“The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.” – John 1:9
The true light may now be at hand,
but the light is lit by flickering flame
and smoky wick. I watch that light
with anxious eye, for fear it spread
its burning oil on the straw below.
The light unsteady served to hide
the dark green sticky contents of
that first cloth barrier, wrapped
inexpertly by unaccustomed fingers round
the infant’s flailing hips,
But did not muffle his fierce cries
of outrage testifying that the light
has lungs! Re-swaddled, he subsides,
and sleeps re-laid into the feeding trough,
while grateful stable denizens rest, too.
The midwife gone, the man and I
trade naps, and watch, and wait
for his next cry. Will he be hungry?
Dirty? Lonely? Or just angry that
the borrowed cloth moves roughly on his skin?
“The light shines in the darkness,” they will write,
and I suppose it does. It murmurs sleepily,
then coos a moment, then subsides.
The crude light wavers at the breeze,
and shadows waver on incarnate light asleep.
I am too weary to compose a poem;
I ache in every muscle, every bone.
I cannot help but think that this poor babe,
in manger laid, could shine so bright
this stable would be taken for a star.
For now, the light is dimmed,
and in its dimness I, at least, can see
that lovelight shines most clearly here,
in common human form, and in
the dark.
A poem/prayer based on John 1:1-18, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Second Sunday after Christmas Day.
The image is The Nativity, a section of the 13th century altar frontal of St. Mary of Avia Church in Bergueda, Catalonia, Spain, by an unknown artist. The frontal itself is in the National Art Museum of Catalonia in Barcelona. Photo by Enfo – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21384531.
ordainedgeek 
