In a lowly manger bed Christ was born, son
of a carpenter from Nazareth – can
any good come from there?
The people were
afraid,
only
afraid
to admit
the fear that crippled
them inside – that they, yes,
even they, stood in need of forgiveness, grace.

Was it their fear that killed him more than any
strike of hammer upon a nail, more
than any spear thrust in
his side? They were
afraid,
only
afraid
to admit
the fear that crippled
them inside - that they, yes,
even they, stood in need of forgiveness, grace.

In a high and holy place you, man of the cloth,
stand surrounded by the flock
seeking protection
you are
afraid,
only
afraid
to admit
the fear that cripples
you inside – that you, yes,
even you, stand in need of forgiveness, grace.

Insulated from truth that would set you free,
you remain bundled in self-perpetuating illusion.

            You no longer see the shame that binds you.
            Nor recall sacred self forfeited for holy cause.
            Nor hear the Master’s calls to true servant leadership.

A stained glass exterior intended to reduce any
appearance of humanity prevents your hearing of them.

            “Take up your pallet and walk.”
                  “Come, and follow me.”

                  “I give you peace, the kind of peace only I can give.”
           
            “While you are in the world, you will have to suffer,
               but cheer up! I have defeated the world.”
                  “Walk in the light while you can.”           
                  “The Spirit will help you and tell you about me.”
                  “Go into all the world.”
 
                        “Feed my sheep.”
                        “Feed my sheep.”
                        “Feed my sheep.”
           

For they are sore afraid and need to know
that you are on their side, that you
will be their steadfast guide,
that you are no longer
afraid,
only
afraid
to let fear cripple you
inside for one more day.
They need to know that you, yes,
even you, stand in need of forgiveness, grace.