It’s Advent, and we are waiting. And hoping. And expecting…that Christ will be born again, in us and in the world.
Here’s a poem called “Bird in Flight” by Bill Spangler that is speaking to me in these days of Advent.
He came, I think, from yonder wood –
a bird, quite small – and flew across
the snowy meadow where I stood.
With bursts of rapid beats, then folded wings,
he rose and fell in parabolic arcs,
a messenger from God who spun
a single strand of silk too fine to see
and stitched together earth and heaven.
I thought him lost from where I stood,
then saw him rise above the trees,
and glimpsed, it seemed, a silken strand of gold
as though a sudden ray of gold from earth
had pierced the leaden clouds above.
And where I stood, I shivered in the cold.
Likewise Love’s flight o’er earth did weave
a tapestry from Bethlehem
to paradise and opened up
a stairway to the stars: the Word made flesh,
a human life as fragile as a thread,
the mind of God too quick for us to grasp
yet grasping us. By faith we climb
the stairs and once more hear the angels sing.
On Sunday we wait and hope and expect the advent of peace in our lives and world. I look forward to worshipping with you.