Spiritual Sunday
Luci Northcote Shaw has an interesting take on the symbolism of the infant Jesus. The schmaltz of Christmas—“our picturesque traditions, our shallow sentiment”– robs the Christian message of its punch, the exasperated poet complains.
If “Jesus the Man” rather than Jesus the child were to stride into our lives, he might start overturning cash registers. Certainly, he would demand
much more
than the milk and the softness
and the mother warmth
of the baby in the storefront creche…
Shaw ends her poem with lines from a Christmas carol so she doesn’t turn her back on the season entirely. She’s just trying to return it to Christ’s message.
It is as if infancy were the whole of incarnation
One time of the year
the new-born child
is everywhere,
planted in madonnas’ arms,
hay mows, stables,
in palaces or farms,
or, quaintly, under snowed gables,
gothic angular or baroque plump,
naked or elaborately swathed,
encircled by Della Robbia wreaths,
garnished with whimsical
partridges and pears,
drummers and drums,
lit by oversize stars,
partnered with lambs,
peace doves, sugar plums,
bells, plastic camels in sets of three
as if these were what we need
for eternity.
But Jesus the Man is not to be seen.
We are too wary, these days,
of beards and sandaled feed.
Yet if we celebrate, let it be
that He
has invaded our lives with purpose,
striding over our picturesque traditions,
our shallow sentiment,
overturning our cash registers,
wielding His peace like a sword,
rescuing us into reality,
demanding much more
than the milk and the softness
and the mother warmth
of the baby in the storefront creche,
(only the Man would ask
all, of each of us)
reaching out
always, urgently with strong
effective love
(only the Man would give
His life and live
again for love of us).
O come, let us adore Him—
Christ—the Lord.