He’s coming in the flesh,
To mesh His perfect being with our imperfection, seeing
What it’s like to be down here and dirty,
The hurt He’ll experience as well as the glory,
Inserting Himself into our blood and bone story,
As a baby He came, given a name that speaks volumes,
Will open eyes and ears and lips and free hearts from their cold tombs
No wombs defiled, not just another screaming child,
Emmanuel comes and flesh with God is reconciled.
As we wait to celebrate again that sweet refrain of glory on high,
We try to make a home within,
A stable manger stranger than the one they found Him in,
A place where we too can taste how good the Lord has been,
And in that dark, dank hole inside,
Where we hide the worst of ourselves,
Shelve the hard to face, in delves grace,
And says I’ll make this His place,
A lonely stable, dirty and forgotten
Transformed by the arrival of God’s only son begotten.
Not made to understand the scale of God’s design,
We wait and watch for every sign,
But from bang of light to Zion’s final flight,
At his right hand it passes in an instant,
To us who stand instead down here,
Unimaginably distant.
But he will come again in glory,
To write the final chapter of our blood and bone borne story,
And as we wait for crafted crib to be refilled,
We are stilled
By His past gone before
By His presence here within
By our promised life with Him.
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