Christmas Meditation

Tiny child wrapped in handwoven cloths and laid on prickly, earthy hay, the graced presence of God living, breathing, crying, and suckling in precarious vulnerability. With every rise and fall of Emmanuel's tiny chest, the fragile-strong Christ-child reveals: 

If grace is life, then the greatest injustice is to stanch its flow. 

Running child dressed in dirty rags, fleeing the terror of exploding bombs, piercing shrapnel, and the stench of gun powder, only to be barred from safety by those who fear their presence. With every scream of terror and cry of anguish, the Christ-child groans:

If grace is life, then the greatest injustice is to stanch its flow. 

Hungry child with worn-out shoes, too young to work, too old to ignore that they live in a wealthy, powerful country, but all too often go to bed with painful, aching stomachs that have had too little to eat. With every rumbling stomach, the Christ-child groans:

If grace is life, then the greatest injustice is to stanch its flow. 

Hidden child dressed for success, covering the bleeding wounds left by love offered with conditions too high to reach, masking the consequences of another's pain on their own bodies, fearing yet hoping that someone will notice. With every secret tear and silent plea, the Christ-child groans:

If grace is life, then the greatest injustice is to stanch its flow. 

Grown-up child clothed in adult-sized skin and bones--angry, grieving, hurting, despairing while surveying the fragile pieces of their unsafe childhood. Love came down for this child, too, gracing the groanings of all creation:

If grace is life, then the greatest injustice is to stanch its flow. 

This Christmas, may we feast on Christ, who sates our tired, downtrodden, and heavy laden souls thirsty from fear, despair, and grief with the ever-flowing grace of the Christ-child, that we may become grace-givers in a world famished for Love Incarnate.

Voice

A voice--
the intricate wonder
of muscle and tissue
perfectly shaped to
mold the breath that gives us
life into vibrations of sound,
intimately joining the essence of
life with human physicality to express
the glorious seat of human meaning--thought.

A thought--
the firing of synapses,
brain waves constantly
moving, working,
controlling the movements of
eyes, ears, nose, fingers,
processing the data received by
the body into words and forms in
an attempt to make sense of surroundings
which ends and begins, cycling, seeking understanding--reflection.

A reflection--
a seeing-back,
the perusal of thoughts
and imaginings as they return
home from the mind from which they
came, pointless if left unexamined,
beautiful when cherished, its treasures intimately
unearthed, brushed off, polished to shine in the sun
of God-self-communal discovery,
finally taking on visceral form as fingers hit keys,
cords vibrate in the throat, and seeing-back midwifes expression--voice



Raspy, youthful,
boisterous, quiet,
female, male,
wizened, or naive,
voice vibrates the powerful
communication of self.
Whether on the tip of the tongue
or welling out of the soul's depths,
the voice sends forth the identity of a person
to be heard and understood by the world.
And my voice, well it is mine, and no one else's,
But only in its sharing do I vulnerably open the
great risk and treasure of neighboring.