Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Poem - A Christmas Prayer of a Modern Magi Wannabee

A Christmas Prayer of a Modern Magi Wannabe
O. Kris Widmer

Idea: December 16, 2017 – During the Pastoral Prayer at a Seventh-day Adventist Church
Released:  December 19, 2017 – Written Out During Devotional Time with God

Divine/Human Savior,
God with us,
Word made flesh,
Risen and Ascended Christ,
Bethlehem’s Baby;
I come to You not as a wise one,
but as one who has been foolish;
foolish for much too long.

I do not bring gold.
I bring You my gilded reputation,
                  Which is solid paper mache, covered in 14-caret gold leaf.
                  (I did it myself, it took me years of work in my community.)
                  Most people like it; they think it is shiny.  What do they know!
                  I know it is completely hollow.
I bring You the golden moments of my past,
                  Produced by my super ego. 
                  At least I thought they were golden.
                  There are large holes now.
                  And a strange, pale patina.
I am sorry for this pittance.
Forgive me.

I do not bring frankincense.
I bring You francs.
                  Many countries still mint them every day.
                  These are from Rwanda and France,
                  Both places I have been.
                  I regret the current currency fluctuation and devaluation.
I bring You my frankness.
                  I have deceived myself saying - “I’m just keepin’ it real.”
                  With candor, I have been outspokenly blunt.
                  I have not been part of the ministry of reconciliation,
                  Pretending to speak Your verdicts;
                  With spiritual and spirited words, I have rendered MY judgments,
                  And rended[1] other’s hearts in the process.
I am sorry for this pittance.
Forgive me.

I do not bring myrrh.
I bring You merchandise.
                  I have lots of it.
                  It was bought on Cyber Monday and shipped for free.
                  I bought one for Aunt Ellen and one for myself.
                  I thought the size of the pile would make us happy for a while.
                  It didn’t.
                  I bring You my murmuring.
                                    “Where is the promise of His coming!”
                                    “The church is not for everyone.”
                                    “The preacher’s voice sounds like Donald Trump…long S sounds - Ssssss.”
                                    “Solicitude? Huh?
                                                      We need a modern language version of Ellen White!”
                                    I stand condemned for my condemnations.
I am sorry for this pittance.
Forgive me.

I am no wise man or wise woman.
I am a fool.
                  Forgive Me.

I am unworthy of your great gifts in return:
                  The grace grant of your golden streets,
                  The fellowship of being your family,
                  The mirth of receiving your mercy.

All I can do is,
                  with head bowed
                  and from my knees,
                  mumble my appreciations.

[1] rend: verb.   tear, split, slash, shred, rip

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