[Rough Draft]

A weblog about god, doubt, insomnia, culture, baseball



last night's community group discussion was about the incarnation, and i tried to find this poem but couldn't until afterward. so, for your advent contemplation, here it go:

Blue homespun and the bend of my breast
keep warm this small, hot, naked star
fallen to my arms. (Rest . . .
you who have had so far
to come.) Now nearness satisfies
the body of God
sweetly. Quiet he lies
whose vigor hurled
a universe. He sleeps
whose eyelids have not closed before.
His breath (so light it seems
no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps
to sprout a world.
Charmed by doves’ voices, the whisper of straw,
he dreams,
hearing no music from his other spheres.
Breath, mouth, ears, eyes
he is curtailed
who overflowed all skies,
all years.
Older than eternity, now he
is new. Now native to earth as I am, nailed
to my poor planet, caught that I might be free,
blind in my womb to know
my darkness ended,
brought to this birth
for me to be new-born,
and for him to see me mended,
I must see him torn.

(“Mary’s Song,” A Poem by Luci Shaw, I think from Listen to the Green, but I’m not sure)

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