The Tiny Babe

I am longing, aching, even in my bones, for You.  The dark closes in tightly, and I gasp for air.  You see, I have a child.  She's spirited and lovely, but she is still so small.  I listen, and I hear what they say.  Where will we be in twenty years?  Decimated by hunger, poverty-stricken, blown to bits?  She does not know these things, but I do.  I carry on my shoulders the fear and the guilt of generations who have failed.  I, too, have failed so many times, sharp-tongued, brazen, imploding, envious, spiteful.

We try and try again, but we end up maybe not in the same place every time but in one just as confounding as the last.

I have learned the heavy lessons of parenthood, anxious that she be healthy and happy and holy.  I lock my door against the terrors of the night and listen to the creaks of the old house with sharp attention.  In my early postpartum days her cry made me weep, not for her or for myself, but for the million innocents whose cries go unanswered, whose hunger is unattended, who cry alone.  I cringe to know that despite the deepest of joys which I know through her, I also know new sadness.  She has, I suppose, made me more human this way.

More human, yes.

And in the night, like the psalmist, I strum my heartstrings and lift my voice to the heavens:  Do you hear me?  Do you see this world?  Do you see how we strike out against one another?  Do you see how tiny she is?  Do you see how human we are?

Yes, yes, I see.  More than seeing, I know.  I dressed myself in your skin, and put your blood in my veins.  Don't you remember?  I, too, was small, so small the angels could scarce see me from the heavens.  I had a mother who feared for me, and a father who swept me away to safety.  I learned pain and grace, the deepest joys and newest sadness.  I abandoned the heavens that you may never again say, "You do not understand."  So abandon yourself to me.


Like a fist unfurling, release the fears of what may come.  Pray for her, but do not worry.  For peace, peace the world cannot I give, I am bringing.  The old world is passing away, you see, for I am making a new heaven and a new earth.  I have come among you, and I alone will satisfy.


Human we are, both You and I.  But God You are, You alone.  Emmanuel, come.