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Behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him . . . And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and . . . they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh. (Matthew 2:1-11)
The Wise Man
That the divine can be captured
in human form is a belief common enough.
The Attic deities, overcome with lust, making
themselves man and animal to obtain their end.
The radiant one of our own songs, bearer
of the celestial message, terror of evil spirits.
This child is somehow different. We probe
unceasingly, yet cannot touch
the thing he is—pure God, pure man entwined: must
bow before it wordlessly.
It is a painful thing for those of us
who make our living by explanations
to have no phrases complex or simple enough
to capture what lies before me now:
A tiny child who the signs have clearly shown
possesses a singular destiny, whose eyes
portend great and terrible things, whose smile
encapsulates the light. He comes
to reveal us to ourselves, lead us to power
beyond all expectation,
break open the meaning of ancient dreams,
give us God as never before.
This is all I know.
It is enough.