Christmas come close in a child’s crumpled face, to the ragged and raw in a harsh birthing place, in a surging of joy, in a bundle held tight, in a breath, in a cry through the dark of the night. Christmas come close to the place where we are, in our longing for peace, for a sign, for a star, for a certainty born in uncertainty’s space, for a mystery grasped that our blindness can trace. Christmas come close to the world that is bleak, giving hope a new home, making prophecy speak: so the angels will sing, and the wise will be heard, and the powers will take heed of this child and his word. Christmas come close into focus and frame, to humanity’s heart for the child to make claim: for the poor to be served, for the rich to kneel low, for Magnificat now in the Christmas we know.