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 