A Christmas poem


Truth creeps across the threshold
like darkness steals the day,
a slow slog of forgetting,
a dying act of letting go:
It is hard to live, forgiving.

Far as distant earthen corners,
so far our sin has been removed,
even still we’d quick go digging,
taking back our dreadful wounds.
We hold miserly to what we know.

At every moment it’s the other,
who we believe should take the step,
lift their foot across divisions,
crumble saddened face to tears.
Is this why we won’t forgive?

Imagine God to hold such grudges,
if he chose our sin sick ways,
but he, a bruised and battered party,
leaps high the wall with grace,
He lays aside our ways of death.

Can we creep the simple threshold?
Can we crawl the ways of light?
Can we lay aside our grievance?
Put down what makes us die?
Follow One who goes before us…