A meditation in poem on Luke 2:1-20
It’s strange we gather together on these days
To remember our moment of entering in,
And mark our place against the tide of time
That has been rising and falling
For countless ages before us.
A tide which will one day see the day
When we leave this world and go on.
Both days that are not of our choosing,
But days we face nevertheless,
Some with fear, others with longing, all with finality.
What a wonder then that the Maker of these tides
Would enter in as well, marking His own day of birth,
Beginning His march towards death,
Stepping with the seconds as they beat in rhythm
With the pounding of the tide on shore.
And thinking back to His first day, and the moment before,
He, standing in eternity, hand upon the door
That led into the dimness of our world,
And entering in Himself, wailing as the light and the air
Touched His eyes and skin for the first time.
Words cannot retell the mystery of that day,
When divinity met with humanity in an embrace
That none can understand or explain,
But only marvel at the deed, and say with the host,
“Glory to God in the highest!”
It must have been strange for Him to lie
That first night in a bed made of straw,
And as He turned His head to the side,
Sharp corners lightly pricked His brow,
Telling of the crown He would wear His last day;
The day His birth would be mourned
As a day that should never have been;
This life that was so full of promise,
Seems wasted on a Roman cross,
Because we did not understand.
But now we know, Good King,
Why you entered in that first day,
To become like us, and live, and die,
In our place, sinless as you were, but as our sin,
So we could become like you.
And we remember the gifts of the Magi,
Brought to prepare you for life and death,
But I am not as wise as they, and I have no gift
Suitable for a King who owns the world and all within it,
So I give myself, feeble, weak, half-hearted, but glad.
Happy Birthday, King Jesus!