Tag Archives: Christmas

Dec1

Joseph’s Response to The Cherry Tree Carol

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I have often wondered about many of the minor characters in the Bible especially the New Testament. As some of my friends may know I have written about some of them. The last was about the woman with the bleeding sickness: Mark 5: 25- 34 you can read that poem here: https://www.classicalpoets.org/if-i-could-but-touch-his-hem-a-poem-by-rohini-sunderam/

For the past few days this thought has been buzzing in my head. How did Joseph feel? After all he was a man in a strongly male-oriented society. He was marrying a woman who was already ‘with child’. He agreed. But he must have had doubts. Was he being conned by this whole ‘immaculate conception’ story? So here it is. What do you think?

Joseph prays

My Lord, my Lord, I know I’m old
And duty-bound to thee
To the virgin Mary, I am sold
The Queen of Galilee?

How can she a virgin be
My Lord, I ask of thee
The child she bears, she claims,
Is yours, my Lord, how can this be?

And am I then a cuckold fool
Oh Lord please answer me
Or dare I hope that I’m a tool
In your plan for eternity?

I need a sign my precious Lord
Please give a sign to me
We’re walking through a green orchard 
And now she wants cherries.

Oh Lord, I swear, in rage I swear
Oh Lord, forgive me, please
“Let the father of the baby, dare
To gather your cherries!”

Oh Lord, I thank you Lord indeed
For now, before my eyes
The tallest branch it bends to feed
Cherries, until she sighs.

Her cravings are then satisfied
I thank you, Abba Lord
For now, I know she is your bride
Of that I am assured!

And through this earthly journey, then
My wife she shall remain 
For somewhere in your vast, great plan
My name a place will gain.

And I shall take a backward stance
For salvation’s in her womb
I’ll never take a backward glance
For her sorrow’s in His tomb.

My role is merely as a dad
A constant figure, true
Another rock, for that I’m glad
My thanks, dear God to you. 

					


	

		


	
Dec5

	

											
Visions of sugarplums

					
		

			
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dreamstime_s_62745608Once upon a time I had a nephew, he is still my nephew, but no longer the little boy he once was, with wonder in his eyes and a lively curiosity surging through his mind. He’s all grown up now and it’s a rare thing to occasionally see that old spark of amazement at the miracle of life flash through his eyes.


Age is the Scrooge of life that takes away our sense of awe, the ability to see a world in a grain of sand and hold infinity in one’s palm. Back then my nephew believed in witches and wizards, in magic and the truth of Santa Claus.


As often happens a day came when he challenged the existence of Jolly Old Saint Nicholas and the vision of sugarplums crashed to the floor. He was rather young for that to happen so soon and I wanted so much to see his sense of wonder again.


“Of course Santa Claus is real!” I declared.


“How can he be everywhere on the same night?” he challenged me, “I know Papa or someone dresses up and pretends to be Santa.”


I was afraid those sugarplums would never dance again. So I put on my best storytelling hat and looked at him in earnest. “I’ll tell you a secret,” I whispered. “It certainly appears to be that Papa, or your grandfather or someone seems to dress up as Santa, but here’s the thing. As they slowly wear those clothes, something happens deep inside their hearts and minds. When the inside vest comes on, they’re smiling, thinking ‘Oh what fun’, but by the time the red warm flannel coat is worn and the big black belt is strapped on, the spirit of Santa Claus enters their minds and then they are no longer Papa or someone else, they become Santa Claus. Just look into Santa’s eyes tonight and tell me if there isn’t a different twinkle in his eyes.” With that I left him to think about it.


Santa arrived to the family’s raucous renditions of Silent Night and Hark the Herald. Of course he couldn’t come down the chimney in India, so with a thumping on the door and a jingling of bells he called out, “Have the children here been naughty or nice?”


I caught my nephew’s eyes; they were shining like stars of wonder. Whether he believed in Santa or not, he was excited about his Christmas gifts. The jolly old man entered and was feted. His voice was loud and booming, his belly shook like a jelly. And then it was time for the magic… presents!


I hugged my nephew, “Look in his eyes,” I reminded him. When his name was announced he rushed up and gave Santa the obligatory kiss on his cheek but he did look in his eyes. He rushed back to show his present to his parents – no it wasn’t his dad that year.


Then he came across to me. “So who was it?” I asked.


“Santa!” he said, a wonderful smile spreading across his face, his eyes sparkling, “It can’t be papa, he’s here!”


“Did his eyes twinkle?”


“They did!”


“Do you think the spirit of Santa was in him, then?”


“Yes!” he declared.


And for another year at least, Santa was real.


It is many years since that Christmas so long ago and he probably doesn’t remember this little story of mine, but the other day he posted a photograph with his baby son in his arms. And I swear I could see sugarplums dancing in his eyes again. dreamstime_xs_34782724