Christmas poetry

Hi everyone--I've been on vacation, but I did want to put up this post during the season.  I hope you all have a great Christmas and a wonderful holiday!

Joseph’s Troubled Night

Luke 2:7

I love her so much.

What is that to them, now?

Look at her, so absorbed in that baby.

How is it that this has happened to me?

I always thought that I would live life alone, and I was content with that.  I liked being alone.

My thoughts were my own;

My life was mine to rule.

I answered to no one.

Yes, it did get a little lonely from time to time,

But even that was nice, in a way.

I could revel in the solitude, the silence,

And the sense of pervasive stillness that filled my life.

And if I did ever feel the need for companionship,

There were always my brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins...

Every one of them with a family of their own—

Loud, raucous, stridently breaking up the early morning stillness

With their bickering, their banter, their hilarity.

I would find myself heading for home after a very short time,

Content once more with my solitary state.

And then I saw her.

She had always been in the periphery of my vision,

So to speak,

A quiet little thing—

Quiet, but not shy.

She seemed to be all eyes,

So much so that the other men left her to her own devices.

There was something almost unnatural about her,

About the way that she just—

Looked,

As if she were keeping the events around her

In some sort of ledger inside herself.

To the average man, this was not a woman to be favored.

Too much looking and too little talking

Was disconcerting to them.

But me...

I loved her the more for her silence.

She did not prattle on about inconsequential affairs,

But when she did speak, her words spoke volumes.  I

Worked up my courage and asked for her hand.

Our courtship was not your normal one.

Yes, we did talk of our life together,

As much as was necessary.

But that was not our main focus.

No, we loved to speak of He who is to come, Messiah—

Of the prophecies in all their confusion.

It was our favorite game.

How would he appear?

Would he be triumphant king or suffering servant?

Or could these conflicting descriptions

Somehow all apply to the same person?

How could that be?

Today, we have our answer,

For this servant king is suckling on Mary’s breast.

Fully human, he cries when he is hungry, wet or cold.

His cries reach into my innermost being.

I never realized how much I could love someone who is not my own.

But he is not just fully human.

The angels, the shepherds,

The sky with its enormous star

All have revealed him to be Messiah.

Messiah—my son.

It is true,

And yet it doesn’t fit well on a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths.

How strange—living, he lies wrapped as one who is dead.

Yes, I know it’s necessary to keep him straight and strong,

But it still troubles my heart.

I don’t want to think of my son,

My beloved,

And death.

My son…

My child, what will our future be?

Should I announce you as my son?

But you are not my son.

Should I put myself in danger of being called a naïve fool or worse by proclaiming the truth—

You are Messiah, sent by God?

What will Mary do?

I only have to look at your mother to know that she is not concerned about any of this.

Not in the slightest.

What secrets is she keeping?

I feel that they are the first of many,

And I know that she will keep them until the end of time.