When He Comes to Them....

When He comes to them,

oh, when He plunges into earth-life, blood-begotten, 

amnion-soaked, it is in the open rawness

of a stable. A cave, perhaps. The shuffle of sheep,

their dense pelts reeking. A sift of hay-dust floating

on the raw air. The sound of human pain . . . .

                                          ~

Shadowed by the orbit of the rising moon,

the man kneels anxiously beside his wife. She wraps

and soothes her boy-child. His puckered mouth,

his eyes screwed shut, his feeble bleating . . .

a Lamb newborn indeed. The ewes turn and

cock their raggedy heads, their nostrils quivering. 

                                     ~

The shepherds crowd the entry, their clumsy

shuffle announcing them. The mother wakes

to apprehensive faces peering down. Their first

words sparse, garbled—constrained by incongruity. 

Shaped and shaken by unutterable mystery:

The great heart of Heaven in-born, earth-bound,

bundled and sheltered in a hard-worn cloth.

For knowing it, they dare to come, to worship.

And yes, there’s this . . . oh, this: the rupture

and unbidden rapture of the night sky! The ecstasy

of a timeless canticle, images and echoes

that will never end. An eternal diorama—this gift

they frame forever and carry in their empty hands:

the hill, the sky, a multitude of angels. 

          Maybe we may find ourselves beside them,

                    in an unexpected moment.

             Wishing you a very special Christmas!

                             ~Judith