So I saw this:

And I’d written this, it’s actually spoken word, but I can’t be asked to perform it and record it and it has no planned outing so yeah here it is – a reflection on sexuality and the mystery of the incarnation:

When I sit in the advent darkness

and ponder, I sometimes wonder if I

am fonder of the empitness of

darkness because it feels safe.

So one day, I said to my soul be still

and wait without love, for you are not worthy of love.

Wait without touch, for you are incapable of touch.

Wait without honesty, for honesty

will do more harm than good.

Wait without openness, for the darkness is better than the life.

Wait without hope, for despair is easier to bear.

We are the product of hope and fear.

We are the product of fat and slim.

We are the product of oppression and exclusion.

We are the non-textbook answers of love,

passion and romance.

We are what we are.

When the world said no,

When the doors were closed,

When our emotions were diagnosed…we still are what we are.

A beautiful tapestry of lies and tears,

Of brokenness and honesty,

Of pain and brutality – comfort and insanity.

When the walls rise up,

we are.

When the world feels cold,

we are.

When our body grows old.

We still are.

We are the one’s who got up and got out,

who marched, and spoke, and moved along when love

was no longer being served at the table.

We are what we are.

When we are broken,


the token,

held back,

told that we lack…

When the apps seem to attract,

when love refuses to give back,

We are what we are.

Elliot was right,

we human beings cannot bear too much reality…and there are days when I still cannot fully bear the sight of me.

When I cannot grasp the Advent reality, When I still do not see the image of

our God reflected within me,

Neglecting worth.

Burning to reverse birth.

And now, as we look back,

we are.

Loved by a God in our entirety,

We are.

Held in his hands for an eternity,

we are.

Loved and lovely,

we are.

In the manger,

we are.


we are.


we are.


we are…

By a crying, helpless, innocent bundle

of flesh and blood,

that resembles me more than the hopes and fears of all the years had led me to believe.

My God!

*my* God is in the manger.

And he’s there – for me, for us, just. as. we. are.

(whispered) ‘How silently, silently – the wondrous gift is given!’


Join the conversation! 1 Comment

  1. This poem is everything! Thanks so much for sharing.


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About jarelrb

Classical Musician, Methodist Presbyter, Writer, Thinker. 26. Currently in Cardiff. ....Bach, Ravel, Nina Simone and John Welsey are some of my hero's :)