Jesus is born into darkness,
a darkness that’s over the deep:
the deep sorrowing of our world,
the mourning over murdered children,
the soft sobbing of the hungry,
the wailing over bombed cities,
the despairing over a polluted earth,
the crying over our own sad stories.
On our darkest Christmas eve,
when we’ve forgotten what light looks like,
a baby is born.
On that first Christmas eve,
the baby came like all babies–
with pain, with great labour,
with giant heaving breaths.
Hope and fear mixed together
with blood, sweat and tears,
Jesus is born.
Light fills the eyes of Mary and Joseph
as they behold their newborn son,
a child promised of God.
Held by loving arms,
his tiny eyes open,
seeing the world God created
for the very first time.
In the same way in our darkness,
light struggles to be born.
We struggle against hatred,
we work against prejudice,
we labour in the face of despair.
With blood, sweat and tears,
with heaving breaths of hope,
Jesus is born.
In the now-done darkness,
we open our eyes
to the beauty of God’s present
for the very first time.
[thank you to Gerard Manley Hopkins for the phrase “now-done darkness” which he used in his 1918 poem “Carrion Comfort”]
I am a Mennonite pastor currently teaching theology at Conrad Grebel University College in Waterloo, Ontario. I’ve served congregations in Ontario and most recently, Alberta.