i look down upon two tired hands, made of flesh and bone.
so small, and so worn.
have worked for my own gain, and washed bottomless basins
over and over...
tending to that which will not last.
building up fortresses to my own kingdom.
marred by rejecting the lowing of a Creator
clapping along to the worship of my own renown an praises.
yet in an instant, behold, the hands so spotted and matted with dirt,
are the same hands that can hold the God of the Universe
born in a humble room
swaddled in a feeding trough
21 inches or so, breathing in and out the very air He spoke into existence.
All Power and All Glory,
wrapped up in skin, that smells the same as my own.
given as the Greatest Gift,
which fits within my very arms,
His head cradled in my hands.
what Love, to come bound by time and growth,
just as we had been.
subjected to the assistance of His own creation,
to hold up His head and feed His hungered cries.
is this the King of the Ages?
not sitting high and aloft, distant,
but entering into the mess and the war of His people.
taking on the sin of humanity 24 hours at a time,
through infancy, toddlerhood all the way until He could fully sympathize.
fully know His kin.
(yes, He welcomed us into His family,
those who rejected the Kindest of all Rulers,
the Humblest of all Kings)
walking until He overcame death.
peering into a newborn's eyes,
knowing He would complete it all.
33 years of perfection. walking blameless.
his hands, growing to touch the infected,
heal the sick, and raise the very dead.
hands to wash the feet of those He called friends,
to carry His cross to a hill upon which they would be pierced -
pierced for the dirty, and the lost, and the sinful.
all GLORY ablaze within this small child.
all BEAUTY raging within a babe.
He is Worthy, to come and finish it once and for all.
hallelujah, Christ was born,
Christ died, and Christ rose again.
hallelujah, Christ shall come again.