LAST TO ARRIVE

Shall we take our place at the continuing gathering 'round the Babe of Bethlehem?

At the end of the Christmas season and on the eve of Epiphany (January 6, which marks the visit of the Magi and God's light to all people), I think about the continuing, unusual draw of unlikely people to an unlikely place in the heart—Bethlehem—and I offer the following poem:

First, census-responding throngs

swell the local populace,

burgeoning homes and hostels

with not-so-welcome guests.

Then, a man and pregnant young woman

arrive, seeking vainly for a room.

Bedding down in a stable,

their boy is born among livestock.

Later in the night, gnarled shepherds

traipse in, finding their way

to the mangered newborn,

just as an angel had told them.

How much later we do not know, Magi

come with gracious gifts,

following a star that draws them

from beyond any traceable map.

And later still, from the four corners

of earth and time, we make our trek.

Are we the last to arrive

at the gathering in Bethlehem?

Years from now, until the end of ages,

more will be drawn and find the One

whose birth angels once proclaimed

and so shall forevermore.