When I think of Christmas I think of the King of Love laid in a manger –
Sovereignty supine under sterling stars twinkling through millennia of delight,
Sublimity submitted to the gaze of cherubim and seraphim and slack-jawed shepherds.
When I think of Christmas I think of a Son,
A Son, whose tiny hands, emptied of Omnipotence, outstretched from the eternal Embrace,
Nailed to a tree –
A tree of death – bearing my Exclusion!
When I think of Christmas I think of swaddling clothes
Later to be exchanged for a seamless robe and then for a torn veil,
And then, for a burial shroud turned inside out.
When I think of Christmas I think of no room in the inn
And later finding an upper room so as to lay my head on Him Who breaks His Body,
Who pours out His blood,
Who lays down His life for His friends.
When I think of Christmas I think,
Friends walking in Embrace:
“Do not our hearts burn within us, from that first day until now,
Whenever Christmas comes to our house?”
© Jennifer A. Johnson, 2011, All Rights Reserved