“What Herod did then, is still being done by so many present day Herods. This scarred and wounded world is the world into which Jesus was born, the world he came to save, and amongst those brought by his blood through the grave and gate of death and into the bliss of Heaven are those children of Bethlehem who died for his name without ever knowing him.”
So Malcolm Guite introduces his poem on the occasion of the commemoration of the Holy Innocents, the Hebrew children of whom Herod ordered the massacre, in an attempt to do away with a perceived challenger to his power. This poem is found in Guite’s anthology, Waiting on the Word.
REFUGEE
We think of him as safe beneath the steeple,
Or cosy in a crib beside the font,
But he is with a million displaced people
On the long road of weariness and want.
For even as we sing our final carol
His family is up and on that road,
Fleeing the wrath of someone else’s quarrel,
Glancing behind and shouldering their load.
Whilst Herod rages still from his dark tower
Christ clings to Mary, fingers tightly curled,
The lambs are slaughtered by the men of power,
And death squads spread their curse across the world.
But every Herod dies, and comes alone
To stand before the Lamb upon the throne.
-Malcolm Guite
You can read the whole post and hear Fr. Guite reading his poem here: “The Holy Innocents (Refugee)”
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