TO BABY JESUS AT CHRISTMAS
TO BABY JESUS AT CHRISTMAS
Ruwantissa Abeyratne
O child, wrapped in straw and silence,
did the stars whisper to You,
of the nails that awaited Your tender hands,
and the thorns that would crown Your brow?
Did the heavens mourn, even as they sang,
knowing the cradle would yield to the cross?
Tell me, O Lamb of the Infinite,
did You know the weight of the world
would bow Your shoulders low?
And if You knew,
would You have stilled the breath in Your mother’s womb,
or turned back the tide of Your birth
to escape the suffering to come?
But here You are, radiant in Your fragility,
unfolding in the arms of a trembling woman,
as if to say, “Yes, I knew.
And still, I came.”
And yet I wonder, O gentle King,
what You see in the birth of another child today—
wrapped not in starlight,
but in the shadows of hunger and strife.
Do You whisper to their small, fragile forms,
“The world may wound you,
but you are its hope”?
For every child bears the same question:
Is life a gift, or a burden?
Is the first cry of breath a blessing,
or a prelude to sorrow?
And what of us, who midwife their arrival—
do we call forth miracles
or more suffering to endure?
O Jesus, child of suffering and salvation,
would You tell us,
is the cradle worth the pain?
Is birth a triumph,
or the first step toward crucifixion?
Yet Your eyes, though still and wordless,
seem to answer:
“Life is not for the unbroken.
It is for the bold,
the dreamers,
the lovers of light who carry it through the night.”
And so, we gather at every manger,
whispering our fragile hallelujahs,
praying that each child born today
may find a star to follow,
a cross to bear with purpose,
and a dawn that heals the night.
