Homeless humanity, hopeless, adrift,
under Roman rule, reeling, sad,
was drunk with despair, its dying gods silent,
its Stoics, so stern, strong for no one,
its Epicureans jaded, eating joyfree.
Homeless Deity, helpless, awake,
in a crude cradle, crying loud,
was greeted gladly, a god alive,
by the magi kneeling, Majesty serving,
by the shepherds, stinky, souls ajoy.
God - now man, glorious, humble.
History - now cloven by a hero divine.
Our secret longings - now suddenly fulfilled.
In a star-lit stable, swaddled tight,
on a Bethlehem backstreet, is Home.
This poem was inspired by G.K. Chesterton, in particular this part in The Everlasting Man:
"No other story, no pagan legend or philosophical anecdote or historical event, does in fact affect any of us with that peculiar and even poignant impression produced on us by the word Bethlehem. No other birth of a god or childhood of a sage seems to us to be Christmas or anything like Christmas. It is either too cold or too frivolous, or too formal and classical, or too simple and savage, or too occult and complicated. Not one of us, whatever his opinions, would ever go to such a scene with the sense that he was going home."
Additionally, Chesterton wrote a Christmas poem, which I had not read for a while until after I completed my piece. His poem is much better than mine - so much so that I considered scrapping mine or overhauling it. Well, I decided I don't really want to do either right now. :D Thanks for reading.
This was originally posted under the title "Hypostatic Union".
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