It happens when we least expect it.
When we wake in the night
with the worries of the day.
When we mask a child
too young to have her face unseen.
When we ache to see people
but fear to invite them.
When we touch a forehead
and hope it is not hot.
Sometimes comfort comes,
arriving as grace
into exhaustion.
It must be a mistake,
nothing has changed.
Dare we allow it in?
Are the angels of Bethlehem
still wandering the world,
trumpets uplifted,
visiting us with Christmas news?
There is One among you
who brings peace.
--John Shea,
poet & theologian, 2020
poet & theologian, 2020
Image source 1: https://mountcarmelmv.org/pb/wp_0d658da9/wp_0d658da9.html
Image source 2: https://www.thebrookchi.com/blog/post/whos-harold-no-hark-the-herald-angels-sing
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