Or would he,

parting blood and water,

descend into that night?

The Maker becoming man

so that he, the bread of

might hunger.

He, the fountain,

might thirst.

With conquesting armies and terrible might.

With fires and floods and dazzling light.

Would the nations quake with one accord?

Would rulers fall silent beneath his sword?

Would justice be condemned?

Stripped of every garment,

naked,

strung up,

and cursed.

Would he somehow submit to the filth of human birth?

Would that long-awaited word pierce our darkened sky?

The arrival of heaven

in an infant's cry.