In the quiet,


Unassuming presence

You enter.


Yet invited;


Yet without being called.

Oh great Interrupter,

You who intercept us in the daily humdrum of life.


How is it that this magnificent Magnificence

Comes so quietly?

Surely Your movement is preceded by myriad angels singing,

By the thunder of Heaven!


And yet,


In this forlorn, forgotten room

You draw near.

Quickening the heartbeat of the cosmos,

All ears strain to hear the first sound of Your voice

As you open to me

That I might be opened to You.


A baby’s cry

In a desolate stable,

Your voice touches my soul.

Down the dusty, abused streets of my heart

Your footsteps echo

With the lingering tapping of a cross

As the timpani that matches Your gait –

As if a cane on which You lean as You hobble.


Frailty, thy name is piercéd side,

Holy hands,

The brow that drips the blood of Redemption.


First of the first,

How do You live

Slain before the foundations of the world?


How does that broken voice

Shout freedom

With it’s pitiful, mournful cry as it’s life ebbs away?


You are Great

And you are the Poured-Out One.

My heart cannot contain this, Oh Great Paradox of my soul.

Cleanse me,

Renew me,

Enfold me.

My heart’s army would be overrun

By the gentle touch of this Fragile Son.



  • Steve. Oct 2019