This is a God I’ve never counted on before,
one who offers olive branches and palm fronds,
making pilgrimage to earth,
kissing dirty feet and
whispering Pax Christi.
This is the God of Advent:
a birth that makes the whole world sacred,
that makes all of us hold our breath,
and work, and watch to see this:
a God knitted up in infant’s skin,
tired from a long journey,
a God who’s bounced to Bethlehem on a donkey,
who’s come through a birth canal,
who’s overwhelmed by seeing a world through brown human eyes,
who now sleeps, pink mouth open in exhaustion,
slightly panting and a little bit of a snore,
on hay and grass:
a peace offering.
