Saturday, November 30, 2013

Child in the Background

by Jen Hunt, from the archives

There's a Child in the background
Of this blurred and bumbling race
One who gave your hairs a number
And who keeps the stars in place
He can hear the slurs some call him
(Only never to his face)
Still he’s left the gate wide open
In the kindness of his grace

Day-old skin—not scarred or wrinkled—
Clothes the Keeper of the Gate
Fragile vessel for a
Sinner-Loving Naked Potentate
Looking hard you‘ll find a birthmark
On the inside of his hands
Would you like to hold the
Maker of the Sea and of the Land?

Come and touch the Infant Lowly
Let the Lord of All come in
To those places you’ve been shielding
From the sun and from the wind
Never know just what could happen
When the Son of God stops by
And you meet him in the stable
'Mid the neighing and the flies

Once you start the shedding process
Called an empty pilgrim’s progress
And you’ve felt the first sensations
Of the peeling of the skin
When your heart has grown three sizes
And you’ve changed from the inside
Thank the Child in the Background
who took flesh for you and died

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