Night in a Small Town in Western Asia
(Advent, anytime)
We think of Jesus born at night
Though he might have happened
Any time of day
But we carry into our services
The scene of nighttime
With the shepherds
It’s good
It is romantic
And nearly always it is quiet
As the time of birth is recalled, near
We pray
We sing
We watch the candles in the room
And, if a flame is passed,
For hair that might be singed
In the afternoon inside the stable
Before angels appear
Declaring peace
With a call for good will,
The parents must be tired
Mary must recover
Their shelter is so rude,
Would they welcome visitors?
Maybe the shepherds could
Be all right
They are simpler, frankly most likely unrefined
More importantly, they have
Traversed in fear and
Aspect of wonder
I recall the gifts from shepherds
In the mystery play
Have a bob of cherries
Offers one of them
To the child who is a savior
Who says they don’t know
The true nature of majesty?
Then the sky is unveiled, and angels turn
Like diamonds in a jeweler’s light
coda
Isn’t there something that happens to us
Sometimes
That puts the rest into perspective
If only briefly?
For a moment, the created universe made sense
It had been fashioned for perfection
For the joy of seasons
Provision unrelenting
Delight in foraging each day
For new phenomena to complete the senses
In this night,
It was returned
A promise announced in the sky
An old one, a new one
Everything at first and last as it should be
C L Couch
By Robert Stinnett from Boonville, MO, USA – Small town Friday night, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=69141495
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