How He Entered

“…a son, a male child, who will rule all nations with an iron scepter.”   -Revelation 12:5

He entered, not a barn, not a hay-filled nursery,
but a galaxy, a kingdom groaning for his rule.

He arrived, not from a young woman, trembling
and homeless, but a queen enthroned in stars.

We saw him, one fleshy hand raised in reflex,
as if in his infancy, we might grasp deliverance.

He was found, not in David’s town, not in swaddling
cloths, an unknown child wiggling in straw,

but as a hero in royal thread, a sorcerer,
whose tap of scepter sends the dragon scurrying in fear.

He came, not to angelic song above hills of sheep,
not to glittering starlight that drew kings,

but to a symphony in which treble clefs are undone,
in which the blaze of fire melts the physical to gold.

He came, not to silence, not to bowing camels,
not to carolers in moonlight, not to candles,

not to peace, not to our praises, our prayers, our holy.
He came not to power, not to battle, not to shouts of glory.

He came in weakness, in furious rule, a God in infancy.
He came. Receive the mystery.

© Micha Boyett Hohorst, 2010. All rights reserved. Please do not reprint or post without attribution. These poems are available at byfor.org.

This is the last poem in a series of five Advent poems I wrote for John Knox Presbyterian Church in Seattle. See the first poem here, the second here, the third here, and the fourth here.