Friday, January 06, 2012

A first sonnet for Epiphany | Malcolm Guite

It might have been just someone else’s story,
Some chosen people get a special king.
We leave them to their own peculiar glory,
We don’t belong, it doesn’t mean a thing.
But when these three arrive they bring us with them,
Gentiles like us, their wisdom might be ours;
A steady step that finds an inner rhythm,
A  pilgrim’s eye that sees beyond the stars.
They did not know his name but still they sought him,
They came from otherwhere but still they found;
In temples they found those who sold and bought him,
But in the filthy stable, hallowed ground.
Their courage gives our questing hearts a voice
To seek, to find, to worship, to rejoice.
Today we're going to have an Epiphany party to end Christmas. We're going to eat Galette du roi, and have broccoli for bitter myrrh, spicy curry for fragrant frankincense and satsumas for gold. Whoever finds the bean in the galette will be the king of the party.
So when I saw this shared on Phil's Tree House - it touched me, and I thought I'd share it on again here.

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