None of it is real – the virgin, the donkey, the shepherds, the star; none of it is real – but much of it rings true. Not the doctrine, but the mystery. Not the miracles, but the empirical, undeniable evidence.
Tyrants are always persecuting the poor, demanding their documents and proof of citizenship.
Rich governments are always closing their borders against aliens from Nazareth and Bethlehem, and Guatemala, and hunting down young upstarts who threaten revolution.
Poor women are always and forever asked to bear unspeakable burdens, to accept the burden as a virtue, and suffer like saints.
And somewhere, almost always, someone is opening their door in the night and saying, “I have room for you. Come in.”
Sometimes wise men and wise women choose not to be complicit, and bring lovely gifts instead of treachery.
And people have always been wondering, wandering, under the stars – we still are –whether listening for trumpets of angels, or the wailing of babies, or the whisper of wind breathing into our cynical ears and ice cold hearts the hope of peace on earth, goodwill restored.
-Rev. Victoria Safford, “A Mind of Winter”
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