So many want so much to
believe
one bone-chilling yet diamond
Silent Night
in the Little Town of Bethlehem,
a savior was born on dirty straw
in a manger in a cave one step up
from a refrigerator carton next to
an airport expressway 21 centuries
in the future.   Miracle of miracles,
the baby had all its fingers and toes.  
A lusty cry pierced the air as he woke
in the teenage girl's worn-out arms.
Part of the miracle was the girl
and her husband were poor.  Had no.
standing.   A  Jewish carpenter?
An underage bride?  Not exactly
what you call nobility.  Pair did not
have two widow's mites to rub
together.  "Right" clothes,  "right"
lineage.  Had not distinguished them-
selves at the "right" schools.  Had no
"connections.". 'Been a country club,
been blackballed.    Funny, now  there's
this idea  that "being Christian" pays.  
Talking hard, cold cash.  Want your stock
portfolio to swell?   Bigger house and
paid-up SUV,  plus gas to run?   Accept
Jesus, then sit back and watch the perks
roll in.   O,  Little Town
of  Bethlehem!   No wonder three kings
picked up a few gifts, stood on servants
to mount camels, and hied  to a wide spot
in the sand.  Funny,  early Christians   
got flogged and stoned.  Crucified
for being radicals!  Dogged by curses
and hisses   People spat and made rude
gestures.   Wonder is, the little poor baby    
in the scratchy make-do blanket
surrounded by moldy, pissed-and-shat-
on straw was to grow up and beg
that they be forgiven.  To turn the other
cheek, that is The Way.  Not fight, not
maim, not kill.   Over property--?.
Please.   Poor little poor baby
silhouetted by the light of a foul-smelling
torch on a starry Silent Night when
the high did not hit 45 had to be strong,
just to survive.  Work while still a child.
Hike many a hike across blistering sand
and unforgiving stone in discount sandals.  
Camp without so much as a flashlight.  
Sleeping bag, no.  Bug spray, no.   Trail mix,
no.   No tarp, no stove!   What do we think?  
That if he came back now, he'd sport
a backpack like they sell at  L.L. Bean?   
Blow up a state-of-the-art tent?   He grew
tougher than spider silk and so strong, he
could afford to be gentle.  Gentler than
the hand that set Moses adrift.   But rich?..
Think again.   Considered the equivalent
of trailer trash.  Little  wonder, then,
that the family value he held most dear
was and is to love, and to love equally.  
Look beyond appearance and narrow
mores,  accept beyond rhyme or reason.  
Bearing in mind that all human houses
are glass.   Same for a high mucky-muck
as a thief or whore. Yes, even a usurer.
Rough to forgive one of those gougers.
Helps a bit to tongue-lash.  Goes double
for a hypocrite.  Few rules of thumb: eat
your share of humble pie;  remember
being born in a barn is nothing; and plain
folk are best at leading flocks to Green
Pastures beside Still Waters.   So bow
in Silent prayer and give thanks that Love
could not, cannot, and never will be
Little.  

(c) Phyllis Jean Green,  December, 2008