Each evening along
a muddy road, travelers
trudge in obedience, but enjoying
welcomed kin, for all
have been called. These
are David’s people, proud
of their privileged line
and must be numbered as his.
Hidden in the crowd, unnoticed,
a man and wife awaiting
their new arrival; they find
security on straw, with the breath
of cows, the wool of lambs
and the winking delight of a cat
to warm their shoulders; the moon
is their light, the stars their hope.
When a tiny cry invades
the dark, all come running,
a jumping juggler from the inn,
the ale-spattered barkeep,
a servant girl, astonished,
even a grimy urchin rushes
to peek in. The gruff innkeeper,
whose hard eyes and skinny
generosity are now birthing
joy, looks with wonder
at this sliver of calm amid his chaos.
What do they see?
A newborn, nestled in light.
This cold hour will remain
warm in their hearts, for radiance
has softened all their eyes.
— William Rewak, S.J.
Christmas 2023
