God In Flesh

I don't write poetry.  This may be as close as I've come, possibly even crossing the line. Typically, the incarnation is approached from a historical or theological angle. This is my attempt to come at it from a practical point of view. 

The incarnation.

The all powerful God embracing impotence

A hurricane in a thimble.

The all present God confined to a space

Bethlehem, in a feeding trough.

In this manner

In this place

God arrives, in flesh.

Deity stripped of finery. 

The Desired of all Nations in his birthday suit.

The naked truth.

God undressed. 

It’s a bit awkward, don’t you think. 

All this skin.  

Too much exposure for a holy moment.

No pipe organs or stained glass. 

Rather dust and dung, flies and flesh.

We’ll avert our eyes,

swaddle him quickly,

lay him (modestly) in a manger.

Have we forgetten

That before the babe was wrapped in clothes

He was dripping with amniotic fluid,

Naked as a jay bird.

What if there is an implication in this.

A living parable,

A whisper of truth.

This is a frightening prospect.

If God came naked, so must I.

Stripping myself of self-sufficiency, hypocrisy, pride

 Laying aside the whitewash, the mask, the pretense.

Exposing my true self –

Which from some angles,

under bright light,

is mortifying

And, ironically, life giving

So I swallow hard, and begin unbuttoning.

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