There was a strong theme in this service that picked up on the #metoo movement. It seemed odd to be writing a poem as a man. The only legitimate stance seemed to be one of apology. 

Mary I’m sorry, for all that we’ve done
For the ways we’ve betrayed the ways of your son
Mary forgive us, hail Mary of grace
He taught us the cross. We nailed him in place

Mary, you wombed him, but suffered the shame
Of the fingers that pointed, appointing their blame
Unmarried and pregnant, what had she done?
And what could become of an ill-begot son?

Yet angels did herald, while Herod did rage,
At the birth of this child who would birth a new age
Of life over death and of love over law
And blessed the meek, and blessed the poor

And blest those who mourn, and hearts that are pure
The certain in faith and those that aren’t sure
Blessed the children, and right over might
A world revolution…and yet not quite

For he came to bring peace, but still we chose war
To free the oppressed, who we’ve oppressed more
To humble the rich, we’ve put them on thrones
To rush not to judge, we threw the first stones

He mothered his tribe, we gassed them like flies
Welcomed the outcast, yet we still despise
Told us we’re equal (perhaps one or two)
Honoured all women, now it’s hashtag metoo

And yet every Christmas we’re back at this birth 
The carpenter’s lad who had crafted the earth
We’re there in the stable with curious kings
And the gentlest rustle of angelic wings

We shuffle with shepherds, not sure what we see
In the dung and the feed, is this majesty?
And Mary you cradle our hope to your breast
The one who will die, while we will be blessed

Jesus. I’m sorry for all that I’ve done
For the ways I’ve betrayed the ways of the son
And Jesus, each Christmas, looks into my face
And says: “I forgive you. Start over, with grace”