.

O Son of Man, to right my lot
Naught but Thy presence can avail;
Yet on the road Thy wheels are not,
Nor on the sea Thy sail!

My how or when Thou wilt not heed,
But come down Thine own secret stair,
That Thou may’st answer all my need-
Yea, every bygone prayer.

It’s good to remember that poetry sings when read aloud, but may fade to dust if left, dry, on the page.  Here’s one of his Advent poems whose text cries out to be set as a hymn.  Indeed, you’ll find it works well with the tune by Charles Wesley known as Canterbury (appearing as “Come Let us Sweetly Join” in many hymnals).  It also sings perfectly to the tune of “Jesus Loves Me.”

Advent

Come, saviour of nations wild,
Of the maiden owned the child
That may wonder all the earth
God should grant it such a birth.

Not of man’s flesh or man’s blood
Only of the Spirit of God
Is God’s Word a man become,
And blooms the fruit of woman’s womb.

Maiden, she was found with child,
Nor was chastity defiled;
Many a virtue from her shone:
God was there upon his throne.

From that chamber of content,
Royal palace pure, he went;
God by kind, in human grace
Forth he comes to run his race.

From the Father came his road,
And returns again to God;
Unto hell it did go down,
Up then to the Father’s throne.

Thou, the Father’s form express,
Get thee victory in the flesh,
That thy godlike power in us
Make sick flesh victorious.

Shines thy manger bright and fair;
Sets the night a new star there:
Darkness thence must keep away;
Faith dwells ever in the day.

Honour unto God be done;
Honour to his only son;
Honour to the Holy Ghost,
Now, and ever, ending not. Amen

Two lovely poems of the season!  Rich, powerful texts, but joyous in the ways we would expect.

Yet poetry is not particularly a “feel-good” art, despite our modern misconceptions.  Poetry in Western culture has always been a true reflector of life’s conditions, be they joyous or troubled.

So, we’ll close this Advent post with a third poem by MacDonald that may surprise you.  It’ll be interesting for those in your family who seek to draw the connections between real events and literature: It’s called A Christmas Carol for 1862 with the disturbing subtitle “The Year of the Trouble in Lancashire.”  A poem like this offers both a good history lesson and a reminder that Christmas can be a time of hardship for many.

In this case, the year is 1962.  The place?  Lancashire, England – a city renown for its Cotton Mills.  And the causes of hardship?  The American Civil War.  Lancashire imported its cotton from the American South, and their import channels were closed.  Mill managers wisely stockpiled months of cotton in advance, but, like so many, they expected the Civil War would be short.  By the end of 1861, the Lancashire mills were out of cotton, and the populace out of work.  By Christmas 1862, the situation was dire.  And yet, as the poem will tell us, there was still the hope of Jesus.

A Christmas Carol for 1862
“The Year of the Trouble in Lancashire”

The skies are pale, the trees are stiff,
The earth is dull and old;
The frost is glittering as if
The very sun were cold.
And hunger fell is joined with frost,
To make men thin and wan:
Come, babe, from heaven, or we are lost;
Be born, O child of man.

The children cry, the women shake,
The strong men stare about;
They sleep when they should be awake,
They wake ere night is out.
For they have lost their heritage-
No sweat is on their brow:
Come, babe, and bring them work and wage;
Be born, and save us now.

Across the sea, beyond our sight,
Roars on the fierce debate;
The men go down in bloody fight,
The women weep and hate;
And in the right be which that may,
Surely the strife is long!
Come, son of man, thy righteous way,
And right will have no wrong.

Good men speak lies against thine own-
Tongue quick, and hearing slow;
They will not let thee walk alone,
And think to serve thee so:
If they the children’s freedom saw
In thee, the children’s king,
They would be still with holy awe,
Or only speak to sing.

Some neither lie nor starve nor fight,
Nor yet the poor deny;
But in their hearts all is not right,-
They often sit and sigh.
We need thee every day and hour,
In sunshine and in snow:
Child-king, we pray with all our power-
Be born, and save us so.

We are but men and women, Lord;
Thou art a gracious child!
O fill our hearts, and heap our board,
Pray thee-the winter’s wild!
The sky is sad, the trees are bare,
Hunger and hate about:
Come, child, and ill deeds and ill fare
Will soon be driven out.

Poetry.  Let us remember its power (starting with that great book of poetry The Psalms).  May these poems add meaning to your family’s journey through Advent.