Scrooge is always waking up in the nick of time to meet the next Christmas Spirit. He never sleeps through the appointed hours. He has some kind of internal alarm that goes off when something paranormal approaches. Perhaps it’s fear. Perhaps it’s annoyance. Perhaps it’s an enlarged prostate.
This morning, I woke at 3:58 a.m. I was pissed. I hate waking up just a couple minutes before my alarm sounds. I just lie there, in bed, waiting for that buzz that tells me it’s time to drag my butt from my warm bed into the cold, dark work day.
Today, I stepped out onto my front porch first, to check the weather situation. The forecast was for high winds and near blizzard conditions. The wind was there. The snow was there. And across the street was my sister, trying to dig her car out of the drifts. My wife got up; we got dressed; and we went outside to get my sister’s car unstuck. I could hear the snowplows roaring up and down nearby streets, but my street was still thick and white. It took about ten minutes of pushing and rocking to get my sister moving.
I did not get stuck on my way to work. In fact, I was barely late. Then I cleaned. I filed. I typed up surgical schedules. Each time I thought I was done with my work, some other task presented itself. I left the office over an hour later than I planned.
The snow storm was pretty much over by the time I headed home. To make a long story even longer, we are going to have a white Christmas. A really white Christmas.
For P.O.E.T.S. Day, I have a poem for my disciples from the poet Carl Dennis. It’s from his Pulitzer Prize winning collection Practical Gods (which you’ll hear more about tomorrow). It’s about belief and doubt. It’s about passion and resentment. Mostly, it’s about the human need for companionship.
Saint Marty is going to be getting a lot of companionship this weekend. Music rehearsals. Worship services. Christmas programs. He’s going to have companionship coming out his wazoo.
Jesus Freaks
The approval they get from above is all they need,
So why should they care if they offend me
Here in the parking lot of the Super Duper, my arms full,
By stuffing a pamphlet or two in my pocket?
No point in shouting at them to keep back
When they’re looking for disapproval. No reason
For them to obey the rules of one of the ignorant
Who supposes the perpetual dusk he lives in
Sunny noon. Their business is with my soul,
However buried, with my unvoiced wish for the truth
Too soft for me to catch over the street noise.
Should I rest my packages on my car a minute
And try to listen if I’m sure they really believe
They’re vexing me in my own best interest?
To them I’m the loser they used to be
When they sweated daily to please themselves,
Deaf to their real wishes. Why make it easy for me
To load the trunk of my car with grocery bags
When they offer a joy that none of my purchases,
However free of impurities, can provide?
Their calls to attention shouldn’t sound any more threatening
Than the peal of a church bell. And if I call
On the car phone to lodge a complaint,
Jail will seem to them the perfect place to bear witness
In this dark dominion where Herod rules.
In jail, but also guests at a banquet, while I,
They’re certain, stubbornly stand outside
Shivering in the snow, too proud
To enter a hall not of my own devising
And warm myself at a fire I didn’t light
And enjoy a meal strangers have taken pains with.
Yes, the table’s crowded, but there’s room for me.
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| Some of the best people I know are Jesus Freaks |
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