Naming God

This is the day we remember the circumcision and naming of Jesus. Malcolm Guite has put the naming of the Word into poetry in the following sonnet. You can click the title to hear him read this lovely piece. Enjoy!

The Naming of Jesus

Luke 1:21 And when eight days were accomplished for the circumcising of the child, his name was called JESUS, which was so named of the angel before he was conceived in the womb.

I name you now, from whom all names derive

Who uttered forth the name of everything,

And in that naming made the world alive,

Sprung from the breath and essence of your being.

The very Word that gave us words to speak,

You drank in language with your mother’s milk

And learned through touch before you learned to talk,

You wove our week-day world, and still one week

Within that world, you took your saving name,

A given name, the gift of that good angel,

Whose Gospel breathes in good news for us all.

We call your name that we might hear a call

That carries from your cradle to our graves

Yeshua, Living Jesus, Yahweh Saves.

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[You can see the original post on Malcolm Guite's website, here.]

The Holy Innocents

December twenty-eighth, the fourth day of Christmas, is known as the Day of the Holy Innocents –the day commemorating Herod's massacre of the young boys in Judea. 

For today I am sharing a sonnet written by Malcolm Guite regarding this sorrow-filled event. Reprinted below with the author's gracious permission. (If you have not read his blog or books, you should... here. If you click the poem's title, you can hear Malcolm read the sonnet himself –it is beautiful.)

Refugee 

by Malcolm Guite

We think of him as safe beneath the steeple,

Or cosy in a crib beside the font,

But he is with a million displaced people

On the long road of weariness and want.

For even as we sing our final carol

His family is up and on that road,

Fleeing the wrath of someone else’s quarrel,

Glancing behind and shouldering their load.

Whilst Herod rages still from his dark tower

Christ clings to Mary, fingers tightly curled,

The lambs are slaughtered by the men of power,

And death squads spread their curse across the world.

But every Herod dies, and comes alone

To stand before the Lamb upon the throne.