Nativity
On pondering the season of Christmas

We sing this day of Jesus Christ in Bethl'hem born.
We celebrate with song, and food, and gift;
the halls bedeck, the trees adorn.
Do we remember Him who heaven left
and in a manger slept a baby rest?

Was this the LORD—our God—this tiny, helpless child,
this baby feeding at His mother's breast,
this infant on whom her loving husband smiled?
A miracle this is indeed, this baby who is God!

How can eternity become time-bound, hemmed in,
and with the leaden weights of our humanity be shod?
How can Almighty Power and Truth e'en begin
their home in frail a human body come to make?

Would I be willing to become as naught
and, furthermore, to die for enemies' sake?
Yet that is what my God, to whom all glory ought
to be, has done for me that I might be His child.

The wonder of His love is what we must recall,
despite the mood of celebrations wild
surrounding and distracting us from all
that would remind us of the reason why
our God came down to earth, to pain and strife:

Upon a wooden cross He came to die;
gave up His rights, His majesty, His life,
to pull us out of sin and death's strong grip.

Did Mary guess as on her child she gazed,
one day her sweet son would be lash'd by whip?
When Simeon's words she thought about, amazed,
did she the meaning of them comprehend?

How strange that from such grief should come such cheer—
Death's victory is what Christ came to end!
That is what we must tell, that all might hear!

Fabienne G. Durdin