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A Question for the Shepherds:
Excuse me, Shepherds; sorry to bother you.
I know it has been a long night, one of the year's longest.
It's just that I've been out looking for God, and I seem to be lost.
Like you I spend time in a field of sorts,
an office or classroom or marketplace.
My work is to watch over flocks of a different sort than you,
but I have not seen God there in quite some time.
Sometimes I feel God near,
but more often I wonder and wait, disappointed.
I know it isn't like me to ask for directions,
but I've wandered too long, and the time seems just right to ask:
Can you tell me where I might find what I seek?
From the Shepherds comes a response:
We, Shepherds, know the search which occupies your time this night.
We, too, have wandered looking, but never further than our sheep.
The field ahead, not hills beyond, were our only thought.
Then, our lives were stunned and altered by the angels’ simple
words,
“
He is born to you this day.”
And our vision was somehow broadened.
For an instant we could see.
Perhaps if you ask the Angels, you might find what you seek.
A Question for the Angels:
Pardon me, Angel Choirs, I’m sorry to interrupt your work.
Can YOU help me, I seem to be lost,
and you have a knack for directions, so I've been told.
I've searched for God's light, in the darkness of this world.
But there is so much flash and dazzle in the beacons and the sirens of
our muddled world.
They illuminate for an instant, but leave a cold trail.
Where is that light that does not fail, that warmth that lasts?
Where might I see the face of God?
From the Angels comes a response:
God’s face and brightness, little ones, are too much for you to
bear.
They would blind you, beat upon you, strike deathly fear, so far beyond
the ability of your earthly eyes.
Our light, a mere pale reflection of the divine brilliance, is stunning
enough to such as you.
Our angelic light announces God, but is not God.
Nwevertheless God asked us to rehearse and sing the song
that the Shepherds were the first to hear, when darkness was undone.
The song’s good news is God has tempered his light.
God has subdued its brilliance to shine within human skin,
flesh and blood, like yours in every way.
You'll find that divine light in the Child that is born to Mary and Joseph
far from home.
To Bethlehem go. Ask them the way to light and life for all.
They can tell you, better now than we, how to see the face of God.
A Question for Mary and Joseph:
Please don't be offended by our tardy arrival on the scene.
We have come late from far away and long to see God's love.
We look for love, as you do too, in each other's eyes and thoughts and
hearts.
We look to love our children dear, and long to hear that love returned.
And yet we find that it isn't complete, this love among us shared.
We give in part and partly receive, and wait and wonder and suffer ill
in silence and in pain.
Our children grow and move away, and we grow weary and die.
Where is this love that has no end? Where is the holy Child?
From Mary and Joseph comes a response:
We know the love of which you speak.
We found it in our Child, though he too, grew and moved away.
But his love did not fade through time and years.
Look, the manger now is empty.
The love you seek is not a child;
God's own love lived among us and died.
Seek him who loved unto death on a cross.
There you will find the holy Child.
The answer from Jesus:
No need to question me, says Jesus from close by.
And no need further to seek.
Do you not know that I have heard your longing through the centuries?
Have you sought me but could not find me?
So instead I have sought you.
I was born as a child like you to be near you.
I lived among you so that I could have a face that you could look upon
and not die.
The sweet face of a child so full of love,
the agonizing face of one dying on the cross with a love deeper still,
without limit or bounds.
And I have found you and loved you as I always did and always will.
In me you can see the face of God.
In me you can know the love of God.
In me you can taste the forgiveness of God.
In me you can enjoy the peace of God, which the world cannot know.
For this I came, and continue to come.
For this I will come again,
so that you who share my death, may also share my life.
And through the nights and days keep watch,
for I am coming among you still,
in the least of my brothers and sisters.
Love one another as I have loved you,
‘
til at the last we join as one the Feast of God which has no end.
(Revised and adapted from a sermon by Luke Bouman,
http://www.predigten.uni-goettingen.de/archiv-6/031224-6-e.html. )
© Thomas Welbers 2003
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