The Watchman of Dark Christmas Night
The brazier’s glowing coals lit up his eyes.
I asked the watchman as he guarded time:
tell me, watchman, of the truth of Night..
he said: when I had conquered all the tasks of day,
I took night-watching as the sternest test,
to seek the weakness, and to seek the strength
which I might find there in my deepest self..
In darkest night, I lost myself – or so
I thought I had: for every night,
as the third hour after midnight moves
into the fourth hour, there came a time
when all one held as precious to oneself,
all joy and consolation, all the point of life
was taken from me… then I felt
myself an abject, faithless wretch..
for it seemed that even God
is in repose, in that abyss of time..
taking from me, even faith,
and hope, and love itself..
and then one day, I saw in paint –
it could have been by Rembrandt’s guided hand –
the darkness, to be full of light..
more full than day itself..
the light itself, as God, all in repose;
and in the darkness are all things
drawn back into themselves;
so that they may awake at dawn
the fresher; Diadochus, holy man,
who knew dark well, for all his holiness,
and welcomed it… gave it a name:
‘educative desolation’ was his term…
for what mortal man would not become complacent
to think he walked with God both day and night?
At that darkest hour, faith, hope, and loving-kindness
may be withdrawn from human kind; yet,
they cannot die, I learned; they must return..
And no one may tell – as shepherds watch,
and angels fill the skies –
what Mary feels, before her faith and hope
are born as joy and love..
what Mary feels, this night as dark as sin..
what Mary feels, before the holy dawn;
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poem by Michael Shepherd
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