A Filthy Portal
A stable, suitable for livestock.
Mud-encrusted hoofs, matted manes, grass entangled wool,
Barnyard stink heavy in the air.
This is a gritty maternity ward,
Dim and dank,
Makeshift and unadorned.
Mud floor christened with blood,
Dampened with amniotic fluid.
Air rank with sweat,
Ringing with the echoes of labored cries
And anxious panting.
A trough for feeding becomes a cradle for the divine.
In our sterile Christmas we inject cuteness where none was present.
These are the props of incarnation revealed,
The entry point for the Son of God, Far removed from satin sheets and room service. He comes through a filthy portal
Into a filthy world
To redeem a filthy people.
I take my place in the queue,
Bringing my own filth to the manger,
Dirty hands and dirty heart.
I am ashamed,
Revolted by my soiled self,
Appalled by what lies in dark corners of my soul.
He is not disturbed.
He was born into this.
This is how he came.
This is why he came.
“She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” Matthew 2:21
Merry Christmas
— Pastor Phil Huber
Inlet Community Church