Inside the stable there is darkness pushing in,
a small light, perhaps, illuminating three faces.
The murmurs of a baby’s cries, his snuffling and suckling,
the rustle of straw, the sound of animals shifting.
The smell of sweat and blood and manure,
the fragrance of milk and sweet baby.
The touch of a hand on a smooth small forehead,
a man’s arm holding a body still shaking with afterpains.
Outside the stable, darkness is pushed away,
radiant brightness illuminating shepherds, flocks.
The gasps of fright as grown men topple to the ground,
the angels’ words of comfort, “Fear not,”
and their miraculous proclamation of a king.
And then the singing; strong, clarion, clear,
piercing the dark with a message of hope.
Inside the stable there are no angel visitors,
only the arrival of a child, revealed at last to tired parents.
Their weary quietness is disturbed by excited voices.
Shepherds, eyes ablaze and arms akimbo
fill the room, trying to describe their miracle.
When they pause for breath, they feel the silence.
They sense the fragility of this small baby.
They leave quietly, pondering this helpless mystery, hours old,
revealed to them by choirs of angel armies.
This poem can be read by two voices, divided this way:
One: Inside the stable there is darkness pushing in,
a small light, perhaps, illuminating three faces.
Two: The murmurs of a baby’s cries, his snuffling and suckling,
the rustle of straw, the sound of animals shifting.
One: The smell of sweat and blood and manure,
the fragrance of milk and sweet baby.
Two: The touch of a hand on a smooth small forehead,
a man’s arm holding a body still shaking with afterpains.
One: Outside the stable, darkness is pushed away,
radiant brightness illuminating shepherds, flocks.
Two: The gasps of fright as grown men topple to the ground,
the angels’ words of comfort, “Fear not,”
and their miraculous proclamation of a king.
One: And then the singing; strong, clarion, clear,
piercing the dark with a message of hope.
One: Inside the stable there are no angel visitors,
only the arrival of a child, revealed at last to tired parents.
Two: Their weary quietness is disturbed by excited voices.
One: Shepherds, eyes ablaze and arms akimbo
fill the room, trying to describe their miracle.
Two: When they pause for breath, they feel the silence.
They sense the fragility of this small baby.
One: They leave quietly, pondering this helpless mystery, hours old,
revealed to them by choirs of angel armies.
I am a Mennonite pastor currently teaching theology at Conrad Grebel University College in Waterloo, Ontario. I’ve served congregations in Ontario and most recently, Alberta.