My parents have a lot of Advent books full of poems, stories, and
devotionals. While looking through them this afternoon, I rediscovered Ann Weem’s
Kneeling in Bethlehem. Here are two
of her poems as we quickly approach Christmas morning.
Unexpected
Even now we simply do not expect
to find a deity in a
stable.
Somehow the setting is all wrong:
the swaddling clothes
too plain,
the manger too common
for the like of a Savior
the straw inelegant,
the animals, reeking
and noisy,
the whole scene too
ordinary for our taste.
And the cast of characters is no better.
With the possible exception of the kings,
who among them is fit for this night?
the shepherds?
certainly too crude,
the carpenter too
rough,
the girl too young.
And the baby!
Whoever expected a baby?
Whoever expected the advent of God in a helpless child?
Had the Messiah arrived in the blazing light of the glory
of a legion of angels wielding golden
swords,
the whole world could have been conquered for Christ
right then and there
and we in the church—to
say nothing of the world!—
wouldn’t have so much trouble today.
Even now we simply do not expect
to face he world armed with love.
Sitting on the Hillsides
Most of us who gather in Bethlehem on this night
Are not the star seekers.
We’ve not traveled our dreams
month after month and year
after year,
poring over predictions
and promises.
Most of us sit on our hillsides
tending our sheep,
business as usual.
Oh, we’ve heard rumors of stars,
But we don’t really give
ourselves to seeking.
After all, there’s more than enough to do
in the daily tending.
We’re simply not on the lookout for stars,
Nor expecting any light in
our darkness.
I suppose the important thing is,
in the light of the glory of
the Lord,
to recognize the voice of an angel
and to get up
and in spite of our
sheep
to go even unto
Bethlehem
to see this
thing that has happened.
