By myself, I bend away from adoring the God-man. The enfleshing of the Creator is a splendid offense, and doesn’t envelop my world as it should. His love was pitching his tent among the ruins of our home and the shambles of my heart. Now, to do the same: to embody him to those also yearning and those still distant.
A strange grace invaded
this marvelously ruined city.
Highest glory is with us,
the God-man, breathing our
Sin-poisoned air and loving the
stumbling, the simple, all who
Dare not lift their eyes.
Our fathers coveted the sight.
Fainting hearts running to the child
whose blood would mercy-seat
Us to the King. [we hated but who yearns
Enfleshed, God inhabits darkness, tastes
Need. Temptation will be no stranger
to the forever firstborn, entering
Time to be the Fulfiller of wallowing
humanity. To hush the
Stubborn, bring near what we distanced.
The Branch, stooping lower than
Eyes were anticipating,
obeyed, [never scorning]
delivered, [idol-bound exiles]