In my adult years, “Once in Royal David’s City” has become one of my favorite Christmas songs. Ironic, perhaps, since it focuses on how Jesus was a child just like we are/were, and how He can empathize with us so well because He experienced things so common for many of us. Yet, I never remember learning that song in my own childhood.

I have wondered sometimes what types of childhood sadness Jesus personally understood. Did He break an arm or leg? Was He bullied by other children in His village or even by His siblings (perhaps in connection with His parentage)? Did Joseph or Mary yell at Him in exasperation when they were having a bad day? Did He know food insecurity in lean years? Was He troubled by scary dreams?

Jesus would grow up to become a staunch advocate of children, affirming their value and wellbeing, and declaring that anyone who would dare to harm the littlest of people would face horrible future judgement. He drew children close to bless them, and He loved them beautifully.

I have been thinking a lot recently about the power of empathy that springs from shared and similar experiences, or from a deeper motivation to bless another out of an empathetic understanding. “I haven’t been in your shoes,” one might say in such latter cases, “but if I were in your shoes, I would sure be blessed if someone else would do or say this…”

Then, this past week, I heard a story about a deployed soldier who longs to reach out and bless some orphans in his local community, even as he will be missing Christmas with his loved ones back here at home.

(Again the irony, that I should hear about that soldier during the same week when many celebrate the life of St. Nicholas: a boy who was orphaned from a young age. A boy who would grow up to pour out his wealth, love, energy, and time for so many in his region, but especially for the children. Nicholas knew what it was like to be small, helpless, and sad. He wanted to minister to children and protect them at times when they felt the same way.)

All these combined ponderings led me to write a poem in honor of that soldier and the spirit of the Advent season. I will share it here, and I pray it will bless you.

For the Children

Monktar and Mariam sit near the eastward gate,

Drawing bright stars in the dirt with some sticks.

Brother and sister, they walked from two towns away

After their mother had starved to feed them.

Now the home workers scrape up every bit they can,

Making it stretch so that every kid’s fed…

There is so little to cook in the pot tonight.

Stars dim as these two go, hungry, to bed.

~

At least they will sleep in a safer place now,

And dream of eating.

Perhaps tomorrow.

~

The orphanage sits near a camp full of soldiers.

One of them wakes a bit early, next day.

Uniform straightened, he picks up a box of food,

Carries it quietly through that east gate.

Rising sun graces broad shoulders which bear his gift:

Dense with nutrition and hope for less fear.

Same sun lights a worker’s face as she receives it

And thanks him again for blessing them here.

~

So far from home, with so little of his own,

He smiles and wishes her

A merry Christmas.

~

Christmas has never been just about happiness,

Lavish festivities, spending too much.

Christmas has always been carried on angels’ wings:

Spirit of selflessness embraced by love.

So it goes and it grows: this gift for all the year,

This light of sacrifice piercing the night.

Outside of duty, we hunger and thirst for peace.

Bellies full, now we sit, craving the light.

~

On this day and every day, may the heart of a baby

Beat in us and set a starving world

Free.