by Kyle Lehman
We wake to sleep, we breathe to cry. Our mothers dreamed and brought us forth to die; For every cradle opens up a grave, And every child is one we cannot save.
The light fades from the western skies; Fear casts us down before we rise. Your cradle too will one day be a grave; Your life is one the Father will not save.
I-Cabod. Nu mai e slava.
But birthed tonight with beast and bird and tree, Your advent breaks all broken spirits free. Your curled fist will punch the devil’s face; Your heel, though crushed, will put him in his place.
Your tiny sob makes all the heavens black. Your light goes forth to bring all children back.
Glorie, Glorie. Aceasta e Glorie.
Back from the sorrows our own hands espouse, Back to a home hearth in your Father’s house. Glorie, Glorie. Adevarata Glorie!
On this Sunday, may we not forget the reason Jesus came. May we revel in the gladness His salvation brings. May we bask in His peace. And May we go to all measures, to the ends of the earth if we must, this coming year that others may know that joy- that peace- that hope.
-Peace on earth, Mary Graber