I found this poem printed in a magazine when I was in my twenties and have always loved it. With all that Christmas means to the religious, for me, in the final analysis it comes down to a mother, a father and a child.
Nativity
I doubt He came to chants of angel choirs,
or that His birth was heralded afar.
We charge the tale as afterthought requires,
convert a feeble candle to a star,
bring Eastern kings to worship at the byre.
More like, some older woman from the inn
sent Joseph to heat water at the fire,
and helped the frightened girl to usher in
the wrinkled, squalling Babe, and tore a clean
old linen sheet to make the swaddling bands;
then, having finished, left the girl serene
and trudged back to her room to wash her hands.
I find the daily miracles of earth
sufficient portents for a Savior's birth.
Roland A. Browne
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