Blessed are peacocks, in their blue and green. Blessed are robins, for good Christmas cheer. Blessed are songbirds, of angelic charm. Blessed be turkeys- a jest of good taste! Blessed are lambs, all bouncing and fluff. Blessed are oxen, at Bethlehem's shed. Blessed are angels, and wise men, and stars! Blessed is Christmas! Presents, and feasting, and stuff. If only... Christmas were real. Shepherds all stinky and sweaty caught short in the night, Joseph moaning of Romans and tax Of crowding and jostling and hard stony roads Straw for a pillow and panting in birth- Mess Blood Screaming and "Push!" Then bliss and a Baby, a cry in the dark. If Christmas had monsters like Herod who wants the Babe dead Soldiers in armour pushing the plebs If Christmas had these things there just might be room for the scruffs the ragged the oiks on the edge to gather in silence to look and to see that Christmas is true Love- Us, given a Gift. Not just the pretty, the posh and the rich but- Ordinary, puzzled, doing their best. Jesus. Who gave up his glory for a nappy Christmas and, later, a Cross. Then crows and ravens and warthogs and Men the ugly and misfits could join in rejoicing! Blessed are the scruffy and raggedy ones- for Christ came for us. (c) Richard Starling, 2020.
The Reflectionary 