The crib scene at Whitefriars is gone today. I shall repost a poem I wrote in 2012.
Newborn
A newborn sleeps in Bethlehem's stable
cold and tired from the trial of birth
A young mother does what every mother does
and worships the Child, but with a difference
The Mother is not every woman and the Child
not every man, but The Man, perfect, God.
For long moments the Mother watches and wonders
at this Creator Who has become her Son,
She alone understands the Triune God Who
lives with her and in her and now in her arms
She remembers the prophets, the songs of David,
her ancestor of psalms and sings a song of love,
to the sleeping Babe. How many years, she
wonders, does she have to love Him like this
alone, quiet, in the solitude between animals and
shepherds staring at the miracle in the sky.
How many years does she have, she wonders,
to protect Him from the cold and rejection
of His Own People? Not long...not long.
