# Living Psalm 98_Mankin

It’s a lot to ask of a baby, isn’t it -
even one who has been foretold, even one 
whose parents took the word of angels -
to be the savior we’ve longed for 
all these lonely years.

Shivering, we wait around the manger
beside the woman who risked it all,
who heard God’s word and was glad of it,
only to end up in a drafty barn,
resting with animals and shepherds and
the expectations of countless generations
swaddled and silent in her arms.

Beside her stands the man who believed
a dream is real enough to stake
a life on, a future, his reputation - 
all on the ask of an angel 
who came while he slept.
He put it all into God’s hands,
himself, this baby, and the woman 
he pledged to marry.

We are less welcome than the shepherds,
less than the little drummer boy 
(and he was very unwelcome that first night),
not because God’s grace is withheld from  us,
but because we don’t take what is offered. 
We turn from the stable as empty handed  
as the Magi, desperate for another road home.

There is no other way though, no way to go but through,
where the fear lives, and where we must challenge 
those who want to strike down all that is good 
before it has even begun. 

There is only this:
faith in those frightening dreams 
of angels; hope in the desperate 
faces we turn from on the street 
and in the mirror; joy in the strident 
necessary cries of babies; and love 
in the face of all that seems wrong.

It’s a lot to ask of ourselves, isn’t it, 
to be as brave as the stories we tell? 
But after all, every character was once 
born, like you, and like me, with no idea 
what might happen next.