Again we drag out the colored lights,

sing together of all the Holy births,

joyous despite our deep knowledge

that our steps to the Cross

are foreshortened. We sense this

there in the dark corners of the stable.

Every angel’s and mother’s hallelujah

will turn to tears, and our own tragedies

are only blessed as we hold them,

precious gifts, kneeling here,

together, sharing the long journey

with the taste of sweet milk

and vinegar on our tongues.

We kneel with thanksgiving

this night, kneel here embracing

both the Cradle and the Cross.