People
John de Graaf

A beautiful poem ... about Christmas and ...

Burgess COMMENTARY

Peter Burgess

John de Graaf December 20 at 4:44pm · CHRISTMAS, 2017--a poem First, a clarification: I am not religious, Though on one still, star-filled, Winter night when I was Only sixteen and Camping beside a frozen Sierra lake, I came to find A faith in Divine Providence That all the world’s chaos and Sorrow has not yet destroyed. Yet despite my secular doubt, Christmas still strikes me as The most meaningful of Holidays, when a softness Envelopes the cold earth, Bells ring and children sing And laugh, and the “greatest Story ever told,” however apocryphal, Gets told over and again. It’s a story that breaks the rules. A baby is born to a poor Traveling carpenter, and an Equally poor young mother, in a stable Because such people were not Welcome in the Inn. He Grows up to preach a Subversive doctrine— Love thy neighbor, Give your wealth away, For a rich man cannot Enter Heaven’s Kingdom, Do good to the stranger, The immigrant, as the Samaritan did, be a Peacemaker because they Are blessed, do not pile Up treasure on the earth, for You cannot love both God and Money, But work instead to bring the Kingdom of compassion and justice. On a donkey, he rides to Turn over the tables Of the bankers who Prey on the poor and Make profane the sacred Temple. He will die For his efforts, the Un-Roman Activities Committee Having condemned him. Strange how those who Profess to follow this Prince of Peace clamor For deadlier weapons, Walls against the other, Apocalyptic Armageddons, How they cheer when Pharisees in Washington Strip food from the mouths of Babies to fatten the already Obese. Why tell the story But ignore the meaning? I used to love to walk Among the carolers singing Of Peace on Earth, Goodwill To Men…and women— On a night when the Bullets were silenced and Love was proclaimed… 'To everything there is a season— A time for love, a time for Hate, a time for Peace, I swear it’s not too late.' Today, on this shortest Day of the year, I wish you a Merry Christmas, whomever You are, and whatever You believe—you and every Human being and Every sacred creature With whom we share This verdant planet. In the winter of our Discontent, the Skylarks of spring Are looking to fly North again. Love, John