by Alexandra Rutkowski

“Word made flesh. No shortage of words in our world, God. Seems like everyone has an anonymous comment to add. But your Word, God, not letters or syllables or syntax, but you, speaking yourself into the world, your will, your voice, your vision. Our fountain of words only obscure your one. We don’t much like your Word, it lacks the irony and detachment we crave. It says just: do justice, love mercy, walk humbly. It says just: I love you just as you are, whoever you are. And so, since we didn’t like your Word, you tricked us. You hid the Word inside a person, and you snuck him into the world. But you slipped him past our fear and our suspicion, with little fanfare, and lots of mis-direction, in a tiny body, in an almost inaudible infant cry. Your Word should be like an earthquake, a fire, or storm, a sharp shake of the foundations, a flash, a crash, a shockwave. If all this could happen, O God, then you could be, and are, anywhere, everywhere, waiting to be born this night in the most unbelievable places. Perhaps even in our hearts.”

-Ian Oliver, former Bucknell Chaplain

Advertisements