I wrote this a few years ago as I reflected on the scene of the nativity. To think of God himself, come to Earth as a tiny newborn babe, with the weight of all the world’s sin upon him. To think of that little, perfect body that one day would be spent and scarred and ruined for the sake of people who defied him. TO think that he would choose to lay down his glory and power to become the humble son of a carpenter, and then refuse to take hold of that power even in order to escape a torturous and gruesome death on the Roman cross. It is just beyond comprehension… but I suppose I should let my little rhyme speak for itself.
Behold the child Christ at rest,
Whose hands and feet yet whole,
Will one day bear the mark of sin,
To save my wretched soul.
Behold his yet unblemished brow,
The promised king just born,
It’s there he’ll bear the royal crown,
But first a crown of thorns.
This infant palm that man will pierce,
So filled with rebel pride,
That man will flog his maker, God,
And hang him there to die.
Behold the son of God who’s power,
Yet hid in swaddling cloth,
Shall reveal himself the Lord,
who heaven and nature rot.
And yet his power he will not use,
To save himself from pain,
but bow to the father’s will,
For broken sinner’s gain.
Rejoice oh darkness dwellers,
For now has come the light,
This lamb of God was slain for us,
To make our sin-stain white.
Enemies of God we were,
And slaves to evil deeds,
But christ has one us to himself,
And set his people free.
This infant king will grow to be,
Redeemer, friend, and guide,
And rule in us with grace and power,
Man nevermore to die.