A Reflection for Christmas Day
Little more than a child herself, This woman-child, willing servant of the Most High, Pants between the pangs of childbirth, Pushes and pushes yet again. Labor, they call it, and you can see why; Groaning, pushing, swearing, sweating, silence . . .
And then the cry of life: a labor not in vain. Soft and wet, fresh from his mother’s womb, The fruit of her labor, welcomed by the carpenter’s hands, placed with tenderness at her breast, the child suckles. It is no natural, yet so much more. Wherever, however, whenever it occurs human birth bears the mark of miracle: Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh. Miracle—what else can it be?
Yet, this is Emmanuel nursing at Mary’s breast: “God with us.” Living, breathing, vulnerable human life, to hold, to love, to prote4ct and nurture, here in our midst, one of us, one with us; God’s own self given into your human care. More than miracle, it is unfathomable mystery.
Yet, no holy hush fell over the village at his birth. Life went on without so much as a pause. But beyond the vision of human eyes, everything has changed and is changing: Light flickers in the darkness; Hope rises anew; a new creation emerges. Can you see it? Can you sense it? It is within you: the miracle of new life.