The night’s quiet is song
waiting to be born.
The silence swells.
The darkness dilates.
The cosmos is hushed,
the stars all holding their candles.
Then— a birth—
and out burst the sopranos,
an alleluia of sky,
a confetti of angels,
the choir’s crazy noisemaking.
But then… hush. All hush,
taken aback
in speechless wonder
at the Word made flesh,
God’s hope entrusted
to a weak, needy infant.
Grace, infinite and splendid,
folded into this tiny space.
Words fail. Even songs.
Only the hush of hearts opened
like mangers to the warmth
of divine presence
wrapped in tender flesh,
to the mystery of a God
who so desires to be with us
even in this cold,
in this fractured world
that will soon crush the child.
Even among us
whose joy is swallowed in grief,
whose love caves in to fear,
the Eternal comes to dwell,
to be with us.
Smitten as if by a first kiss,
whelmed and flush, all hush.
This is the silence we return to,
over and over, through all our days.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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