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.
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