Destination Bethlehem. J. Barrie Shepherd

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      All this we ask in the tender, gracious,

      world-embracing name of the Bethlehem babe,

      our Savior, Jesus. Amen.

      Advent Invitation

      Step into a four-Sabbath world

      that begins with a whisper—

      “Keep your eyes peeled”—

      concludes with the cry of a child in the night,

      a realm that is bounded by the fling of five candlelight,

      the range of a quavering voice reading words

      that sound old and familiar, yet strange,

      full of wonder and wanting,

      a domain hung with banners of purple,

      decked with green, living branches,

      and spangled with frost, touched by star-beam.

      You will meet friendly beasts,

      an Orient wisdom, and folk from the fields.

      Whatever you do, you’ll be changed just a bit,

      your blood colder, or warmer, you’ll see.

      One more thing. There is danger here,

      much to be risked, perhaps all to be won.

      Now take a deep breath. Let’s begin.

      Going to Bethlehem

      Four weeks to cross the continents

      and oceans to a town that is transformed

      by twenty centuries of troubled times.

      Four weeks in which to travel down

      the weary corridors, two thousand years

      of looking back and looking forward.

      Four weeks for tramping the harsh pathways

      of the shopping malls trying to buy the one gift

      that has never been for sale.

      Four weeks to light four candles

      in the sanctuary of the heart, and then

      a fifth one to illuminate the heart of God.

      Four weeks for learning mystery, for turning

      darkness toward light, for yearning, day

      by day, toward that burning flame of welcome

      that kindles there within the waiting manger.

      Hanging The Greens

      We bring the outside in

      this chill and waning season,

      cut boughs and branches,

      strands of light and living green,

      and deck them all about the walls

      and ledges of our houses, make believe

      we fashion an enchanted forest glade

      to frame our festive celebrations.

      Evergreens, we call them,

      though they bleed and die so soon,

      in over-heated rooms. Yet that dying

      lends a fragrance and a grace, foretells,

      if we will heed, another time and space,

      where tree and thorns, no longer green,

      fulfil their cruel, necessary function

      in the ever-greening of our wintered race.

      Watch For It

      We need to be reminded

      to look forward at least once a year.

      So much we spend in peering back

      across an urgent shoulder in these fearful times,

      leery in case old you-know-who is gaining on us.

      Therefore, just when calendars are growing

      weary of themselves—the tattered, dog-eared,

      tail-end of the year—we name it, Advent,

      dig out five candles and the holly wreath,

      and kindle hope again, with orisons, chants, hymns,

      ringing words of ancient expectation.

      In the midst of which, from time to time,

      eternity—in ordinary flesh, and blood, and bone—

      takes shape, dons time, draws near.

Tuesday

      How Many Miles to Bethlehem? I

      The Departure

      The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light;those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness,on them has light shined

      —Isaiah 9:2

      And Mary said, “Behold I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.”

      —Luke 1:38

      It all brought back so many memories of departure. We were in Fenchurch Street Station, catching a train to take us out of London to stay with old friends in nearby Essex. We raced along the platform with our bags, clambered through the first available carriage door, stowed the luggage overhead, settled down, and opened the window just a crack. A few moments later, with the urgent slamming of the few doors remaining open and the shriek of the whistle from the guard, the train began to move, and we sank back into our seats with a sigh of relief and contentment. We were on our way—setting out.

      It’s still a magical moment, even after the passing of many years, a moment calling forth memories of those enormous steam locomotives with their puffing, gasping, and hissing, their chugging, clashing and clanking, as they labored to get under way, memories of childhood journeys that were always, no matter the circumstances—and in wartime Britain there were some СКАЧАТЬ