Come, Lord Jesus, into a night dark. Come into a night with a sky of ink, shattered by a billion tiny lights: of white, of green, of red, of blue. Come when the night is at its depth, when a fire is needed, when a candle is lit, when a torch is carried.
Come, Lord Jesus, into a place unexpected. Come and breathe the dust and grime. Come make your bed amongst the straw, the air heavy with the scent of warm life and wet ground.
Come, Lord Jesus, into a mother’s aching arms. Come when she’s at her end. Come when she can’t go on, when she’s worn from the pushing, the waiting. Come fill her, fill her empty spaces, the ones she didn’t know she had.
Come, Lord Jesus, into a world blind. Come into the town closing its doors, into the land of simmering revolution. Come into the world squeezing its eyes shut against the horrors, against the sadness, against the injustice.
Come, Lord Jesus, into a world deaf. Come into a world turning up the noise, the world drowning out the cries of the repressed. Come into the country afire with angels wings, arouse the ones who will listen.
Come, Lord Jesus, come to the ones waiting. Come to the ones in need of rescue, the ones weary, the ones expectant. Come to the ones hopeful, the ones in doubt. Come into the fear, the broken joy.
Come, Lord Jesus, awaken to a morning glowing pink and orange and lilac. Come into the morning rustling with a thousand wingbeats, alive with the songs of a thousand creatures. Come, the clouds will chase each other across an ever-deep sky, they will glow golden at the edges, lift white and grey at the center.
(And He laughs a little, and looks with kind eyes, and whispers: “I know a little, you know, about just showing up.”)
The dayspring on high hath visited us, to give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace. Luke 1:78-79 KJV
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