Showing posts with label nativity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nativity. Show all posts

Sunday, December 19, 2021

Stable and shepherds

Haiku of the nativity

 

We love Luke’s stories

with the stable and shepherds,

humble and common.


Joseph, his child-bride,

the journey to Bethlehem,

no place of welcome.


I imagine them;

humble northerners, seeking.

Will we welcome them?


Making folk welcome

is not on our agenda,

Sorry, there’s no room.


In a stable, shed;

an improvised bed, cradle.

Yes, these will do fine.


Wrap him in cloth strips.

Thus they will dress him when Luke

concludes his story.


The angels fly in

with shining invitations

for lowly shepherds.


The shepherds turn up,

take in the wonder; return,

telling ev’ryone.


© Ken Rookes 2021

Sunday, December 23, 2018

In stables and sheds


In stables and sheds,
kitchens and loungerooms
where trees are trimmed and illuminated
and nativuty scenes erected,
and where they are not;
where questions are asked
and objections raised,
where humans struggle
and sometimes doubt,
where the downtrodden gather
to become schooled in resistance,
where infants dance with delight and wonder
and old people pause to reflect,
where children are reckless enough to claim their voices
and challenge their elders,
where the just discover their anger
and politeness gives way to righteous insistence,
where generosity, compassion and hope reassert themselves
to confront the greed, brutality and fear at the centre of the universe;
here, in these places
among earth’s dust and straw,
and in many places like them
the Logos of God will be,
is being, born,
to shine again,
defiantly
in the darkness.


© Ken Rookes 2018

The birth

Haiku of wonder

When a king is born
the stories must reflect it
with wonder and awe.

Apart from angels,
this narrative is humble,
with a common cast.

Comes to Bethlehen,
the tradie with his girl-bride,
about to give birth.

A shed out the back
of a packed-out small-town pub.
Nothing flash in that!

A son is born, wrapped
in cloth strips and put to bed
in a feeding trough.

Shepherds get the news:
the Messiah has been born,
look for a baby.

This will be the sign:
a baby in a manger,
in David’s city.

The shepherds decamped
to see for themselves the child,
as they had been told.

They told ev’ryone
about the child, the one born
to save his people.

© Ken Rookes. 2018

Wednesday, December 20, 2017

Census


haiku for losing control

As the story goes
Augustus and his minions
decreed the counting.

A census gives us
the needed information
to order our world.

Numbering people,
keeping control and power,
imposing taxes.

The count brings the man,
along with his pregnant bride
south to Bethlehem.

But in this baby
God upends all creation;
here is the promise.

Humble mum and dad,
common tradesman and his wife;
folk the same as us.

Find them a stable,
a shelter for giving birth.
How appropriate.

No fancy cradle;
he can sleep in a feed trough,
there among the straw.

Invite some shepherds,
poor and lowly witnesses;
they’ll proclaim his birth.

Something about God
spurning grandeur and power;
these are good stories.



© Ken Rookes 2017.

Monday, December 18, 2017

Annunciation

Haiku of wonder

In these ancient tales
unexpected pregnancies
convey the wonder.

God, they assure us,
is at last doing something
to sort the world out.

An agéd woman
has managed to conceive, now
it’s her cousin’s turn.

The angel’s busy
conveying surprising news.
The girl is nonplussed.

Do not be afraid!
Easy to say, Gabriel;
it isn’t your womb!

You will bear a son.
You’ll call him Jesus. He will
do amazing things!

That, we know is true.
We will follow his story;
we will follow him.

Her fears overcome,
the girl agrees, allowing
events to proceed.

Only Luke gives us
these strange announcement stories,
stretching the waiting.

We’re left to ponder:
is wonder the same as truth;
and does it matter?




© Ken Rookes 2017.

Monday, December 19, 2016

A wondrous yarn

Haiku of an often told story

There are no records
of the birth of the Messiah;
just an old story.

An anxious couple
seeking a place of shelter.
The time is at hand.

In a crowded town,
a stable, strangely, becomes
a delivery ward.

A baby is born,
this thing of joy and wonder.
Happens ev'ry day.

Shepherds tending sheep,
angels winging in the sky;
a fabulous yarn.

Go and check it out!
The baby in a manger,
with his mum and dad.

The infant is found;
it was as the angel said.
They are all amazed.

The shepherds return
singing, “Glory!” praising God,
They tell everyone.


© Ken Rookes 2016

Monday, December 21, 2015

Nativity Haiku


Shepherds and angels
conversing in the shadows,
illumined by hope.

Good news pronouncement;
Great joy! The one sent from God
breathes earth's air today.

Down in Bethlehem
while everyone sleeps; at last
something has happened!

No room at the inn;
so the man and the woman
had to improvise.

Why do you delay?
You should get yourselves moving
or you'll miss the show.

Entrusting their sheep
to the angelic choir,
they went to find him.

A baby is born.
It happens every day;
what's special this time?

This feed-box cradle
is offered as a sign. Strange,
but appropriate.

The shepherds returned,
sharing their wond'rous story;
couldn't keep silent.



© Ken Rookes 2015

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Witnesses




Two formerly obscure old people
become Luke’s surprising choice
as his final witnesses
to the Messiah’s birth.
In his historically improbable
but still entrancingly wondrous
natal narrative, he retrospectively presents us
with the excited pronouncements
of an elderly man and an aging widow.
Salvation for Israel,
light and hope for the foreigners,
redemption for Jerusalem;
here, in this infant.

Imagine if a pair of old people stood up
to deliver such outrageous observations
in our own time.
There probably wouldn’t be a camera crew
on hand to record the event
or interview the key players;
it would be unlikely to make the papers.
At best, there might be a few smiling selfies
with the old people, the mother and child.
Some, no doubt, would end up online;
maybe with a paragraph in someone’s blog,
to be reposted by a handful of friends,
or shared with a link.
Most likely we’d offer a patronising wink or a smile
and shake our collective heads
before joining in the joking dismissal.

Let’s face it, the elderly
probably weren’t taken seriously back then,
either. No one else seemed to notice,
or bothered to remember;
only Luke.


© Ken Rookes 2014

Sunday, December 21, 2014

Interpreting the story




Gospel writers Matthew and Luke
are the approved suppliers
of the raw materials
from which we cobble together our Christmas stories;
faith being the thread that seeks,
gathers and ties the meaning.
The angels speak of the wonder
of the aching God who decides to take action
and to embrace uncertainty.
The girl-woman, Mary,
is a sign of human obedience
and willingness to let God’s perplexing purposes
take their unpredictable course.
Her carpenter husband, Joseph,
in determining to proceed with their marriage,
shows the persistence of human compassion
in the face of bewildering embarrassment.
And the baby, strange and vulnerable,
tells us of the mystery of divine love
found, unexpectedly and riskily,
among us.

So, what of the fat man in the red suit,
intruding uninvited into our neat nativity?
Perhaps he is God, laughing.


© 2009 Ken Rookes

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

How many?




How many?
Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way.

In a similar manner
do messiahs,
heroes, battlers,
has-beens and failures
begin their living.

A young woman,
barely pubescent,
finds herself expecting a child.
The man is surprised;
the man is always surprised.

A decision is needed.
The responsible thing,
the correct thing.
The ennobling thing,
the loving thing.

How many?
How many angels
will be needed
for the man to be persuaded
to do the right thing?

And how many tears,
Both of joy and sorrow,
will be shed on the journey
to marriage, the birthing place,
and beyond.

© Ken Rookes 2013

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Fool’s gold




Appearing nothing like the noble kings
that stepped confidently in gold leaf
from countless medieval paintings,
the ones we call wise
looked like a group of merchant traders
who had trod the road many months.
Dusty but unwearied, they chased
their star-obsession west,
all the way to Palestine.
The palace had probably been a mistake,
but they agreed  that the Bethlehem lead
looked promising.
They laughed along with the strangers
with whom they shared their story.
“The rainbow’s golden pot
might prove less elusive,”
a wit had joked, some months into their travels.
True, they might never find the prince
at the silver star-journey’s end.
They were troupe of clowns,
persisting in futility,
knowing and willing,
recklessly complicit
in each other’s foolishness;
having long concurred
that it was better to pursue with hope
a heavenly folly,
than to live with caution and fear.
And should they find the child,
why, then they would laugh and worship,
and the whole journey
would be as the gold
they carried.

© Ken Rookes

For some.



The wealthy and powerful ones;
rulers, kings and major shareholders
do a lively trade in information.
They invest some of their ample resources
in finding out stuff, analysing trends and opinion,
and gathering whatever facts can be assembled
from their multiple sources
in order to gain advantage over everyone else.
Knowledge, they say, is power;
who would argue?
In his terrible nativity story, Matthew
presents us with the despotic Herod,
who, sensing a threat to his kingly power
in the unlikely birth of a child,
demands, of his royal advisors,
insight and opinion. It is his hope
that when the appropriate dots
have been successfully joined,
they will indicate a profitable course of action.
And just when,
he confidingly enquires of the wise strangers,
feigning concern for the success
of their crazy adventure;
did the star first appear?
Having sent the gift-laden travellers to Bethlehem,
in accordance with some long-forgotten oracle,
he awaits their return,
along with the specific details,
(parents, street name and number),
that they will supply.
He must have waited some time;
the successful pilgrims, as the story goes,
were recipients of further information,
and went home by another way.
The ever-pragmatic Herod was unconcerned;
it was a minor inconvenience.
Their answer to his earlier question
had been duly noted by his scribes;
it would be sufficient for his mathematicians
to make the necessary determinations
that would allow his troops to do their job.
The baby’s parents also received advice
that enabled them to choose a path to safety.
Not so blessed were other young children
in Bethlehem. Knowledge, they say, is power;
for some.

©Ken Rookes 2012

Monday, December 24, 2012

Bethlehem Ephrathah




The rich had taken the best rooms
in the inns, and the private homes too.
The moderately well-off took the rest.
The poor camped where they could,
gathered around fires, swapped yarns,
got counted, and made their plans
to head home. Bethlehem
had taken on the appearance
of a refugee camp;
the city fathers were not impressed.

Joseph and Mary had been among
the campers by the creek,
until the contractions
of the impending birth drove them
to seek a more substantial shelter.
In a stable the animals seemed to enjoy
a tolerable standard of accommodation;
they decided to join them.
There the child would be born
and God made welcome.

© Ken Rookes

a different nativity

Sorry, not sure of the origins, but too good not to post.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Beginnings




The seed that grows within the womb
of the bewildered child-woman
began, we are told,
as a loving, aching thought
in the mind of God.
The mysteries of our mortal being
lie deep in the pre-historic
annals of creation,
defying the simple explanations
of both religion and reason.
Those who embrace faith
will insist on one thing alone:
that its source is also love.
This love, they declare
in obedience to the one who they follow,
is the beginning of all that is good
and beautiful and true.

We cannot say with confidence
that the acts leading to impregnation
all have their genesis at that same point;
but their outcomes, small, pink and vulnerable,
always take us there.
Through circumstance
the child-woman from Nazareth
finds herself with her husband
in a Bethlehem stable; or so one story goes.
In this humble shelter, lacking in amenity
but with its own strange appropriateness and beauty,
the moment arrives; and the baby
is delivered among the straw,
with all the requisite pain, groans, tears and blood.
In this place, made holy,
and at this instant rendered sacred,
love begins its wondrous journey of fulfilment
among us all.

© Ken Rookes 2012

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

The expectation

Haiku responding to 1 Thes 4:13-18 The expectation was that the Lord would return during their lifetimes Brothers and sisters  have died. Ch...