I. when He was ready
to exit Mary’s contracting body, covered
in blood and amniotic fluid. Word piercing
realms in flesh. Divinity shaped into a man,
emptied but full of veins and nerves and cells.
His infant cry like silver bells announcing
redemption set in motion.
II. with thorns that punctured the same infant head
that once rested on the nook of Mary’s neck.
And as His temple bled, the new temple began
opening its doors. Human hearts now making room
to become His home. Hanging on wood that cradled
Him before, letting out a final sorrowful cry—
tetelestai—redemption secured.
III. in glory, feet dripping with wine, like blood,
freshly pressed. A myriad of angels, as many as filled the sky
on the night of his birth, march behind. Crying out that song sung
centuries ago, in unison, glory to God in the highest. The Son has come
to judge the wicked. And the righteous shall see their hope
come alive. Before all of history’s blinking eyes,
His victory procession will suffice to render redemption complete.