Mind Body Mama: Each Night, Holy Night

I’ve been thinking of how I could sign off to all of you before this holiday weekend. I considered cracking wise on BirthPie by making note of the great miracle of a 30” snowfall that extended her eight nights of Hannukah another two. And how I hope it doesn’t take her family all twelve days of Christmas to fly to Billings, Montana. I could tell you how fast the years have spun by since I first rocked infant Small at the back of the Great Hall of Our House of Worship at the Christmas Eve service, to this year when she read the Linus verses from the Book of Luke in a loud, clear voice:

And there were in the same country
shepherds abiding in the field,
keeping watch over their flock by night.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them,
and the glory of the Lord shone round about them;
and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them,
Fear not: for, behold,
I bring you good tidings of great joy,
which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day
in the city of David
a Saviour,
which is Christ the Lord.

The angel said
this shall be a sign unto you;

Ye shall find the babe
wrapped in swaddling clothes,
lying in a manger.

And suddenly
there was with the angel
a multitude of the heavenly host
praising God,
and saying,
Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace,
goodwill to all people.

I could tell you about the gratuitous, over-the-top Christmas music-and-light show our neighbors put on and how, when I whispered to Sweetie “They’re crazy!” Small hissed at me, “They’re not crazy, they’re AWESOME! They know what Christmas means to kids.” And I thought about telling you my birth story again, about how this baby Small came to us in an ice storm and brought me face to face with miracle and wonder.

But finally I decided I could not do better than these words of Sophia Lyons Fahs that I have come to consider the Unitarian Christmas liturgy:

For so the children come
And so they have been coming.
Always in the same way they come
Born of the seed of man and woman.
No angels herald their beginnings.
No prophets predict their future courses.
No wisemen see a star to show
Where to find the babe that
Will save humankind.
Yet each night a child is born is a holy night,
Fathers and mothers-
Sitting beside their children's cribs
Feel glory n the sight of a new life beginning
They ask, "Where and how will
This new life end?
Or, will it ever end?"
Each night a child is born is a holy night-
A time for singing,
A time for wondering,
A time for worshipping.

To every mother’s child: good night, holy night.