the first coming,
Silently he comes
in the womb of a virgin,
the womb undisturbed, untouched by man.
Patiently he comes
in the strength of her forbearance,
until she delivers her first born son.
Fragilely he comes,
a suckling newborn –
the Incarnation of God.
Tenderly he comes
in the arms of his mother,
needing to be swaddled, nurtured, loved.
He is come
in the awesome quiet of a winter’s night.
He is come…
even in the darkness of a wanting heart…
so quiet, so small, the majesty of the Lord…
© 2015 Christina Chase
I don't call myself a poet — but the beating of my heart is poetry. I don't call myself a theologian — but the light of my mind seeks the Divine. Who I am is a Child of God, a Divine Creation, a person devoted to being fully human, fully alive.