'Twas the Day Before Christmas

This poem was given in place of a sermon at our 10:15 service on Christmas Eve. It's (obviously) based on Clement Clark Moore's famous poem, A Visit from St. Nicholas.  I hope you enjoy it.

‘Twas the day before Christmas, and all o’er the world

Every grown-up was busy; every boy, every girl.

The stockings weren’t up yet, the mulled wine not yet spiced,

The presents unwrapped still – <gasp!> – the cake’s not been iced!

Church-goers were dotted alone in their rows

Whilst shopping lists higher thoughts in their heads o’er-imposed.

And mum’s getting frantic, and dad’s getting ‘merry’

And – oh no, no, no! We’ve just run out of sherry!

And out in the towns, packed shops fill up their coffers

As last-minute shoppers vie for last minute offers.

Home, quick! Put lights up, to compete with our neighbour;

But somewhere else, now, a teenage girl is in labour.

And she’s waited – her advent has been 40 weeks –

And she thinks of the child that she bears, and she speaks,

“You are flesh of my flesh, and of my own bone hewn,

The world’s long been waiting, my child, so come soon.”

And she ponders what’s been, what is, what will be;

Of old dusty scriptures, and new prophecy.

And she’s joyful, and fearful, carrying hope, angst and awe,

As her mind crosses millennia: time changes now; evermore.

She thinks back to that day, in her home, nine months prior

As she knelt on her own, and she worked by the fire,

And the angel appeared, and proclaimed on her God’s favour

And declared that she soon would give birth to the Saviour.

And she thinks of the journey she’s come on since then

Of the census that brought her here, to Bethlehem

And of her time before with Elizabeth, time to prepare

And, just like all the days prior, her lips fall back on her prayer:

“My soul magnifies the greatness of my Lord,

In my saviour is my spirit o’erjoyed and restored

For he has ‘pon the lowly, his favour expressed

And all generations shall now call me blessed.

Th’Almighty has done great things for me;

His mercy renowned; his name is holy

The strength of his arm, he now has showed,

And in the conceit of their heart, he has scattered the proud.

He has cast down the mighty from where they belong

And lifted the humble, replacing the strong.

He has set before the poor hungry a wondrous feast

And ejected the rich; giving the most to the least.

And, rememb’ring his mercy, he has helped his creation,

As he promised our forefathers, and Abraham’s nation”

And so Mary prayed, as the night grew to morn

And awaited her child, and her Lord, to be born.

And her mind turns to reliance on God, and to waiting

And of how she’s learned patience, unrest and celebrating

And of how as the child grows in years, days and hours

She will teach him to wait, rely, and consider the flowers.

And now, here she waits in the dirt, on the ground

For the birth pangs to worsen, for the head to be crowned,

For the child to be born, and ascend to his throne

And with her, creation, it waits and it groans.

And we wait there with her, in this church, on this day

For the child to be born, and to light up our way

As our advent concludes, and his coming draws near

We wait, with her, for our Lord to appear.

And we remember his birth, and we remember his dying

And we think of his rising, the cold grave now defying

We await his return, to reclaim his throne

And we pray with his mother, “Come Lord, and come soon.”

And the world is still busy, and still vies for our ears

And the people still live lives of strife through the years

And the shoppers still shop, and the nations still rage

And it has ever been thus, from age to the age.

But amidst all the clamour and clatter and roar,

With the commotion and furore and tumult of war,

Christ’s people stand fast, ‘gainst the world’s assailing estate

And in the hustle and bustle, with Mary, we wait.