Parties, lights, candles, greens, and friends. All make this time of year special. Perhaps the most special is letters from friends, conversations with folks and unexpected surprises. This poem from our friend, John Thornburg, was a special surprise.
FROM HEAVEN’S PORCH
Infants don’t pretend.
They want to recreate
the warmth and comfort of the womb.
They cry to say, “I’m really cold.”
They coo to say, “Thank God I’m warm,”
or words to that effect.
When all grown up,
we put on a veneer
to hide the fear
that we cannot be loved as-is;
to cover up the righteousness
that we pretend to feel
when ‘someone’ doesn’t do
the things that make for peace.
Our words too often hide the truth.
We say, “I’ll do it,” then we don’t.
We say, “I love you,” then we won’t
confirm our love in what we do.
Pretending is a practiced art;
and practice makes imperfect.
There was a baby once
whose birth was trumpeted
from heaven’s porch.
But unlike us,
when he grew up
he did not hide the truth.
He loved us as we are,
and called us to abundant life.
In what he spoke,
in who he touched,
in where he walked,
in how he bled,
he showed us why a star
had pointed out the place and time
that truth came down
and donned our uniform.
No wonder angels sang of him.
And still they sing…
© 2010 John Thornburg/ A Ministry of Congregational Singing
www.congregationalsinging.com