A Christmas Litany


Somewhere, in the thick of deep darkness, or perhaps under the suffocating heat of midday.  Maybe in the first flickers of new-day light, or lost in the fervent scurry, or christened by the noise of marketplace and a whirling world on the move, a baby has been born.

This baby is for us, for all of us.

A woman’s cry, shifting livestock feet and swatting tails, an unsure father, the heaving waves of birthing pains, push now, blood, visceral mess, an infant’s first cry, relief, exhaustion.  He is here, nose-to-nose with a mother and a waiting world.

This baby is for us, for all of us.

Into the dust and dirt of ordinary living, into the hands of the meek, the rags of the humble, the sighs of the waiting, the groans of the labouring, the outskirts and margins of the forgotten, our Saviour is born. 

This baby is for us, for all of us.

Our longed for Christ,  

Our Messiah,

Our Prince of Peace,

Our Emmanuel,

Into the bitter pain, the grief and grievances of living, the broken and the dislocated.  Wrapped in flesh, human flesh, our flesh. This Word has been pulsating, reeling, resonating.  This Word has been breathing, whispering, and speaking in it all and through it all since the dawn of time,

“I Am here.  I Am close.”

Emmanuel.  

Emmanuel.

Into the cracks and the crevices of humanity, into the wide open spaces of universes and galaxies.  Heaven and nature singing, repeating, sounding Joy,  

Emmanuel.

Into our deepest fears, complexities, and very fragile existence this baby has been born.  A beating heart, filling lungs, neurons, synapses, a skeleton, flesh, treasured and mysterious life bursting forth from a mother’s womb. 

We behold the overwhelming mercy and love of God. 

Jesus has come to dwell among us.  Jesus has come to rescue us.


This baby is for us, for all of us. 

© Erika Kobewka, 2019

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