‘Twere the weeks before Christmas, and all through the church
not a creature was stirring, not even a perch.
Well that’s not quite true, there’s no fish in the house;
and everyone’s up: every child, dog, and mouse.
The pageant was set for next Sunday at four;
but no one was asked to play God anymore.
For Covid had forced a big change to our plans:
wearing masks, barring crowds, and a few other bans.
Why, last year we couldn’t let kids come inside;
not for Advent, or twelve days of Christ-a-mas-tide.
And this year, who knows what the rules will allow;
all we know is that Jesus will get here somehow.
If you wanted a part in a pageant to play,
you could do a lot worse that John, Baptist, I’d say.
His costume is great and his lines are all shouted -
so none of his words will ever be doubted.
He’s a prophet of Jesus; he’s the guy who comes first.
He eats locusts and honey; his breath is the worst!
He wants us to prepare, he wants all of us ready;
espec’ially if your name rhymes with Freddie, or Teddy…
Well, all of us, really, I just needed a rhyme;
don’t look at me like I’ve committed some crime!
Where was I? Oh, John, comma, Baptist, our friend,
has words to alert us, so hearken! Attend!
He’s the voice of one crying in the wilderness wild;
to prepare for a Lord who is meek and is mild.
Mild and meek he may be, but he still has got power:
it’s made perfect in weakness, at just the right hour!
So prepare ye the way, and make his paths straight,
run out to the garden and open the gate!
Every valley exalt, and each mountain re-grade;
use a back-hoe, a shovel, or an old garden spade.
It’s a metaphor, really, for hearts, which are crookéd.
John the Baptist reminds us, it’s high time we lookéd
inside of ourselves, to see what’s in there.
Is it hope and expectance? Or’s it fear and despair?
To many that weirdo seemed odd or absurd:
he preached of forgiveness, he told them the Word
of the Lord, which is more than it first seems to be:
neither Bible, nor preaching, it’s Jesus, you see.
As you’re waiting for Christmas, try not to forget
that life’s not a solo, it’s more a duet.
It’s not you, by yourself, without help, all alone,
if you make your heart ready, prepare there a throne….
Better yet, if you feel as if God is a stranger,
prepare in your heart a stable, a manger;
a place in your life where on Christ-a-mas morn
little Jesus, our Lord, can be laid when he’s born.
For the world all around us is nutty, it’s tough;
Only God can smooth out all the edges so rough;
like your heart and mine, which are easily bended,
when they need to be fixed or repaired, or amended
What’s the gist of this poem? What point does it make?
It’s not trying to alarm, but only awake
you from slumber, if sleep is the thing, what it is
that keeps your life flat, when it should be all fizz!
For Christmas is often not all it should be
if it’s just about presents, and cookies, the tree.
And these weeks leading up to that great holy day
are a chance to think deeply, to ponder, to pray…
to ask ourselves truly how much we believe
in a God who’s got more than just tricks up his sleeve:
and who loves us so much, like really, a ton,
that he sends us his dearly belov’d only Son
to be not our master; our friend, not our boss;
and to give his own life on the wood of the Cross;
and to rise from the dead three days later, you see,
and to share resurrection with you and with me!
It starts in a stable with hay and with straw;
it’s a story we learn, not a rule or a law.
It’s a person God sends to all people on earth,
which is why we rejoice every year at his birth.
If a child’s to be born, you’re alert, you prepare;
there’s a sense of excitement around in the air!
You make yourself ready, you might stay up late,
after all of that work to make the paths straight.
So get ready for him, for your Savior to greet,
when he comes, shout it out, maybe send out a tweet.
It may seem somewhat goofy, old fashioned, or odd
but all flesh will soon see the salvation of God!
Now back to your seats, think about what I’ve said,
as visions of sugarplums fill all your heads.
What’s a sugarplum? Please, I am sure I don’t know!
Just go back to your pews, now, just go, go, go go!
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen at Family Mass
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia
5 December 2021