19th December 2019

This morning was our annual work Christmas brunch (best meal for meet ups in my opinion!) It was an utter delight to see some of my colleagues who're on maternity leave and one who has had health issues (as well as those I've seen more recently). I also got to meet three lovely babies. There may have been snuggling. 

The meet up found it's way into my sermon writing this afternoon as I contemplated this Sunday's gospel and it's focus on Mary as well as the Nativity narrative for Midnight Mass. 

The following poem was posted on Facebook this week by Kaitlin Hardy Shelter and has very much been on my mind this afternoon:

sometimes I wonder 

if Mary breastfed Jesus.

if she cried out when he bit her

or if she sobbed when he would not latch.

and sometimes I wonder 

if this is all too vulgar

to ask in a church 

full of men 

without milk stains on their shirts

or coconut oil on their breasts

preaching from pulpits off limits to the Mother of God.

but then i think of feeding Jesus, 

birthing Jesus, 

the expulsion of blood 

and smell of sweat,

the salt of a mother’s tears 

onto the soft head of the Salt of the Earth,

feeling lonely 

and tired

hungry

annoyed

overwhelmed

loving 

and i think,

if the vulgarity of birth is not 

honestly preached 

by men who carry power but not burden,

who carry privilege but not labor,

who carry authority but not submission,

then it should not be preached at all. 

because the real scandal of the Birth of God

lies in the cracked nipples of a 

14 year old 

and not in the sermons of ministers 

who say women

are too delicate 

to lead.