God does not condescend.
God does not step down, putting on flesh.
God does not stoop to our level.
Incarnation is not demeaning.
It does not bring God down.
God lifts us up.
God steps out, taking off abstraction.
God slips from binding garments.
Incarnation is a cosmic strip tease,
ignoring our blushes and ahems.
Incarnation is God, naked.
This fragile flesh craves life,
suckles and whimpers,
inhales the warm animal smell of a stable
and doesn’t know enough
to wrinkle its nose.
God brushes aside antiseptic theology
and grasps skin with both hands.
In a body meant for touching, hurting, healing,
pleasuring, sleeping, waking, dying—
God becomes the forever in the now
and waits for us to notice.
When we see,
and we call our