Luke 2:7
And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
Not sleeping peacefully
Not surrounded
by boy shepherds
with fluffy lambs
Or ox and ass huddled around
To keep warm
Not cosy and serene
that baby in a manger
More like a lion
surrounded by his pride
More like the cyclogenesis
by which we've been assaulted of late.
This baby
and those parents
And the visitors and onlookers
are not naive well wishers
But fierce political extremists
Determined to bring about change
And the only chink in their militant armour
Is that they are pinning their hopes
on a baby
And all these years later, we too,
longing for change
dreaming of equality
weary of political posturing
and failed promises
pin our hopes
on a baby in a manger
knowing that the stable
is not a benign shelter
but the birthplace of revolution
And we, today's onlookers
are charged with fulfilling promises
creating justice
and exploding love
on an unsuspecting world.
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