The First Dark Christmas

I remember the day in Rome,
When Constantine sat enthroned,
And decided once for all,
That Christmas each year should call
For feasting, happiness, and food,
And celebration of all things good.
I was angry with the throne that day,
For I had lived my joy away,
My father killed, my brothers three,
By lions torn apart, and me
Left alone with my only son,
Whom God took away when he was young.
And I asked why laugh upon a day,
When all I love was took away?
What is there to rejoice in me,
Who lost father, son, and brothers three,
Why praise the God we celebrate,
Who promised to take all sin away,
Yet left me here on wretched earth,
Bearing the full weight of death’s curse
Except to die, but dying would,
Be better than no earthly good.
What is there to make me feast,
When men war and there is no peace
Within my heart, when children die,
And mothers weep beneath black skies?
Why should I lift my hands to God,
And think of mangers and stable sod
When my heart is full of sorrow’s weight,
And I sit at earth not heaven’s gate?
Why give gifts or receive them here,
When my heart feels only tears?
Why should I set aside a day,
When Christmas seems so far away?
Why celebrate upon this earth,
When grief did not end at my Savior’s birth?
Why do all others prepare to praise,
When life keeps taking joy away?
I asked these questions to an old man,
Who lost his wife and son and land,
Who sat there, one hand upon his knee,
The other crippled by Roman glee.
He sat and nodded with knowing look,
And a tear glistened; a breath he took:
“You think this day is far from the heart,
Of all who God gave, in the first day, a part?
You think Christ was born in a world of joy,
And people welcomed the virgin’s boy?
You think when angels sang the holy birth,
That night was lifted from this earth?
No, for in that birth there came,
In the midst of darkness, more darkness same.
And shepherds were the first to bend the knee,
Because no light could the others see.
‘No room, no room,’ the city cried,
For the King who had come to die,
Who entered not light and feasting day,
But who entered death to pave the way.
And two years later, Rachel wept,
For her children could not be kept
From tasting death before she died,
And such tears could not be dried.
And the God-son grew to manhood soon,
And still the world said they had no room,
And the one who came to destroy the night,
Could only win by losing the fight,
The heel was bitten by serpent made,
And death and curse on Savior laid.
You think the Lord we celebrate,
Was not close to death, and pain, and hate?
Did not know what it was like to lose,
His friends and weep beside their tombs?
You think he never tasted blood inside,
The mouth that was silent when the people cried
To crucify him who had come to save
Those that sought his life away.
You think Christmas is here because darkness is not?
You’re wrong,” the man said, “That is not
The reason we have this holy day,
But rather because darkness did not go away,
Rather because pain is part of this earth,
And in pain was made the Savior’s birth,
And in tears did Mary see the sword,
That would pierce her heart when it pierced her Lord.
When Rachel wept it was not for joy,
And mother’s cried at the death of their boys.
We celebrate not the beginning of night,
But that because He came, its end is in sight.
Your tears are close to Christmas, Son,
For on that day, the world cried as one.
And that is why this day is here,
This day is for those whose hearts still fear,
Whose souls feel always bound to break,
Whose lives are heavy, who cannot shake
The feeling that this is wrong and who
Know first-hand what death can do.
This day is for those who sadness taste,
Who feel a loneliness they cannot shake,
Who swallow tears and grief and sighs,
And weep in the face of last goodbyes.
This day is for those who know the night,
And feel no joy in morning light.
This day is for those who have lost and lost,
From whom life has demanded every cost.
Christmas is not first for joy, but grief,
For it came to those who in it weep,
For in the dark of a world of sin,
A light, by God, has entered in.
And hope means nothing if it does not stand,
In a despairing, weary land.
But hope there is, and that my Son,
Is why we may sing in a life so long.
We feast this day not to forget the curse,
But to point to its end in the Savior’s birth.
And even in the midst of tears and grief,
We may join, in the dark, the angels and sing,
‘Joy on earth and peace to men,’
Not because it is here but because that’s how this will end.
And when we weep as Rachel wept,
Each tear, we know, God has kept
Account and in a bottle stored,
For the day when tears will be no more.”
The old smiled and the tear fell from his eye,
And he lifted his one hand to the sky,
“Because Christ came you will one day see,
Your father, son, and brothers three.
And I will behold my darling wife,
The day I myself am made a Bride,
And gone will be this dark inside,
And only, always, heaven’s light.
And that light began in the virgin’s womb,
And could not end in our Savior’s tomb,
And though like my Lord I weep at death,
I know it will have its final breath.
And that is why I keep this day,
And grief will not keep me away,
That is why my tears are close,
To the day that my Savior chose
To come the first time, and one day,
He will come again, I say.
And in that day: Christmas again,
A Christmas that will never end.
Will you not remember this year?
For I am not alone in seeing your tears.