The night is still, yet angels sing.
The sky is dark, yet starlight flings
Itself upon the sleep of kings
While shepherds hear what tidings heralds bring.
The air is chill, yet they are warm
As unbound love takes human form,
Yet few can see the shifting norm
Of who brings peace to calm the raging storm.
This night of contradictions stays
Through ages long in which we stray,
Reminding us, when fabrics fray,
That wholeness comes in unexpected ways.
The world’s greatest offering
May wait within the margins’ deepest haze.
This year's Christmas poem felt more appropriate for Christmas Eve than Christmas Day. I think one of the things I like most about the Christmas story, and really the whole story of Jesus' life, is how it turns the concept of power on its head. People and places that seem to be small and insignificant (according to certain standards) become central to the story. It suggests to me that a great power to make the world better can be found in all of us, regardless of who or where we are - and it's a power that is much more wholesome (and perhaps, holy) than what we conventionally think of as power.
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