Poetry

Christmastide

In this season we celebrate

the birth of helpless children.

Children in their helpless state

attract love, as if we forgot

ourselves long enough to know

something better. Let all sorrow

be put aside, all praise to God

be followed by a great Amen.

The child we praise is God and man;

human, so frail yet divine.

He will grow, give commands, see

creation’s perfect design

flowing out of him while we

still clutch an impure universe

as it comes streaming into us,

making of it what we can.

His mother’s love will grow apace

too, with feelings of helplessness

as her son grows to the purpose

God intended and awaits,

completion on a lonely cross.

Even in such extremity

he will charge her with his love

for each of us. Within three days

he is reborn to a new life

but that is for another time,

its season is eternity

and will need another poem.

Reflecting deeply on his birth

and everything that comes to pass

Mary joyfully concludes

if all creation springs from him

it follows as the day and night

she is mother of all of us,

and thus begins the next great choice

God will give her. These simple truths

come with all the time we need

to grasp them. Don’t put them aside

even as we now rejoice.

A child is born to each of us.

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