Holy Light


In the bottom of a small-town inn,

Between the heaving sides of cattle beasts,

The stench of moldy straw, wet wool,

And pungent waste ladens the muggy air.

The babble of babies,

The snores of strangers,

The hissing argument of friends falling out

Cannot quite cover the desperate groans

Of a tired young woman below them.

Then piercing through the agony of

Generations without hope

Cries the newborn.

Naked, helpless, needy, squirming humanity

Has brought a remedy

For all the brokenness of humanity.

The mother’s pain births a smile

All shimmery with tears.

The father’s worry melts into joy, pride,

And the heavy burden of responsibility.

Taking sodden straw and leftover lamb rags

Gently they rub clean and wrap

The most Holy One.

4 Comments on “Holy Light

  1. Reading this today (on January 4) made me feel the worship and beauty of Christmas all over again.


  2. Thanks for the fresh reminder of how undramatic and earthy the birth of our savior was. It is truly remarkable that the most influential man in all of history had such a humble beginning.


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