PERHAPS

Explain to me again, in simple words,

How we find ourselves, this Advent season,

weeping (once again) for children murdered 

by a young man run amok at a school?

The words and images come ceaselessly

With ads for jello, gum, Depends and cars.

The slaughter of innocents moves product.

We sure do talk a lot, to no effect.

How long until we see the substance, not

The accidents of motive, time and place,

Of opportunity, intent and act?

Maybe we could confess our ignorance?

So quick to question God, so slow to ask

Ourselves (in whom we trust, to whom we pray) - 

What have we wrought?  Why are we so broken?

Maybe we could murmur a contrite prayer?

Ah me, this glist'ning shunt, greased with the fat

dripping from the human sacrifices

We offer every day, every hour - 

Our children for our self-absorbed desires.

On we slide, a bloated, gassy torso,

Pus leaking from a dozen rotting wounds.

On we slide, a circus freak in lipstick,

Wedged in a coffin filled with our own waste.

We gorge on lust, pride, greed, and irony

And expect our children to find meaning.

We adulterate, abort and divorce

And wonder at their madness and despair.

"Ye wander, witless, in your wilderness

Refusing drink from the water of life.

Ye deaf, blind, dumb, ye lame, ye sore smitten -

Drink yet from the river of life and live."

Perhaps it is true we need a savior?
Perhaps we cannot find our way alone?
Perhaps in these tears we could kneel and pray
To the poor baby born on Christmas Day? 

"The Christ Child Asleep" - Bernardino Luini (d. 1532)