Shepherd's Psalm

a Christmas poem

Angels Appearing before the Shepherds by Henry Ossawa Tanner (1911)

Night sky splits

like soft, wet fruit; sweet juices

roll down

from the heavenly skin.

*

Good song bursts ripe pulp

on my tongue,

hangs

glistening in dark air.

*

Eyes, heavy with sleep,

arms, heavy tending sheep,

open wide to catch

more light.

*

Choir of fire erupts

from night's blue-black rind

which cradles stars,

now dulled and dim

*

in comparison

with them: this host

terrifying in lightning-bright song

who sing of peace.

*

We favored few shake the dirt

from robes, bank our fires,

strap sandals on

to run

*

after angel song

and starlight all the way

to a byre more humble

than our own,

*

to a king without

a throne, to a baby’s bed

of hay, so sure we are

this thing has happened.

*

My little one at home

knows only the warmth

of his mother’s milk

and the strength of my hands

*

cupping his back,

and he will grow beneath

this star of Bethlehem,

begun under Herod's reign.

*

A promised peace so vast

it wraps our earth

in swaddling clothes

has come.

*

Composition Notes:

Merry Christmas, my dear friends.

The weary world rejoices. That’s what it feels like to be alive, isn’t it? It’s weariness punctuated by moments of rejoicing. Even at Christmas, the joy is not perfect, though we sing of the one who will make our joy complete and believe that his joy can make its home in us (John 15:11).

This poem is a Psalm because it remembers another shepherd who sang to his sheep and went on to kill a giant. The repetitions and echoes in Scripture are intentional, preparing the reader for a return to Bethlehem, the city of David, to encounter a new and better king.

This year, our family is acting out the Nativity story at church on Christmas Eve, and my husband is leading the shepherds. Watching him with our sons, it occurred to me that the first century shepherds very likely had children. Perhaps some of them were teaching their boys the skills of shepherding, and they ran together to the manger to meet the baby king. That shared memory would be a life-long bond.

Then I wondered if any of the shepherds had babies at home. Perhaps a little older than Jesus? I started thinking about all of the babies who were killed when Herod went on his rampage to murder however many it took to destroy the threat of another and greater king. This Psalm begins as a song of praise, but it becomes a song of lament.

The peace that we long for is here yet not experienced in its fullness. We know it in snatches. That tight hug from a friend. The perfect pie crust that somehow doesn’t burn on the edges or slump down the sides. Children quoting A Christmas Carol. The sound of a car pulling in the driveway when awaiting out-of-town family. The first snow. The sound of shared laughter as your children experience Home Alone.

These moments are good and worth celebrating. But they melt away. If the hug never ended or the pie was never eaten, it would be stranger (and moldier) than always winter and never Christmas. These good things are good in part because they are fleeting.

Whether you are mostly rejoicing or mourning this holiday (or experiencing a solid mix), bring your heart in all its complicated fullness to the One who can bear your sorrows and rejoice over you with singing. He wants you in all your complexity. He came to that manger for you. For years I would have said Jesus came for his Father’s glory, and that is breathtakingly true, but if that keeps you from feeling the intensity of his gaze when he looks on you in love, then I ask you to sit in his presence and hear your Savior say, “You have captured my heart. The same way Father God looks at me is how I look at you” (John 15:9).

O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord.

Love,

Abigail