When Heaven Came Close

On Christmas Eve, many of us turn to familiar words to help us slow down and attend to the mystery of the season. Few voices have done that more faithfully than the Victorian poet Christina Rossetti, whose poem "A Christmas Carol" invites readers to linger with the humility and wonder of Christ’s birth.

Rossetti was born in London in 1830 and became one of the most respected poets of the Victorian era. Writing with clarity and theological conviction, she produced poetry shaped by Scripture and an unflinching honesty about human longing. Although Rossetti lived a relatively quiet life, her words traveled far -- into hymnals, church sanctuaries, and homes -- especially at Christmas.

Her poem "A Christmas Carol," written in 1872, does not romanticize the nativity. Instead, it leans into the tension of the season: frozen ground, aching cold, and a world that seems inhospitable to glory. And yet, precisely there, God comes. Not in splendor, but in smallness. Not in triumph, but in tenderness.

Below is Rossetti’s poem in full -- meant to be read slowly, ideally aloud, as a way of preparing the heart for Christmas Eve:

A Christmas Carol

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,

In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;

Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.

In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed

The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,

Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;

Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,

The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,

Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;

But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,

Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

Rossetti ends not with spectacle, but with a question ... and then an answer. What can I give Him? Not wealth. Not status. Not perfection. Simply the heart, offered honestly, as it is.

As Christmas Eve arrives this Wednesday, that invitation remains. The God who accepted a manger still receives hearts -- tired ones, hopeful ones, uncertain ones. No elaborate offering is required. Only attention. Only love. Only presence.