Poetry

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Before the mountains were lifted,
before the prophets cried in the night,
You were clothed in unapproachable light—
yet You chose the garment of flesh.

Isaiah’s voice trembled with promise,
Micah whispered of Bethlehem’s fields,
a virgin would cradle the Infinite,
and God would dwell with us.

Immanuel—
not a dream, not a symbol,
but the Holy One walking our dust,
the Eternal bending low,
the Word made fragile breath.

O mystery of love:
Majesty emptied,
Glory veiled,
yet never diminished—
for in Your lowering,
the height of heaven was revealed.

And we,
sin‑worn and waiting,
behold the Child,
the Servant,
the Lamb,
the King—
all prophecy fulfilled,
all hope embodied,
all wonder gathered
in the kenosis of Christ.






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