Son of Aaron,
Your days are few, your hands and heart are full,
Of public prayers and private regret,
What if your heart’s hopes were heard?
What if God really were with you
And your people?
A child born, a son given,
Yours, yet not yours, set apart
By an unfamiliar name – will you give it,
Ransoming your speech at the cost of your dreams?
These nine months gestated within you
The Abrahamic promise, conquering
Sarah’s sceptic laughter:
Your words flood forth blessing,
As of incense burned, to God
The Father of a people, a future
For others, with joy for you
Even as John makes
For the wilderness.
Son of David,
Your days are few, though yet you know it not,
Resigned to treasoned hours with log and saw.
What if your faith were not misplaced,
Your love, your hope (by crazy trust)
Your life returned?
A child born, a task given,
He hers and she yours – will you take them,
Home them, with the coin of respect
And safety legitimise them, with a name
Credulous of saving plans?
To Egypt and back again, your life spent,
Your silent surrogacy shouts
Trust, invests all, with the Father
In whose house
Emmanuel must be.
“From now on, let those who have wives be as not having,
those who mourn as not mourning,
those who rejoice as not rejoicing,
those who buy as not possessing,
those who use this world as not using.
For the present form of this world is passing away.”
1 Corinthians 7.29-31