One Moment of Rage

 

It was one moment of rage like a fire in a life spent burning. It was a moment of blazing heat when the learned Orientals came into his royal chamber. One moment of panic. But the grey faced librarians had found the information that had sent the magi on their way to the slumbering Bethlehem suburb. One more moment of uncontrollable passion. Now he was wide awake in his darkened hideaway. Safe in his private recluse.

“Find the woman,” he told them. “Find the child.” And he’d sent them on their way. One moment of rage, the next was extinguished and quiet. Silent. Jaws clenched, shoulders tense. Fists balled into tightly curled fists. Nervous and fearful. Angry. But now he was relaxed. He could breathe.

The moment was broken by a knock on the door as he sat in his rocking chair drinking gin and mulled wine by the fireplace. Self-satisfied as any king should be. A king of courage by Roman appointment. Captured culture and captured loyalty were his by right, by rule. A knock on the door and all the hurt and horror rushed back. Memories of all the murdered. He looked stunned and confused towards Bethlehem and saw the flames in the distance. He smiled when he smelled the smoke. Visible vapors and heavy smoke and the smell of burning wood and tar and plastic. He could feel the heat from his balcony. And the screams. He could hear the screams. His men of might would handle the rest.

Another knock at the door and his face puckered. Soured with fear. He preferred his own company. Others were unfailingly irksome. Out there in the rural canyons and crowded urban streets were people who deserved nothing better than the lash and the wire. They deserved what they would get. Mortify the flesh of everyone, he thought. Everyone.

The knock came again, more insistent now. One of the fools hammering on the boards. Incompetent irritation. A voice came through the panels. “Sir, they have not returned. They have gone another way.” Herod pulled his privacy curtain closed and pulled at his beard. One moment of renewed rage like fire anew.

The Fires of Winter (a new Christmas Carol)

 I wrote this short little carol today as I delivered mail. I heard the melody in the wind-chimes hanging at one of the first houses on my route and the song developed throughout the course of the day. 

The fires of winter keep the cold away.
Long is the night, short is the day. 
We will bless the Lord because he came to save 
and because the fires of winter keep the cold away. 

The fires of winter keep the wolves at bay.
All through the night we can hear them say, 
"You should bless the Lord because he came to save
and because the fires of winter keep the wolves at bay."

The star of Christmas came to guide the way.
Shining at night for magi on the way. 
We will bless the Lord because he came to save 
and because the star of Christmas came to guide the way. 

How to Celebrate this Christmas

 It certainly feels like Mary’s Magnificat is becoming more and more relevant. 

Singing in the Small and in the Dark

I started writing this song about two weeks ago - but I was sick and couldn't record it. So I wrote more verses. And the cold lingered, so I waited to record it and wrote more verses. I figured I should finally record it, even though I've still got the congestion that won't go away, so that I can stop adding more verses. 

In the silence between your heartbeats
in the space between the time
you might hear a voice
that sounds a bit like mine

Singing in the small and in the dark
a song that's unrehearsed
and what comes back to you 
is the measure of every verse.

Plugged in low and fading fast
the squeeze has caught my heart.
I would like to tell you 
but I don't know where to start. 

Say what you will when time stands still
and shadows cross the floor;
I never knew you then,
you'll never know me more. 

You can hear me or ignore me, 
it doesn't matter either way. 
What was faint and forced
is stronger every day. 

Your greatness has no virtue;
you tell me only lies.
You fill the house with bitterness
and complain when your love dies.

Get in the car and drive away, 
drive on down the road.
Look in the rearview mirror
and watch the world explode. 

Say a prayer to God above 
if you think you've got the right.
Purge the demons from your past
and try to set things right. 

There are things I can't ignore - 
the wormwood and the gall.
I'm trying to remember 
so I can forgive them all. 

Curse the darkness and light a flame; 
it's not an either or.
Every opportunity 
lies just beyond that door. 

The world is spinning round and round
and here we are again. 
Sometimes the light goes out. 
Sometimes the bad guys win. 

There are days and days of nothing 
except for headaches and fever chills.
I've never felt so dirty
or taken so many pills. 

But we will not be overwhelmed 
by the enormity of grief, 
doing justice, loving mercy
and waiting for our relief. 

In the twisting grip of conscience
we know the right from wrong. 
Others choose to suppress it   
but we will sing its song. 

Singing in the small and in the dark
a song I think you've heard
and what comes back around 
is the measure of the word.