Mary and Elizabeth

A reflection by The Reverend David Moore

Luke 1: 26 - 38

Most of you will no doubt will love a good story - very long novels, however well written, are not for me. In fact the storytelling which appeals most to me is poetry. I always circumvent being disappointed at Christmas by buying myself a new book of poetry.

In a poem a word can mean whatever the poet or the reader, choose it to mean. I am not suggesting that with poetry we abandoning all reason, but that in reading a poem the conjunction of pace, rhythm and form, plus where you are sat, can create such juxtapositions in ones head that more than we ‘know’ can come to mind. It has been said that a poem is never finished, simply abandoned.

Alan Horner gave his book of poetry the title ‘ A picture with the paint still wet’ - suggesting that poetry is not completed and that the reader can always reads as if for the very first time.

I consider much of the Biblical narrative to be first cousins, if not non-identical twins, of poetic form. Over and over again we can be readi it as if for the first time.

Mary and Elizabeth, what beautiful literature, what precise storytelling, touching the heights of the very best poetry ever penned. So, what better Christmas gift can I offer you but Alan’s poem ‘a picture with the paint still wet.’

A picture with the paint still wet

The Word became flesh

and had his portrait painted,

but not hung in the Gospel Gallery,

gazed on by the multitudes

for a fixed fee. His

was a picture with the paint still wet,

changing with the changing light,

open to interpretations, all correct,

depending where the viewer stood.

The virgin Birth was a stroke

of genius, an inspiration of eternity,

unique in its conception,

delicate in its portrayal,

showing the seeming simple

life of obedient faith.

Bethlehem background

might have been predicted,

being the home town

of that most honoured king,

himself a son of God,

though wayward with it,

the singer of God’s praise.

He was a shepherd too, of sheep

and of God’s nation flock,

but shepherds were but common folk,

at home in sheepfolds

or in sheltering barns,

no airs and graces, though sufficient grace.

Angels and stars were messengers

in that ancient world, where

all such forces were servants

of the most high God,

and served to indicate

the face of the divine.

the source and end of wisdom

for all who love the truth,

whatever their religion, race

and unlikely gifts. Such are

the Magi, also in the canvas,

moving across the screen, adding

their own flavour, colour to the whole.

That the paints run and the lines blur

is not matter of surprise. This

is not the stuff of science or of history’s

assumed or proven fact. This is not prose,

but poetry, with its own power

to reach the heart, which static pictures lack.

A poem of lasting worth does not give up all of its treasures on the first reading - nor do the biblical narratives. Last year, for all its worth is not today - read, reflect, experience the story now, whatever it may say.