Reflections for Christmas

Just days before Christmas, it seems appropriate to post something about the holiday. It is tempting for me to join in the clamor over the so-called "War on Christmas," but I shall not. Instead, I would like to share a piece I came across while searching for something for my sermon on December 23.

Chesterton wrote this piece in the early 20th century. That was a time of great transition and, for many, a time of failed hopes. To me, the most poignant lines of the poem are in the third stanza and speak of how we have lost our hearts, despite all that we have gained.

As you celebrate Christmas with your family and friends, Chesterton may provide some material for reflection for you.

The House of Christmas -- G. K. Chesterton

There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.

For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.

A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.

This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home

Found at: http://www.cse.dmu.ac.uk/~mward/gkc/books/spring.html