Are you willing to be a bruised reed
or a dimly burning wick?
You are going to be mugged
by Christmas or committees or colleagues,
and run headlong into
immovable objects – ouch,
and if the doubts don’t snuff you,
then some funeral will nearly wash you away
in your own tears.
The only promise you have
is you won’t be broken
and your fire
will not be extinguished,
and you recognize that falls short of
fixed, healed or set ablaze.
Sometime in the long, holy winter days
we discover we will not be fixed,
because it is just this
you and me,
all black eye and guttering flame,
that sermons to folks —
even they can be light to the nations,
jail-breakers, justice makers,
even they will find a precious One
to take their hands.