and wondered why, why on earth or in heaven
would the good God decide that it would be a wonderful idea
if we no longer understood one another?
That this separation would rid us of the ridiculous notion
that we were like gods unto ourselves, able
to reach into the clouds of glory and heave down
the throne of the Almighty?
But then, to look at it another way,
what if God were saying that as long as we
only talk to those who speak our language
already, who conspire already to affirm that we are
made in the very image of gods, icons and idols,
Halfway through packing for their pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the Temple and its sacrifice, the covenant and its blood, Joseph is distracted by the keening of the child. He had never noticed before how like grief a baby’s cry could be – wailing for the womb, mourning the waters from which it was drawn out and adopted into the world. Half-turning, he would scoop up the infant and cradle him, soothe him from the pain to come; but his mother already has him in her arms, holding him to one breast, whispering secrets.
Halfway through the night, a shepherd shifts uneasily in sleep, dreaming of a terrifying light, a polyphony of voices, but it is only the sheep bleating. They, too, still watch the sky for the return of angels.