Faces of Christmas

Winter_night Christmas-tree-happy-holidays Christmas candlelight service

I wonder if the people who made my Christmas presents see what I see on Christmas Eve?
The adults? The children?
Do they feel the sharp cold of air fill their lungs as they troop outside for a walk in the woods?
Do they blow circles of warm breath into the night as they watch the moon brighten the deep snow or try to catch snowflakes on their tongues?
I would suppose not.
If they feel cold, it would not be by choice.
Held in the chilly places of the world, or the overly hot and stuffy,
they are kept hidden and shelved away…
… like the toys they produce, the decorations they make, the people they gratify
again and again

and again.

Do see they the little dreamy lights that I saw as a child?

Pulling blankets off of my bed, I would sneak down to the larger-than-life Christmas tree,festooned with paper chains, handmade decorations and those silent, sweet little lights.I would lay beside it and watch the colourful shadows play on the walls and ceiling,

whispering in the corners,
making spindly tree branch shapes against the shelves.
Such a magical place for a child… so full of wonder… stillness… and silence.
If these people,
the adults and the children,
experience silence,
it is the silence of isolation and desolation.
Taken from family and home, there is no light to bring hope,
no fairytale world to delight in,
their very own voices muted in fear for their very lives.

Don't talk… don't tell… silence.

When they see candles (if they see candles), do they see what I see: merry, glad people lighting one another's precious lights between the pews, holding our collective shining high?

Hearing the breathless tale of Mary,cold and dirty, delivering the Hope of the World into the world…

…the Suffering Servant…
who will one day redeem us all pulsating at our souls, filling our spirits with hope once again.
One by one as we pass the flame to one another,
once again our hearts are renewed and the glow of candlelight
illuminates the blanket of snow outside.
The serenity of reflection sends us home…
…back to the tiny, peaceful Christmas lights…
… through the wonder of snow…
I don't suppose those people,
adults and children,
think of those things when they see a candle.

I wonder if they even celebrate Christmas?

Is it even a day to them?

Does it sadden them to be far from home during the Mass of Christ?
Or have they even heard of Christmas,
and are just put to work to make OUR Christmas?

I wonder.

The words stick in my throat.

These people,
adults and children,

have 'made' Christmas for me — the lights, the toys and treasures.

The moon… the stars overwhelming above… the snow chilling me from beneath…

those be creations of God denied those imprisoned.

Such a sweet innocence to Christmas.

Such a poison.

Such a threat.

Oh Christ of the Wounds,
Christ of the Scars,

obliterate the first
and make free the second for one and all.
The tiny treasures made by tiny hands,
halt the travesty and free their fingers!
Let their hands lift towards the Christmas sky,
the moon,
the stars,
the snow.
And if Christmas hasn't come to the millions of people
the adults and the children,


Keep it away.

They need not lights or candles or snow.

They need You.


Slave child Moldova-Little-Girl-Orphan Sudanese slave child 

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