Holy Night, Holy Light

It was a nocturnal birth.

Without darkness
no desperate search for end‐of‐day lodging
no angel visions for sleepy shepherds
no star to guide Magi on their journey.

And for us,
no candles on Christmas Eve.

Which is to say
that it is often in the night‐times of our lives
when holy hope can best be born,
when holy light is most visible, most welcome.

Ken Gibble lives in Camp Hill, Pa.

Posted in: Poetry, Quakers and Christianity

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