Tourist Trap

 A town of vaporous joy

(on the shoulders of God's canvas)

where every wonder is a ploy-

overpriced and underhanded.

Travelers scurry, anxiously searching

for a relaxing escape.

Parents' hope precariously perching

on the valleyed, kitschy landscape.

Families carry memories

they try to recreate.

Acting out documentaries

of joy, but it won't replicate.

A man that I do not know

tells me he loves this community.

I count him as part of the show,

taking his insincere opportunity.

Vapid connections, conversations-

cacophonous counterfeit depth.

A masquerade of expectations;

I am dancing with the rest.

Surface roots are all some know,

skimming dirt, missing richness.

When deeper truths hum low,

shallow roots miss this.

But souls have grabbed these joy clouds-

elation, excitement, electric smiles.

The "community" is just a crowd

but the man intends no guiles.

In a temporary town,

there's permanence behind Main Street:

Where tents and facades abound,

foundations and structure lay beneath.

Advent 2016: Broken; Healing

The world is broken:
I felt it in the hearts of a nation

     who put their hopes in leaders.

Yet we heed people like us:
wicked, prideful, and vain.

Fools - we reject the righteous

for conniving campaigns.

The world is broken:

I heard it in the cries of a family

     lamenting a loss.

They dress in the weight of

emptiness: a massive thing.

Absence ne'er becomes native - 

The world isn't answering.

The world is broken:

I saw it in the eyes of a mother

    who never met her child.

But Spring oft follows death;

The womb can be filled again.

Movement of God's own breath:

Hope of young eyes opened.

The world is healing:

I know it in the hay of a manger,

    cooing at the beasts surrounding.

Born sinless (unlike me),

the Christ-Child come to Earth

to spread good news as ivy:

Through him, there is second birth.

The world is healing:

I know it on the tongues of the Church

     praising their God and King.

We may lose child or friend

and mourn with great comfort,

knowing the King with no end

who, for our sake, suffered.

Contrast: Advent 2015

Born to a sinful man who tried to teach me faith,
instead I inherited his constant need for grace.
Like countless others born on that day.
Like countless others born the same way.
My life was serving the god of my gut:
Ignored the Love self-worship cut.
Vain-hoping to avoid the reaper,
but I'm a weak man - my gut, weaker.
The god of my gut cannot turn the Earth,
it won't stop my death, never caused my birth.
Shortly, my flesh lays in the ground.
In myself, no hope will be found.

But there is a Son different than I,
begotten of the Holy Father on high.
Unlike any other man come to Earth.
Unlike any event was the virgin birth.
This Son served the only Master that matters:
One with God, a woven-bond never tattered.
Lowered in a manger, at mouths of stock -
helpless babe, yet the world's Founding Rock.
He still held them in place, put breath in us,
while he lowered himself to crawl in the dust.

Humbly, his flesh laid in the ground.

But in the tomb he can't be found.

Won't we see our need for this Savior?
Forget our foolish hopes in labor?
For I cannot turn from my gut on my own
but must trust in Christ by faith alone,
that his death and raising paid my debts.
In his promise to claim me, I find rest.

Not the season of giving, but one gift:
The birth of Christ, who lowered to lift
his people to God despite our sins,
a strength I'd never find within

Shadows: Advent 2014

The Sun rises, the Sun sets,

and Night's fingers grip Earth.

In the Moon, we won't forget:

the Sun is set for rebirth.

As the Earth is frozen down

to the depths, trees pass away -

Yet our brother Spring comes 'round

like the start of a new day.

Even as a child is born

to show life can be made,

that we may not be forlorn

having seen such might displayed.

All to prepare us for Light

that casts these simple shadows

of gripping Death born to Life -

soon they will seem so shallow.

I take great joy in Winter,

who taught to rightly love Spring,

and these shadows that whisper

of the rebirth Christ will bring.