The ox inclines his weighty head, and eyes me at the door.
The good man and the virgin doze fatigued upon the floor,
With none to keep the watch except the shepherds I have passed.
Without a flame how can this light about the room be cast?
The grotto walls are golden hued despite their lowly place.
These are the things I think of as I gaze upon the face.
Whose heart has not been pierced in turn by these discerning eyes?
The living Word sees every thought, and worthless is disguise.
Yet foolish men imagine that their thoughts can be their own.
With such an inward gaze, in truth, their arrogance has grown.
How inexplicable to thrust away this warm embrace.
And warmth is all I feel in contemplation of this face.
The Word of God must rend the air, and shake the very ground.
It daily makes the mighty poor, and simple shepherds crowned.
The Word is called a two-edged sword, that scatters men in fright.
The breath of the Almighty Word has set the stars alight.
The questions I would ask depart my lips without a trace.
And stupefied, I tremble as I look upon the face.
How can this Godhead sympathize with men who walk the Earth?
How can He know the shame endured by those of meager birth?
Perhaps the God who knows the thirst of blazing heat of day,
Might be the One who promised to wipe every tear away.
So merciful the Father is, who pours out all His grace,
That tears run hot and welcome as I kneel before this face.
This child makes one thing clear for us: His will is not despair.
This vale of tears will not endure; we’re made for better fare.
And when he calls, we all must shed the hardness from our hearts.
The Creator’s work, in finishing, requires all our parts.
No worldly fears should daunt us while he guards us from disgrace.
For rest and joy await until again we see his face.
-Grunt, Christmas Day, 2012