I stand again before the Nativity, pondering:

On the left, the shepherds:

    Why us?

    Why this blast of angel joy
        in this forsaken field?
    Why not a gathering of rabbis?
        the Roman counsel?
    a gaggle of gladiators?

    Why us?

    We, the low men on the social totem pole,
        smelly and undesirable,
        necessary, but not someone you'd want marrying your daughter.
    Think of those in your day
        who do the most menial of tasks–
        that's us.

    So again, why us?

In the middle, Mary:

    Why me?

    Seriously, why me, a girl, a teenage girl?
    I have no theological training,
        little life experience.
    Miraculous birth? Then why not an elder, wise, sage, and respected.
    How about someone who's proven her leadership?

    Why me?

    Small me.

    Why me?

To the right, the wisemen:

    Why us?

    We live so far very away,
        a difficult journey,
        we of diverse backgrounds,
        strange companions, thrown together.
    Why this celestial event that only we could see,
        we the magi, astrologers, neither Jews, Greeks, nor Romans?

    Why us?

    We are foreigners, strangers here.
    We are men of very different faith.

    Why us?

And standing opposite, me:

    Why me?

    Smelly me.
    Small me.
    Stranger me.

    Why me?

Text and image © 2022 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.