‘Don’t dream it’s over’ A Christmass reflection
You’ve gotta love Youtube and the Crowdies right?! I was watching the song ‘Don’t dream it’s over’ ‘live’ at the Sydney opera house on that Youtube thing. The music was sweet, the crowd were really getting into it and just for a few moments, even now, years later in my study, the world was as it should be. It was perfect.
And as I watched, caught up in the delicious magic of the moment, there was a big part of me that was praying ‘Please God don’t let it end. Not now. Not ever. This is just so good, so perfect, so right. It should last forever. Don’t dream it’s over.’
But the song did of course. The moment never lasts, the perfection that we enjoy dissipates, evaporates and we are left craving more, but oh so blessed that we have touched the face of God and He has exalted and danced deep within us.
I wondered too about the shepherds that night and the heavenly music that came upon them without having the geeky stuff that we enjoy. Was it not possible, that having seen the heavens opened, that their prayer was simply that this also would never end? And then down to the manger to gaze upon the Master himself. Don’t dream it’s over.
But it did of course. Back to the freezing fields and a inky black night where nothing had changed, yet everything had changed and things could never be the same again.
Maybe with a few slurps of a warming beverage they too might have sung. …
‘Hey now, hey now, don’t dream it’s over’ at the top of their voices and somewhere, somehow in the middle of the night their prayer was answered. Because it was not over at all. In fact it was just beginning. Now while we didn’t sing any Crowded House at our Carol service nor will be singing any of the ‘Crowdies’ at Midnight mass on Friday 24th at 10:30pm we will be celebrating the fact that the story of our salvation has really begun for us.
A wooden yoke coming to life
after hours of woodwork
In the heat of the day
My yoke is light…
A wooden plough
constructed
by the masters hands
The seed that fell on the good ground
Aging saw dust cascading
to the floor
fine in the late sunlight
The master begins again.
Hesitantly
conscious of working against the grain,
against a lifelong of pure discipline
in taking a used girl by his side.
Dreams spin a new wisdom.
Impossible before
overriding the mallet’s fall
journeying them down the travellers path
to Bethlehem. Anon