The Root of My Merriment

Love came down at Christmas.
and caught us unawares.

Our only hope descended
unbidden, unrecognized,
And largely unwelcome.

The Arrival escaped
the notice of most,
as they obsessively
searched
for something else
entirely:

that great and mighty force
to make right
all that was wrong
in the world.

But love came anyway:

that great and mighty force
to make right
all that was wrong
in ourselves.

Our own brokenness
was hidden from our eyes,
A victim of
self-imposed
delusions
Of grandeur.

Love itself,
broken and poured out,
Showed us that

the problem
isn't 'out there',
but 'in here',
within the confines
of my own
inward-tilting heart.

The surgeon cuts through
the sinewey walls
of fiercely self-protective will,
and opens the tangled mess
Of lifeless flesh
that holds
the
Secret
Fear
of being laid bare.
Found out.
Utterly
exposed.

With gentle precision
He exposes and excises
The clinging regrets
of a sin-scarred past,
The half-healed wounds
of a thousand hurts,
And the dull,
aching emptiness
whose voice is
Not found
in human speech.

There he begins his work,

breathing life into

what was once

Deluded, dead

And

Doomed for destruction.

The healing hands implant
A heart of flesh,
And

I am new.

The divine surgeon
Is my Christ...

My Christmas.