Advent

Advent

Advent

 

 

The manger wasn’t clean
the hay wasn’t soft and fluffy
the light probably didn’t glow,
golden and steady.

The shepherds were terrified
The wind probably bit,
cold and raw
The swaddling cloths probably
weren’t snowy white
and hemmed.

The animals didn’t talk.
Mary probably walked.
There was probably no privacy,
possibly drunken revelry one stall over.

A stable,
a cave,
or maybe just shelter
under the overhanging roof
next to
a crowded hostelry

No boiling water
no quiet carols
no softly glowing candles
maybe a crackling fire
that cast frightening shadows
and not enough heat

or maybe not.

There was blood
and pain
and torn flesh
and chill
and dirt
and fear.

(much like how most of the world
still waits
for Immanuel,
God with us)

Nothing picturesque
or appealing
beckoned Jesus
into our cold, dark, lonely world.

Thank God He came anyway.

Maranatha, Come, Lord Jesus.