It used to be summer when Christmas came round,nNeath tall southern skies, over sun-scorched ground,nWith the backyard cricket, the barbies,...
It used to be summer when Christmas came round,nNeath tall southern skies, over sun-scorched ground,nWith the backyard cricket, the barbies, the beach,nAnd munching on mangoes to watch the Queen's Speech.nThe slatherings of sunscreen, the glorious glarenAnd toasting the glow in the warm evening air.nnIt used to be summer... when I was young.nA golden age in a land far flung.nBut there came a point, I crossed a divide,nWent up in the world and summer had died.nDecember is dark now, the nights close in,nSo we huddle together as kith and as kin.nnIt's winter now when Christmas rolls round,nWe celebrate still though with different surrounds.nWe mull the wine and strike the matches,nLight the fires, batten the hatches,nGather around the warming beamnOf family love or a TV screen.nSo safe inside, no place to go,nWe toast marshmallows and let it snow.nnOur summer's gone, if you've been around,nyou've felt the fall: life's run aground.nWe've gone up in the world, seen summer die.nSo what's our hope? The dark defy?nStoke the hearth? Retreat indoors?nRug up warm with you and yours?nThe shadow reaches even here,nBut THIS is the place for Christmas cheer.nnIt's dark, in the bible, when Christmas is spoken.nAlways a bolt from the blue for the broken.nIt's the valley of shadow, the land of the dead,nIt's, "No place in the inn," so He stoops to the shed.nHe's born to the shameful, bends to the weak,nbecomes the lowly: the God who can't speak!nAnd yet, what a Word, this Saviour who comes,nOur dismal, abysmal depths He plumbs.nThrough crib and then cross, to compass our life.nTo carry and conquer. Our Brother in strife.nHe became what we are: our failures He shouldered,nTo bring us to His life: forever enfolded.nHe took on our frailty, He took on all-comers,nTo turn all our winters to glorious summers.nnIt's Christmas now... whatever the weather,nSome soak in the sun, some huddle together. nBut fair days or foul, our plight He embraces.nReal Christmas can shine in the darkest of places. Less
