A poem by Brother Craig
.
People going, the wind blowing;
Outside, children at play as the light
Begins to fade; the sky is battleship
Gray—threatening rain or snow or ice. A
Football leaps through the crisp, heavy air;
Streetlights flicker bright, marking day turning
Into night. One by one, children
Are called inside by loving, parental voice.
They wave goodbye to friends with expectant promises
Of fun on the morning next. Shivering
Against the cold, they hurry in. Tables set
With hot steaming stew or chili or roast. The warmth
Of home works it magic, closing an arm around each
Family, creating one, a unity, of individuals.
Prayers are said, thanking for the
Harvest plentiful. The house is warm; the love
Warmer still.
Outside, the ground is splattered by rain now,
Not much. Humanity is busy on this Christmas Eve, winter
Night. Waves of people pass through the park—each
With a mission uniquely their own.
A sparrow returns to her nest of twigs, singing praises
Amongst the oaks and pines. The rain turns
To snow—but very light. Only a dusting
Of white—a touch of God evident to all.
Lights pour out from picture windows full
Of treasures. The mostly empty shops—
Only a few last-minute shoppers in each—
Are full of lingering promises, ready to fulfill.
The people walk briskly into the evening, with
Always a watchful eye, packages bundled snugly
Under their arms. A lone leaf, filled with God’s created
Reds and oranges and browns, skirts lightly across
A snow-sugared bench. A bus roars along, each rider huddled
In its warmth. It passes by. Only a few curious eyes from within stare
Out at the painting nature is creating, fascinated,
Curious. One lone man, his head down
Against the wind, hands deep in pockets, only
Trench coat warm, moves down the street.
Families, happiness, for the most, pass him by. He is
Young-
Yet so very eternal old this day. He seems oblivious, but
He is aware. Searching for him this Christmas Eve. The cold
Bites hard. He moves by.
Elsewhere in the city, a young child, fourteen, half boy,
Half man, continues a journey alone–accompanied by
the ghosts and demons of hurts and doubts and pain.
Only a few
Cities from home, but, oh, so far in his heart, his soul…
A tear clears a path on his face, he
Wipes it dry. His anger, his fear,
His hurt
Raises, cursing the world, his life, his family,
His God.
The man continues, praying to His Father,
His Abba God.
He feels, he wears, the hurt nearby. He senses pain,
Abandonment. He cries to Daddy above for courage
And strength…
He can feel Holy Spirit breath at work. His head turns
Skyward, breathes in cold, clean air. A
Tear,
(this one of joy)
Washes face and soul,
He pauses, watching four kids pass,
Laughing merrily, nearby. His heart laughs
With them for an eternal instant, then
Cries with anguished pain.
A dark alley. He sees the child enter,
He knows his journey, ongoing, has begun. He tightens
His coat, protection from the cold, protection from
The evils he knows he will soon behold.
He approaches the alley, stops at entrance, pulls out
A cigar, fumbles for a match, not finding one.
Light sobbing in the dark. He smells the smoke—
Not a cigarette.
“Hey, kid,” he calls. “Ya gotta light?”
Silence follows. The silence is deep, complete.
The kid waits, afraid…
A cop perhaps…
Or worse, a man who preys on the vulnerable,
The lost…
Alone…
The desperate soul…
“Yeah, mister, sure,” he barely whispers above the
Falling snow.
The man enters the alley, slow, he sees the kid, huddled
In a doorway; so small, so insignificant, alone.
The child hands him a lighter; he lights
His cigar. He hands the lighter back with a touch so warm.
“Sure is cold tonight.”
The kid grunts and sneaks a nervous puff, wishing
The man would move on; yet yearning—
For some reason—
That he’d stay, for just a moment or so.
The man sits down, not too close, a sigh escapes…
The kid extinguishes, pockets his joint.
The man rambles on, talking of his family.
The kid grows restless, confused, yet drawn.
“Hey, mister. I gotta go.”
“Where ya goin’, kid?”
Somehow, he knows.
“I don’t know, just gotta go.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, ya gotta home?”
“Yeah.”
“Ya goin’ there?”
“Maybe…who cares?” A long pause. “No.”
The kid begins to cry. He curses family and
God above. The man listens—compassion fills
His heart. He shares, he wears the kid’s hurt so deep.
He places a loving hand, gentle, on kid’s shoulder.
The kid recoils—
He’s been there before—
Then gives into this different kind of love.
The lost child hugs the man, he feels so safe now. Embarrassed,
Yet he drinks, inhales the love. The man returns the
Hug, joy overfills in his heart. He praises
His Father above.
“Thank you, Mister,” the hug implies.
“You need a ride?”
“Yeah,” the kid replies.
They leave the alley, the kid surprised—he
Fumbles in his jacket pocket. The man
Looks away.
They pass a trashcan, the boy tosses three joints
In. That simple act, somehow sets free.
They reach the man’s car. It’s snowing
Hard now. In the distance, “Silent Night”
Is heard. The streets are mostly empty now.
The shops are all but closed. A lone Santa rings
His bell for the few people hurrying
Home.
Inside, kids are asleep, or soon will be, tucked beneath
Their sheets.
The man drives the boy two cities away
To a house with such little joy. The boy smiles
At the young man. The man stops the car
As church bells toll the midnight hour. It’s
Christmas now. The boy begins to cry.
(this cry is one of melancholy joy)
He opens the door,
Ready to love his parents, if they will forgive…
As he leaves the car, the man
Speaks his mind.
“Hey, Eric,” the man calls out.
“How did he know my name?”
“Yeah?”
“You ever need me, just give me a call.”
“I’ll do that,” came the reply.
He started up the sidewalk, then turned
Sharply around. “How do I reach you?”
“I’ll tell you,” said the man.
“When things are rough, and you need a
Friend, just get on your knees and say a
Prayer. Say, ‘Lord, Father, I need you,’ and do you know what?”
“What?”
“I’ll always, always
BE THERE.”
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