Bethlehem Bound
Friend, come with me to the manger.
I want to grow young again, and I cannot go alone.
Each year I grow old in my soul. I don’t mean wise.
The eyes of my heart darken. The ears of my spirit harden.
You know – the racing pace and the tension of time,
disappointment in you, anger in me, fear of this, hurt from that…
Like some old war veteran smarting over scars, I feel my wounds.
I am bent with grief at the pity of our lives.
But He comes! O yes, He comes, this little one!
He smiles at you. He laughs at me. We know He knows our hearts.
Frozen tombs under crafted masks. Embedded sins like warts on the soul.
More layers of lies than a serpent’s tongue.
But He Comes! Oh, yes, He comes!
The season has turned, and grace grows silently colorful.
New life descends more surely
than the leaves of autumn or the snows of winter.
O now in this favored hour we are kings! We are shepherds.
We are camels. We are timid mice called in from the cold.
Come now, my friend,
let us go down to this House of Bread, Bethlehem bound.
Let our souls be fed as hungry farm animals,
feasting from this manger of hope.
Let us come to wonder, to witness, the birth of this babe, this gift of our Savior!
In the cave of our hearts, the Christ Child still waits for our kiss.
O Jesu, to be such a lamb gazing at hidden glory,
Or even a dumb ox (or ass) kneeling in silent wonder.
I want to grow young again, and I cannot go alone.
Friend, come with me to the manger.
J. Michael Sparough, SJ
