Pen and Lens

At the thin verge of meaning,
I wander in fields and woods,
near and far, known and not;
a kind of faith, hope, love
for truth, beauty, goodness.
Though the word escapes me,
and the image, my camera,
I wonder long, pen and lens.

A Child Is Born For Us This Night

All our vulnerability embodied
in so compact a time and space,
a child is born for us this night —
for the twisted tongue and limb,
and the harrowed heart and soul,
for the nameless none have marked,
and the countless come to pass —
born to sinew faith, hope, love
from dark to light, death to life,
this passion laid to earth, for us.

Words That Will Not Sleep

With the wrinkling years
it happens less and less,
words that will not sleep,
that clamor in the head
to be written, to be said,
though the dark is deaf
and morning long to come;
still, the heart does voice.

More Than a Sentimental Narrative about a Baby

The event we celebrate at Christmas is more than a sentimental narrative about a baby. It is the reorientation of human history through God's will not to power but to sacrificial love through presence in and identification with our vulnerability and suffering. "And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth." (John 1:14.) God's glory, grace, and truth are embodied in the Child in a stable in Bethlehem, then on a cross outside of Jerusalem. And this is the real good news we carol at Christmas and throughout the year when we live his glory, grace, and truth in our world of vulnerability and suffering.