poem by Shona Levingston photography, "At the Stable," by Clarissa Cervantes
by Shona Levingston
They had waited for the Lord, more than watchmen wait for the morning.
They saw his star, those Magi.
They saw the star burning, a message from our cosmic Creator,
foretold some 700 years before.
A golden thread of hope,
existing when all the stars were first flung into the sky.
The star, a light for their path, brought them to
the child whose innocence threatened an empire.
A small marvel yet he held the radiance of God's glory,
and grew to bridge the abyss between life and death,
reconciling our creator God with us.
And then the wisest of men worshiped him, knowing this child held promise,
the beginnings of true redemption,
the birth of hope, unsullied by the world.
Hope that can never be tarnished nor extinguished, spanning centuries
through earthly kingdoms that rise and fall,
through wars, famine and flood, fire and loss
through twenty centuries of earthly time,
the golden thread of hope still reaching.
We remember the birth, we remember that child
and our joy is renewed.
And more than watchmen wait for the morning,
we wait to the very end of the age, to that very dawn,
and are moved to repentance.