I’m interrupting my series on paradox to invite you deeper into the Advent season with this poem. It’s a prayer-cry for those of us who need to remember how desperately we need this Child to come and enter into our brokenness, grief, confusion and sin. How desperately we need this Gift.
The Branch of Your Planting
Isaiah 60: 19-22
We are the branch of your planting,
grasping the earth
until it is too much with us:
soil on our leaves, arching petals
into cups to hoard the rain.
We are cut and grafted,
withered, unyielding, broken
even as we bloom another
We are the hidden, dying seeds,
trembling in our casings
with desire for glory: ours
and yours. And you promise it
and much else besides.
Hasten it in its time.
Because we mourn in exile here,
striving with unclean hands raised
toward heaven to grasp at your coming
or waiting silently with this dirt
ground deep into the lines
of our upturned palms,
all of us whispering