Wednesday Words - In the Bleak Midwinter

The days are growing shorter, temperatures are diving, snowflakes are falling, and spirits are failing among those who struggle through the bleak days of winter. I have dear friends who have to deal with Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). I may have a touch of it myself.

Personally, I'd be fine if I could just retreat during the dark days from winter solstice through February. Winter isn't the problem. The problem is trying to pretend that winter days are the same as summer days. They're not. And I'm not the same in the winter as I am in the summer. I applaud and even envy those who are able to feel and act the same through all the seasons, but that has always been a challenge for me. I honestly wouldn't mind winter if I could just follow my natural inclination, which is to hibernate, hide, read, rest, stare at the fire, and keep a mug of something hot to drink nearby.

Alas, life and family and calling require me to do more than that. I give it my best shot. Sometimes, however, the ubiquitous holly-jolly-most-wonderful-time-of-the-year songs annoy me as they seem to encourage a sort of seasonal denial. I guess that's why I find it to be a welcome relief to hear the stark and honest words of "In the Bleak Midwinter." It's lovely little Christmas poem written by Christina Rossetti in the mid-nineteenth century. Sure, winter and life have their bleak moments, but Christmas still calls the heart to hope. Rossetti reminds me that even the poor in spirit can be blessed as they consider the Kingdom of Heaven.

In the Bleak Midwinter
By Christina Rossetti

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

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Shawn Colvin sings a wonderful version of this poem on her Holiday Songs and Lullabies album.

CLICK HERE to see and hear a beautiful arrangement with choristers and congregants at Gloucester Cathedral.