Miracle
A miracle that Joseph stuck
with the girl he was engaged to
when he realised she was
carrying a child that was not his.
A miracle that the first ever
Roman census drove them to Bethlehem,
and that when they could not
find anywhere to stay there
someone offered them a
stable.
It was definitely a miracle
that the baby was delivered safely,
after such a journey, in such
conditions, that very night.
A miracle, as well, that a
random group of hillside shepherds,
total strangers to everyone,
turned up with an unlikely
tale that made sense of it all;
that they had managed to find
their way there in fact.
And a miracle that all these
things coincided the way they did.
But then, every birth is a
miracle.
Relationships, journeys,
shelter, stories,
survival against the odds,
people finding their way,
things coinciding….
they are all miracles.
Life itself is a miracle!
Ah – but at the centre of
this story
(at the centre of everything,
some would say)
was the miracle of
miracles -
that the people in the stable
looked at that little scrap
of humanity,
all wrapped up in cloths and
rags,
and saw God!
Child of the night,
you who one day would open
the eyes of the blind;
you who people would call Son
of God:
open my eyes too,
till I start to see in everyone,
everything,
what those in the stable saw
in you.
Open my eyes
to see the holiness of every
birth,
and God in every living
person,
made in God’s image,
loved as God’s child.
Hazel Richardson has shared this poem with us:
Open my eyes to see God in
the stranger;
in unlikely story and
unexpected happening;
in the world that God loves;
in this fragile planet;
in the whole created
universe.
And though I can scarcely
believe it could be so,
help me find God deep in
myself.
Child of the night,
open my eyes to this God who
is beyond imagination,
yet comes close;
open my life to miracle.
(Brian Woodcock)
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