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
