Twelve days seems long,
the gifts nearly forgotten,
the cookies gone;
but the child, remember, is still an infant.
We have a long road ahead of us,
justice on a far horizon,
our wholeness still in swaddling clothes.
The world looks at us oddly
when we say “Merry Christmas” today.
But time, as the prophets already knew, is relative.
Twelve days is more than enough
to finish off the leftovers
but barely enough to fully contemplate.
Ignore the world, hurrying nowhere.
We trust on a longer arc.
The world-bearing journey takes time.
The magi took two years.
It is neither late nor early. It is now.
The path the length of the universe
is no longer than this moment. This.
The infinite unfolds, God acts, today.
The sun rises on this day.
January 5, 2021