#christmasmeans my wonder and worship

I wrote this poem a couple of years ago.  I tried to convey my continuing wonder at this most familiar of stories. I don’t want to ever “get over” Christmas and what it means.  I hope this will inspire you and make you wonder just a little too. … Perhaps you might be stirred to worship the baby King. Feel free to share …

 

Was it badly planned? (A Christmas Poem)

 

Dear God and Lord almighty, creator of it all,

I have a few questions about the Christmas festival.

Each year we remember these events so long ago -

We sing and tell the story – but there’s lots I still don’t know.

You see, the problem is, I don’t quite understand

Why it happened the way it did – was it badly planned?

 

Your mother was a peasant girl, so fragile and so young,

Her fiance was a hero, reluctant and unsung.

How did you know they could bear the load, that they wouldn’t crack?

Why take such a massive risk – there would be no way back.

Why involve us humans – we could have made a mess

Of this great salvation plan – it could have cost you less.

 

You could have come in splendour more fitting for a king

- anything would have been better for the Lord of everything -

So, why choose rejection? why choose the manger?

Why those first visitors – it couldn’t get much stranger

than these smelly shepherds. Could you really trust them?

They were outcasts, after all, not creme-de la creme.

 

Surely such a baby deserves a V.I.P.

Not riff-raff or outsiders, not people just like me.

Or was that just the point? Do we need to know

We’re infinitely precious – is that what Christmas shows?

Was the Christ-child born for all? Is it really true

that Immanuel – God-with-us – is the perfect gift from you?

 

And can I really come to you in all my sin and shame?

Do you take me as I am, give me a brand new name?

“Beloved” now, and “chosen”, “forgiven” and set free -

Accepted by the Saviour, who lived and died for me. 

I simply cannot take it in, not even a tiny part

But I thank you, God, for Christmas, from the bottom of my heart.

 

Andy March (c) 2011