I’ve been thinking about this seed of Yahweh conceived in love,
then planted in the cave of a woman-child,
confined and nurtured in her soft dark womb, nourished with her every heartbeat.
How cells of cell multiplied until he fluttered light,
then stretched and rose like yeast bread in her warm belly
until her body could no longer contain him.
How the walls closed in, contracted, kneaded,
and she expelled him down that painful passage toward the light.
How with gush of blood and water he slid wet into the night
and was laid in a cold stone trough.
Whose hands touched him first, this son of man?
His earthly father’s?
Did his parents count his perfect fingers–the fingers of God himself?
I think about those tiny hands that fisted around their fingers,
that held their hands as he grew,
about those hands that maybe planted seeds in soil, shaped wood, chiseled stone,
hands that touched and healed and held a scroll,
fingers that wrote in dirt.
How one day he, light of lights, staggered down another narrow painful passage,
toward the darkness, pummeled and beaten by hands of others
as his own slivered palms quivered with the weight of a heavy cross.
How he was stretched wide, this bread of life.
How this one whose hands pounded nails to build
accepted pounded nails meant to break Creator by created,
and how his mother’s heart exploded with the pain of it and for the love of him.
I think of how his own limp body could not hold him,
how with gush of blood and water he slipped his earthly life,
and how his mother may have caressed and kissed those blood-stained hands.
I think about this seed of Yahweh, this son of man, planted in a cave of earth,
confined to cold, dark stone
until the tomb could not contain him,
how he stretched and rose, this bread of life,
and how he comes to us still and plants himself in our hearts,
becomes our heartbeat for the love of us.
So our hearts explode with the pain of it and for the love of him.
And we cannot contain him.
Dusted off and reposted from the archives
In the stillness,
I will establish your seed forever and build up your throne to all generations. Selah. ~Psalm 89:4 (NASB)
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