Geboortekerk, Bethlehem

At Christmas:
We cannot but know it,
our tortured Earth,
the billions on bombs,
the pain upon pain,
the hourly dyings,
even if miles away –
the unimaginable in our midst.

Yet despite it all, and our confusions,
we shall light the candles in every land
for their tiny flickers are born of love,
of all that is good in our depths.
For whatever our faith, or our search for one,
with their shining out, our times
are more than depositories of darkness,

So let us, near and far,
journey together,
to meet the One who
marks that path of light where our
stories are heard and understood.

For the candles of Christmas
are the candles of the God who is within us all
and even in the darkest night,
deep within our being
our tears are transformed
in the healing of our souls.

Peter Millar, Edinburgh, December 2023
There is no copyright on this poem. The words are my own.