Christmas

Christmas,
and the call of the sea,
heard by countless thousands -
the enchantment of its constant motion,
its cool refreshment
in the warm air
beneath the clear blue above
and the blazing sun.
The call of the sea
beyond the crowds
in crash and crash
upon the rocks,
or thunder of some ocean cave.
The mystery of the sea
which stretches out and out,
and here we are,
enjoying but its fringe.
But where am I among these crowds,
who made these things,
who am the Lord of Christmas?

Christmas -
and the thronging crowds,
shopping for gifts and food,
with rattling cash registers,
and postal services
jammed with cards and parcels,
with fun and laughter,
brightness and decoration,
and that jolly old indispensible,
Santa Claus himself!
And "A Merry Christmas to Everyone!"
But what place have I,
the Christ,
the Lord of Christmas?

"To you is born this day
a Saviour, Christ the Lord."
The bells ring out,
calling folk to worship,
and many hear the call
and come -
the children with some latest doll,
or truck or squeaker.
They come -
and sing the old carols,
and hear again the good news
of the birthday of the Christ.
Yet across the tidings of good news
is written a sadness -
"There was no room for them in the inn."
A young woman,
weary with journeying,
soon to bear her first baby child -
still no room!
How literally was his later word fulfilled -
"Inasmuch as you did it not,
you did it not to me."
Looking back, we say,
"How could they be so callous!"
But as for you,
yes, you will acknowledge me
this day,
or once each week -
but how much room have you for me,
the Saviour, Christ the Lord?