As another Solemnity of Christmas approaches, I find myself reflecting on the Christmases of my past. As a facilitator of support groups, I have found the difficulty for people very apparent struggling during this “Season of Light and Joy”. The losses for which they grieve, be it a divorce, a death, a loss of job weighs heavily on them, almost snuffing out any joyful celebration of the birth of the Messiah.
Aside from one year in forty-two years of church ministry, the liturgies of Christmas were ones to be endured. I far preferred the long, complicated, multiple liturgies of Holy Week over the liturgies of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Holy Week liturgies are clearly focused on the Paschal Mystery of Jesus, while the liturgies of Christmas carry all sorts of emotional and spiritual baggage for people not all focused on the birth of Jesus.
So here are three Christmas poems reflecting on those Christmases of the past, and poem on the most significant day of my life, my wedding to my beautiful bride of 45 years, Ruth. Retired from full-time church ministry, this Christmas will be quite a change for me. It will be interesting to experience the spiritual impact of the Solemnity for me this year.
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS POEM
So much is said and advertised
about the rush for Christmas gold;
the tables and wares of the merchants
stand unchallenged crowding out
the vestibule of the Season of Advent.
It is easy to become jaded,
the rolling of eyes
as the cacophony of Christmas mediocrity
issues from the speakers in malls,
elevators and convenience stores,
its commercial hymnody of jingling bells,
well-lit reindeers, chestnut roasting,
and a meteorological disaster
of overly abundant snowfall.
Pious bracelet platitudes
on the “Reason for the Season”,
is not enough to stave off
the frontal commercial assault
on the Holy Day.
One must adopt the singular,
tenacious attribute of the bloodhound
to dig past the Christmas hoard and clutter
to reach the true Christmas present.
Only this present is not wrapped
In colorful paper and satin bows.
This present is wrapped in
swaddling clothes and found
in the most unlikely of places
… a stable.
THE SECOND CHRISTMAS POEM
Christmas can be an empty Holy Day,
a time when burnt out liturgical ministers
paste a smile on their faces
and through gritted teeth mutter,
“Merry Christmas.”
Trying to fulfill the unrealistic
expectations of a mythological
childhood Christmas of the
abundant Christmas throng
gathered at multiple Christmas liturgies
is not only a fruitless endeavor,
but is capable of sucking
the joy and mystery of Christ’s Incarnation
from the Holy Day.
Following the Christmas Day liturgies,
I stagger home exhausted,
a refugee awaiting the need
to experience the angelic
pronouncement promised
to the shepherds. From
your hands, my bride,
a Christmas offering,
not gold, frankincense, and myrrh,
but a glass containing
two ounces of brandy,
an ounce of sweet vermouth,
two cherries in a cocktail
glass filled with ice cubes;
thirty minutes of quiet solitude
whilst pondering and sipping
from the fount of the god, Bacchus.
The mystery of Christ’s Incarnation
will only be experienced long after
the rituals of church and family.
In a darkened room,
lit only by the colored lights
of the Christmas tree,
I sit in the gentle darkness
and behold the Christ child
in the quiet listening
to the choral Christmas motets
of Francois Poulenc and
Benjamin Britten (1). In the exquisite
music of these two gay composers,
I encounter ever so succinctly,
the mysterious revelation
of Jesus Christ, Emmanuel.
THE THIRD CHRISTMAS PRESENT
Two in the morning,
and the long drive home
from an afternoon and night
of Christmas Eve liturgies,
the air is bitterly cold
as my car and I climb
the long, steep hill out of
the Minnesota River Valley of Tears
to our home fifteen minutes away.
Dreams of our warm bed,
and three hours of sleep,
before awakening and
doing it all over again,
dominate my thoughts
during the long drive home.
I think of you at work
in the nursing home,
watching over the residents
in your care, as the shepherds
once watched over their flocks
in the deep darkness of night
in Palestine over two thousand years ago.
As I reach the crest of the hill,
and climb out on the barren plateau,
the light from the full moon
glistens off the frozen surface
of snow covered corn fields.
The moonlight reflecting off the snow
is as bright as the light of a noon day sun.
Enraptured by this brilliant light
high on the frozen plateau,
I turn off my headlights
and drive only by the moonlight,
experiencing the epiphany
of the Magi, as they traveled
by a similar light from
the Star of Bethlehem.
A POEM ON THE FORTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR WEDDING.
Forty-five years ago,
heightened anticipation,
a quickening pulse.
No, the Christmas Solemnity
is not the reason
for my heightened senses.
Christmas is just a mere distraction,
a ritual to be endured,
to get to THE ritual
which is far more important,
far more personally
earth shattering and life altering;
December Twenty-seventh,
the day of our wedding.
As much as our Hebrew ancestors
longed for deliverance,
multiple centuries of prophetic angst
awaiting, crying out to the Most High
for the promised Beloved of God;
so much so have I longed and awaited,
from this very moment.
From the time I fell in love
with you in the subterranean depths
of our high school band room,
my life and all my education endeavors
have been directed to this day
when we would finally be united in marriage.
Forty-five years later,
my senses remain heightened
as the Solemnity of our marriage
approaches, a Solemnity as
important as the Incarnation of God.
For our anniversary of our marriage
remains for me a Solemnity
marking the greatest experience
of Emmanuel, God with me,
as I behold God’s Incarnation in you.
* All poems by Robert Wagner (c) 2019. All rights reserved.
1. The Four Christmas Motets of Poulenc, and the Ceremony of Carols of Britten are the most inspired of Christmas compositions in my opinion.
