Hebrew Hiatus

Twelfth Month Joy

Four  hundred years of waiting

Or roughly we are told

From Law to Grace

A painful space

Of darkness, doubt and cold.

Of rogues who spoiled the Temple

Of heroes from the hills

Of Feast of Lights

Eight splendid nights

The Lampstand Heaven fills.

But still they probe

Through darkness

The Promise yet to come

A people chained,

Abused and shamed

So different, doubted, numb.

A priest declares a vision

A son to him is born

A Messenger expected

Before Salvation’s Horn.

Poetic is this outburst

And struggling hopes run high.

“The Morning is a-coming

The Dayspring; He draws nigh!”

Isaiah 40: 1-5

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