When God appeared, they expected a warrior,
An angel of light, and a king.
Not a suffering servant, rejected and scorned –
No one expected him.
A fodder trough, a stable of pain,
A terrified mother to be.
Was this the man to change the world?
Was this the way to be free?
So he was born, in the dregs and the dung,
A fragile child of the night.
Outcast shepherds came to see,
And men from the East saw the light.
Yes, poor men and rich, were assembled that night.
Both wealth and poverty.
The kings brought gifts of spices and gold,
The shepherds just bowed the knee.
Is there sense in all this? Such a frail act of God,
Was their power in such poverty?
The search for the stable continues today,
There’s a cross in its place – you can see…
That a man hangs in pain, nailed there with love,
And his mother’s in agony too.
In the turmoil her mind drifts back to the stable –
Where she glimpsed what the future might do.
Gold for a king, incense for a God –
But myrrh, now that’s for a cross.
And the king is enthroned with thorns and three nails;
And the God dies in frailty for us.
And Christmas is not just the snow and the glitter,
The turkey, the tinsel, the tree.
No – Christmas has come for the poor and the weak –
And it’s here for you and for me.