Go seek that other deep nativity,
not sweet, nor bright, but empty, low and rough,
untouched by desperate activity,
where stillness and the longing are enough.
Wait in this wounded darkness, from whose rend,
where roots of death are woven in the earth,
a child emerges painfully, to mend
with splintered hands the world that gave him birth.
For deep in battered hearts, too cold to feel,
where blood and bones and heaven’s veins enmesh,
God comes, incarnate, altered, bound to heal
the brokenness by living in this flesh.
Let God redeem this life on Christmas morn:
let flesh be Word made flesh; with God be born.
December 30, 2020