Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem
By Dr. Maya Angelou
Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Flood waters await us in our avenues.
Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and grey and threatening.
We question ourselves.
What have we done to so affront nature?
We worry God.
Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?
Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.
It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.
Flood waters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground.
Hope is born again in the faces of children
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things,
Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.
In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.
We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.
We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.
Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
Implore you, to stay a while with us.
So we may learn by your shimmering light
How to look beyond complexion and see community.
It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.
On this platform of peace, we can create a language
To translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.
At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ
Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues at the coming of hope.
All the earth’s tribes loosen their voices
To celebrate the promise of Peace.
We, Angels and Mortals, Believers and Non-Believers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at each other, then into ourselves
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation.
Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
[Peace, My Sibling.]
Peace, My Soul.
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For the word of God in Scripture, for the word of God in music and poetry, for the word of God within and among us… Thanks be to God.
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Tonight is the night. It is Christmas Eve. The night that we remember and celebrate something so miraculous we can hardly wrap our minds and hearts around it. This is the night that God decided to be born. God could have kept God’s distance, lingering out there in the nebulous somewhere of the universe in all its unimaginable magnitude. But instead, God decided to be born—to a teenage girl from Galilee, engaged but not married. God decided to be born into the oppressive power of the Roman empire—in a place rife with conflict, in an unforgiving economy, in a deeply divided land.
God decided to be born in the infant Jesus and in doing so, God comes as close to us as humanly possible. Which means that God knows every human vulnerability and emotion; God knows the strengths and frailties of our bodies, knows what it’s like to experience hunger and thirst, heartbreak and laughter, fear and gratitude. This is a God who knows each and every one of us. On this Christmas Eve, may this be good news: God knows you. This story is for you.
And in case you’re skeptical that is really for you…. (Trust me you’re not alone in that.) In case you’re skeptical, according to the Gospel of Luke, when God is born, the first people to hear about it are some shepherds, living in out the fields, keeping watch over their sheep under the night skies. Often overlooked and undervalued, surely a little rough around the edges. Nonetheless, God’s glory—in all its inexplicable, but overwhelming glory-ness—shines around them, and they are terrified. Rightly so, I’d say.
So the angel says to them what is perhaps the most common refrain throughout Scripture: “Do not be afraid.” Whew. Deep breath. This visit brings good news of great joy for all people, the angel says. I can’t help but wonder about the angel’s delivery here: What’s their tone of voice like? Do they deliver the message in a shout or a whisper or just with simple, direct matter-of-factness? Is there a dramatic pause for effect or is the message itself dramatic enough?
Regardless, the one thing I can clearly imagine is the angel looking these shepherds right in the eye as they say: “to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” To you. To you. To YOU. This message is personal. And delivered to shepherds with dirt under their nails while their sheep graze or snooze or baa nearby.
The Greek here is more like my favorite Southern y’all than a specific singular you, but it’s just the shepherds and the angel, so there’s no one else this could be directed to. From the very beginning, the good news of God’s birth is for all people, regardless of status or background, regardless of how small or insignificant we may sometimes feel (or have been made to feel).
What we hear tonight in this story is that you—individual you—are chosen and intimately known by God. And that y’all—plural all y’all, humankind as a whole—are dearly loved by God because God knows us in all our humanity (not in spite of that).
“This is a sign for you,” the angel continues. “You’ll find a newborn baby wrapped snugly and lying in a manger.”
And in case one angel wasn’t enough to make the point of how revolutionary God’s birth surely is, a multitude more show up to join in on the praise chorus: “Glory to God in heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.” Glory in heaven. And on earth, peace. Might and mercy. Compelled by the divine experience they’ve had, the shepherds go quickly to Bethlehem and find Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in the manger. When they see this, they report what they’ve been told about this child to anyone who will listen—Good news of great joy for all people. To YOU a savior is born. God knows your name. Glory to God in heaven. On earth, peace.
And Scripture says: all who heard it were amazed.
Like the shepherds, when we are known by God, we can’t help but share that love and light with others. We join in, we participate in the Christmas story all year long making it a bit more real each day for all people: glory in heaven and on earth, peace. Because though there is surely glory in heaven, there is not yet peace on earth. Which means we are called to keep birthing God’s liberating love here and now. In ways big and small, our lives—individually and collectively—are commissioned to proclaim:
Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Sibling.
Peace, My Soul.
Dear ones, God knows your name. To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior. Glory to God in heaven. On earth, peace. Thanks be to God! Merry Christmas. Amen.
Breath Prayer:
INHALE: Lead me, O God,
EXHALE: My hope is in you.