Christmas Poem

This may not be the poem you want to read

As it has already begun to veer away

From the traditional holiday fare.

Sometime, the more you want to believe

The Christmas promise,

The harder the actual day is to wake up to,

Not that I intend to bum you out,

But it will take a little faith

On both our parts

To find out what I’m up to

When I get to the end of this poem.

Faith, after all, is what the day is about,

That a poor wretch born in a stable

Is capable of saving anybody,

Considering he grew up to be

An itinerant, rabble rousing preacher

Strung up on a cross.

And, if we’re honest, we do all identify

With the lyrics to that song,

At least when we sing it.

We do admit our status as poor blind wretches all.

Sometimes when that status is upon us

It is hard to leap over to the joy of the not yet,

Even though, In faith, we believe.

And we do believe, so there is no need

To feel bad for us

Because, mixed in with our despair,

Coloring it in a way that makes it ok,

Is that thing no one can explain,

The peace that, after all, passes all understanding,

Giving us the ability to truthfully say

A very Merry Christmas to you.