It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Crowds at the mall sprawl with a message to all
That chalk lines aren’t color blind
At least not in my Bethlehem.
Little boys have a right to be born in mangers
But dangers walk the beat with sticks
And uniforms establish norms that make mothers mourn
The day their sons were born
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Not the kind on the hallmark card
Because it’s kinda hard to sing goodwill toward men
When we bend morality and call it legality
Or a technicality…They prepped the crowd
And then spoke real proud for 20 minutes
To explain why my pain won’t go down the drain
When Pilate washes his hands like an employee
And Barrabas the criminal goes Scott free.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
No room in the inn or the shelter
No face cards in the hand that was dealt her
Why talk about a tree when what she needs is a degree
And a meal would be ideal, so she steals
And the presence of those absent from the solution
Look at her like she’s the problem and
Drugs won’t solve them. No matter how many cars
Slow down on her corner.
Joseph won’t marry her; the government won’t carry her
The church wants to bury her alive under a hymn.
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel!
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Silent nights, domestic fights, Herod on the hunt
For boys who might jump or much less rise
So shoot to kill between the eyes with which we despise our own.
I can’t breathe, can you? Because I seethe, you through?
With anger and prayer for the incarnation of peace?
But before we can collect ourselves, we have to reconnect ourselves
And by faith dare we even let ourselves hope.
The contract is still out, you know. The search is still on, you know
At least in my Bethlehem. Have you seen the child?
What childhood is this? What did I miss?
During the long winter’s nap between Emmett and Trayvon
The list is just too long…
But that’s how it looks at Christmas
The market will erase the image of God
From the season, and X out the reason,
For the Savior’s coming by drumming up business as usual.
Unless we reach deeper into the gospel
And stop coddling our pews in swaddling news
No more milk for grown people! No more silk for cold steeples!
How will they hear unless we preach?
How will they know if we don’t teach?
Who will repair the ancient breach?
While Linus dies for Lucies, and cameras capture movies
Of terror and abusies …and people question the use-sies
Of talking about heaven when all hell has broken loose.
These are the times that try mens’ souls
Tangled lights don’t shine in a world this cold
So loosen your tongues like the prophets of old.
Crying loud and not sparing, but daring to speak to power with truth
Like the youth who clearly respond more readily to
The word dwelling in our midst than yelling a list of rules.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
And all through the house let your light so shine
On the blind spots in this world
So that justice will roll like thunder and no one will wonder
Whether God hears what we hear, or cares about our tears
Because love will show up in me and in you
And compel us to do what we are called to do.
There is a Method to this madness, a purpose for this sadness
God will resurrect gladness. Never mind how long the line
Await with anticipation the exchange of beauty for ashes
At Christmas. And point the world in the direction of the star
It may seem far but if we seek it, if we speak it,
Preach it plain – It will rain – blizzards of justice
Even in the very valley of whitewashed tombs and stained glass rooms
Christ – mass will come fast…like a thief in the silence of night
Blast the trumpet; and heed yourselves the sound.
And if they resist so be it. Perhaps some will see it.
That salvation has come, and will. Already and still.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Rev. Dr. Wanda Bynum Duckett
Rev. Dr. Wanda Bynum Duckett is a spoken word poet who serves as Pastor of Mt. Zion United Methodist Church, Baltimore, Md.