A Holy God enters the cursed,
The King abandons His throne.
The Creator becomes the created,
Elohim with flesh and bone.

A donkey brays a lullabye,
The Savior comes as a babe.
Rest born from a virgin’s labor,
Hope from a distant grave.

A barn becomes a temple,
One stable bursting with grace
Where sinners enter unworthy,
And can kiss God’s infant face.

A manger for a cradle bed,
The Morning Star in the night.
Shepherds become honored guests,
And wise men lose their pride.

A silent night’s concerto forte,
Heaven’s Glory in wrinkled skin.
No world can hold such irony,
No wonder no room in the inn.

photo credit: Natalie Fox