Maybe Christmas means a little bit more...

Far Away in a Manger (another new poem for the holidays)

Far Away in a Manger

Hail Mary, full of grace

Did childbirth hurt on that first Christmas

Or was labor immaculate too

Free of contact

Free of pain?

Blessed art thou among women

If that were truly the case

Pray for us in our hour of death

Because we seem to be racing toward it

O come, O come Emmanuel

To ransom faith from religion

To remind those who claim to follow

That love still covers multitudes of sins

Until the Son of God appears

Not that they’d recognize you today

Because you’re not white, or Protestant,

Or born in the United States

Rejoice! Rejoice! And mourn in lonely exile

Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison!

Oh, the little town of Bethlehem

Seems light-years and centuries away

From our land of the free

Our home of brave believers

Who disregard and disrespect the stranger

Who mock and ignore the poor

Who hide our nation’s sins under a bushel

And tear them from the pages of school textbooks

How far away is that manger now

As we trade no crib for a golden ballroom

And worship a painted calf

Parading in the skin of a bull

The only lowing of cattle

Is the bellowing

From the pulpits of government

The baby is crying

We should all be crying

Blessed is the fruit of thy womb

Of all wombs: red, yellow, black, white

Both foreign and domestic

Created in the image of God

Endowed with inalienable rights

The stars look down where they lay

To see what? —

Hail Mary, full of grace

Remember us in this, the hour of our death

We do not live in the blessings of the immaculate

We live in the world of touch and pain

Where beings from man to woman and back again

Must bump against

The bulk of the other

All day, every day, and I imagine all that bumping

Must be what causes us to hate each other

Enough to put people in cages, enough to bomb innocents

Be near me, I pray, our King of Peace. Amen. Amen.

© 2025 Sean Taylor

Keep Christ in Christmas? Here's How!

Incarnate (a new poem for the holidays)

Incarnate

They say the secret miracle of Christmas
Is Immanuel, God with us,
They say it is the Word becoming flesh
And dwelling among us.
I hear their words,
But I feel they miss the point:
We are already incarnate.
Here from the moment we stood upright,
The day we fashioned clubs,
The year we scribbled pictures onto cave walls.
God has always been with us
Because we were already here.

Some say the meaning of Christmas
Is the newborn king,
The Prince of Peace, the son given,
And yet again,
The words fail to reach
Our incarnate ears of flesh.
Lips praise peace, hands and wills abhor it,
A grand idea, but it’ll never work

In the real world of mucous and muscle.

A beautiful notion fluttering too high above the garbage
For us to attempt,
So we sing songs about it instead.

(c) 2025, Sean Taylor

Celebrating Independence (and independence of thought)!

Yesterday was a day for celebration, but today is a day for reflection. 

Just a reminder that Independence Day did not in fact bring independence to any but the former Europeans who declared they were no longer citizens of the Crown, and had little bearing on the then freedom of the new country's members of the population who were (a) still not seen as citizens or (b) given the right to vote or (c) still legally owned by others as slaves. Women, folks who didn't own land, and slaves still had a long way to go toward freedom, equality, and independence. It's good to enjoy the holiday as the beginning of something awesome but history is important and reminds us that it wasn't true independence for all (who were supposedly "created equal"). It's also okay to love your country and see it as a work in progress, not a finished system. It was a fantastic and radical first step, but it still had a long way to go and a lot of other people to include.

There is a school of thought out there that I think honestly believes that if you criticize something about the U.S., you can't be a patriot or love being American and be thankful.  (Not directed at anyone in particular. Just a general acknowledgment from being on social media.) I find that an odious thought.

If my job as a citizen was to simply to say that all our history and all our national documents and all our ideals are all above critique and we shouldn't question them because that makes us U.S.A. haters, then where does the opportunity to learn from our mistakes come from? Particularly if we refuse to admit we make any because we're 'Murica, dammit." Where can the opportunity to see our documents as living drafts that need to change as our country grows come from? 

I love my kids, but they still have issues to learn from and to change, just like I do. I love my country the same way.

For me, loving America means so much more than having the biggest flag on the block. It means so much more than relegating patriotism to whether or not someone stands or kneels during the national anthem. It means I'm proud of some of what we've done, and I have the freedom to change the other things I'm not proud of us about. It means I have the freedom to understand and acknowledge that we have a mixed bag in our history of both good and evil, and I have the right to confront the evil. It means I have the freedom to make a statement by my words and actions. It means I can respect and love my country without seeing its symbols as synonymous with its goals or even its ideals. I can love freedom and even turn away from the flag because I honor the sacrifices of those who gave their lives to keep us free. It doesn't mean I always need to turn away though, but if I feel the country is in need of understanding a shortcoming, I have the freedom to address it as it behooves my conscience. 

For me loving my country means loving it with my whole heart warts and all, but instead of calling those warts triumphs, I can freely admit what they are and apply a balm to repair them and makes us even better. For me loving my country means I have the freedom and the responsibility to speak out even during times of national celebration without it diminishing my love for it.

Christmas Incarnation -- The Crux of the Whole Shebang

Here at the onset of Christmas, let's get one thing straight: Christmas is fun. Songs are fun. Carols are a blast. Presents are fun. Remembering family and friends and spending time together is fun. The story of the birth of little baby Jesus is fun.

But that's not what Christmas celebrates.

Wait... What?!

I had you with me until that last part, didn't I? Well, I stand by my statement. Christmas isn't about the baby Jesus and no crying he makes and all of his visitors (some of whom may or may not be biblical, but that's a post for another time).

"Okay, smarty-pants," I hear you saying. "If Christmas isn't about the birth of Christ, then what is it about?"

Challenge accepted.

Are you ready?

Christmas is about the incarnation of Christ into the world. It's about something way, way beyond mere humanity emptying itself ("it" because we only ascribe pronouns to something that cosmically powerful in order to help us keep it in a box we can open and shut and package and name) and putting what it could of itself in a tiny package of human flesh. Christmas is about incarnation, pure and simple.

And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14, KJV)

Christ (somehow one of a triune God whose physical nature I can't even begin to remotely comprehend) became human. The closest approximation I could make is that I might feel bad for cockroaches who are getting close to poison so I let my big, human body become so completely cockroach that I could help those vile creatures hope to avoid the poison. But even that pales in comparison to the bigness of the truth of what incarnation really is, and not just because Christ genuinely loves us and I couldn't care two figs about a bunch of gross cockroaches.

God loved us and loves us so much that he sent Christ as his son to become human and take on all our sins and then die in our place. If that sounds like mythology, it's because it is, but not just mere mythology. It's the best story that can be imagined. It's the greatest myth of all. It's Prometheus with redemption attached. But best of all, it's true. It's history. But that doesn't make it any less mythic.

(Having typed that, I do realize that to those outside my faith admitting something that sounds so ludicrous that can make me seem like a clueless idiot who would believe anything. After all, it's designed that way. The wisdom of God comes off as foolishness to men after all.)

Incarnation -- Not Just for Messiahs

Here at onset of Christmas, let's get one thing straight: Christmas is fun. Songs are fun. Carols are a blast. Presents are fun. Remembering family and friends and spending time together is fun. The story of the birth of little baby Jesus is fun.

But that's not what Christmas celebrates.

Wait... What?!

I had you with me until that last part, didn't I? Well, I stand by my statement. Christmas isn't about the baby Jesus and no crying he makes and all of his visitors (some of whom may or may not be biblical, but that's an essay for another time).

"Okay, smarty-pants," I hear you saying. "If Christmas isn't about the birth of Christ, then what is it about?"

Challenge accepted.

Are you ready?

Christmas is about the incarnation of Christ into the world. It's about something way, way beyond mere humanity emptying itself ("it" because we only ascribe pronouns to something that cosmically powerful in order to help us keep it in a box we can open and shut and package and name) and putting what it could of itself in a tiny package of human flesh. Christmas is about incarnation, pure and simple.

And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14, KJV)

Christ (somehow one of a triune God whose physical nature I can't even being to remotely comprehend) became human. The closest approximation I could make is that I might feel bad for cockroaches who are getting close to poison so I let my big, human body become so completely cockroach that I could help those vile creatures hope to avoid the poison. But even that pales in comparison to the bigness of the truth of what incarnation really is, and not just because Christ genuinely loves us and I couldn't care two figs about a bunch of gross cockroaches.

God loved us and loves us so much that he sent Christ as his son to become human and take on all our sins and then die in our place. If that sounds like mythology, it's because it is, but not just mere mythology. It's the best story that can be imagined. It's the greatest myth of all. It's Prometheus with redemption attached. But best of all, it's true. It's history. But that doesn't make it any less mythic.

(Having typed that, I do realize that to those outside my faith admitting something that sounds so ludicrous that can make me seem like a clueless idiot who would believe anything. After all, it's designed that way. The wisdom of God comes off as foolishness to men after all.)