I wrote this poem this evening. I spent a great deal of time watching Jesus movies. It suddenly hit me what a nasty little place the Messiah was born in. Imagine, a cowshed or a stable....for the king of kings!Surely even we have had better birth places.What a shame that this is all we offered him when he came into our world, His world.

Even I, when I was born

Had a clean bed upon which to lay my head

How is it that you, maker of all things

through whom all things were made

and for whom all things were made

had nothing but a manger

covered in the glory of hay,

a cacophony of animal sounds

and, the smell of animal waste:urine and faeces.

Even I when I was born

Had a nurse at my mothers beck&call

You had a room swarming with flies

You could have chosen fine linens, the best of doctors, the highest of wealth 

yet you chose the lowest of all places

smelly,ugly,equated the birthplace of beasts

to the birthplace of kings.

How many might have laughed when your mother 

mentioned her son's birth in humble pride

as the women swapped maternity stories by the fireside

"My son is a king, he was born in a manger!"

"A king?Born in a manger?!Why Mary, you must be out of your mind!"

She knew in her heart that kings honor kings

the memory she held close of the three kings who came to honor you

that night in a manger.

When I was born no stars paid me homage

But you had your own star bowing at the sight of its master

enshrined in this piteous little place

My most humble King.

There is no other God 

There is none like you.