Carol Penner

Our prayer this Christmas is beyond words.
You find it in the silence of the sleeping forest,
down under the ice.
You find it with the wind sweeping in cold gusts,
rattling the windows.
Our prayer is the snow that’s falling.
Inside, it’s the table being set, the preparations,
it is every twinkling light and piece of greenery.
Our prayer floats on the fragrance of food in the oven.
We pull this prayer with us 
as we remember Christmases long ago,

It’s the eve of another celebration of Jesus’ birth–
but this year is different than any other.
It’s hard to cast our thoughts to Bethlehem
when the here and now is so heavy.
On this Christmas Eve, we feel like we are on the eve of everything.
Are we on the eve of sickness or health;
will this pandemic touch the lives of those we love?
Will our hospitals manage this second wave of patients
in the long winter ahead?
We are on the eve of loneliness;
there are too few chairs around our holiday tables