Sandals upon His feet,
sand between His toes.
A seamless garment is His cloak,
still damp from the tears of the sinful woman.
His unkept hair, blown in the storm last night.
A face burnt by the wind and sun.
eyes tired from little sleep.
His legs are like rubber
walking such a long way,
seeking to find a lonely place,
away from the crowds
longing to converse with the Father.
So Human,
yet so hard to hide His Divinity.
He is discovered by the multitude,
longing to hear the words of the Word.
A voice hoarse from endless preaching,
proclaims to proud souls
the kingdom of the meek.
His eyes light up, his hands gesticulate.
The peasants come forward
to see that mysterious face,
The image of the invisible God.
They lean closer to hear the blessed voice,
that spoke them each into being.
He is Creature.
He is Creator.
He is coming to save creation.
So human,
Yet so hard to hide His Divinity
A bold one approaches
to touch the prophet's cloak.
Her fingers brush along such ordinary fibers.
Her affliction is lifted, her heart is healed.
The Healer can hear the shouts of joy within her,
despite the roar and pushing
of the boisterous crowd.
He turns to affirm her faith.
His lips form a smile, His dimples are revealed,
He gazes upon this daughter of Abraham,
a star in the desert sky
so dim that only he can see.
O so human,
yet so hard to hide His Divinity.
By the power of His spit he heals men's eyes.
The beggar's vision is restored.
He looks up into those omniscient eyes,
gazing within the depths of his soul.
He sees a vacancy, that he longs to fill with Himself.
And they embrace,
so tightly.
the perspiration from the carpenter's cloak
dampens the beggar's chest.
Cradled by the hands
that hold the moon and sun in place.
His soul as still as a baby in it's mother's arms.
O so human,
Yet so hard to hide His Divinity.
They bring the children to Him.
Despite the disciples' disapproval.
He invites them to climb upon His lap,
announcing His delight with laughter.
The lips that conversed with Moses and Elijah,
now speak softly to the youngest of babes.
And he draws them each close to his ear,
that he may hear their perfect praise.
And his beard tickles their cheeks,
their hearts so pure, ready for the king's reign.
O so human,
Yet so hard to hide His Divinity.
He's not afraid to walk among the outcasts,
and to touch their revolting skin.
His sacred hands, clean of sin
are stained with the pus of the leper's sores.
He touches
not only their deformities,
but their hearts as well.
Turning both to flesh again.
He kisses each upon the forehead,
Only one will return to kiss Him again.
He watches them leave,
holding back tears.
Seeing only their backs,
longing to look upon the faces
that He formed in His image.
Disfigured no longer by disease, but by their sins.
O so Human,
Yet so hard to hide His Divinity.
While praying in Gethsemane,
He'd rather nap at Peter's feet,
than drink the Father's cup.
Yet His eyes stay open all night long,
and He gives His assent,
hard as it is,
Full of fear and anxiety.
Blood and sweat pour down His face,
abandoned by men,
comforted by angels.
Betrayed by a familiar face,
abandoned by His closest friends.
Arrested in the midst of prayer.
O so Human,
yet so hard to hide His Divinity.
He who made Pilate King,
now listens to his orders.
And He who delivered the Law to Moses,
is by the law condemned.
He begins the perilous journey,
wooden splinters already stuck in His hand.
He who carried the Israelites across the desert,
can barely lift this stick He has made.
He stumbles, gnashing His knees on the gravel.
He didn't need help creating the world,
but needs a hand to carry His cross.
Oh so Human,
Yet so hard to hide His Divinity.
He who clothed the world with life,
is stripped naked.
Every hair on His chest stands on end.
He still holds us in the palm of His hands,
even as they are nailed to the tree.
From this perch He gives us His mother,
she who first gave Him to us.
The lungs that breathed life into Adam
now gasp for air.
His chest collapses,
He forgives His captors,
knowing they are captive themselves,
ignorant of the Truth that would set them free.
With a loud cry He gives up His spirit.
His pain echoes in every ear.
This gibbet of death, is now the tree of life.
Even the centurion can see.
O so Human,
Yet so hard to hide His divinity.
This man who never knew any rest,
sleeps for three days straight.
And the hands that could barely lift up the cross,
roll the giant stone away.
He walks disguised, among the crowds
who in latter days he healed.
He goes to meet His closest friends,
hiding in fear and failure,
ready to fish again.
And it's in the breaking of the bread,
that they see the familiar face.
No longer worn by the winds of time
but radiant in eternal grace.
They reach and touch those sacred wounds,
and run their fingers along those liberating scars.
He speaks to them one last promise,
that he will never leave.
And breathes upon them, His very Spirit,
a comforter until the last days.
They are each astounded to see this man alive.
Too wondrous to believe.
Too real to deny.
Only Thomas has the boldness to doubt.
Only He has the courage to say:
"My Lord and My God"
O so human,
Yet so hard to hide His Divinity.
This poem was written in order to express the mystery of God's union with a human nature.
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