I cried out to You: Come, O Jesus. So You came, and You let me down.
I imagined You coming from heaven upon the clouds (Acts 11:1), a judge and arbiter, judging and waging war in righteousness, with eyes of flaming fire and a whip of fire in Your hand, clothed in a robe dipped in vengeance, with the armies of heaven following You (Rev 11:19), coming with an earthquake, wrath, and thunder, so that kings, great men, the rich, princes, and the mighty would tremble and rush to hide from the face of Your wrath.
But You, O God, let me down.
I used to say to my enemies: God will requite you with fire and cast you into the lake of brimstone, and bind you in darkness. I would say to those who revile me: my God will come, and cast you there where the worm does not die. And I waited for You to restore my dignity and my honor, to take my vengeance, to calm my fire, and to give me back my peace — because I left vengeance to You, O God.
But You let me down and confounded me; so how shall I trust the eye of my heart?
You have returned — but You returned as a child, O God! You returned as a child! Once again! I nearly go mad at the wonder of Your dispensation.
I longed to throw myself into Your embrace to weep out my pain, but I found You lying in the embrace of Mary; and that You would wrap me in Your robe, but I met You wrapped in swaddling cloths (Lk 7:2) like one dead; and that I would appear before the throne of Your justice, but I met You laid in a manger. I imagined in Your hand the cup of the wine of wrath or the whip of justice, but Your hand was trembling from cold.
Once again! A child, O God?
I always waited to hide behind Your throne; so how shall I now hide behind a manger?
I came to You fleeing, that You might spread a table before me in the presence of all who hate me (Ps 5:23), but I found them fleeing with You from the face of the accursed Herod. O You, a child in a manger! And once again on the back of a donkey to Egypt (Mt 13:2)! We have become fugitives together, O God. What shall I do? After I came to take refuge in You, I now protect You and flee in You, to escape from those who seek the child’s life (Mt 13:2). And my concern became that You escape, O God.
You have exchanged our roles: man protects his Creator. To whom then shall one pray, that he may protect You both? And You entrust Your very self to him — in the beginning he was not entrusted with Paradise, and on earth a man guards You and flees in You, and then I flee on a donkey? I nearly go mad, O God.
I thought You would be — O child in a manger — but You were what You willed, not what I imagined. And what use is my imagining now? Avail me with Your certainty, O God, lest I go mad.
You said: “Unless you turn and become like children, you will not inherit the kingdom of the heavens.” So You were the firstfruits of those who returned; Your horse was revealed as a donkey, Your army as Mary and Joseph, and Your throne as a manger. And I am bewildered in myself and in You.
Should I wait for You to grow up and avenge me, so that my waiting in You is disappointed, and those who sought Your life as a child crucify You, and I remain waiting for You between one coming and another, and then You return as a child for a third time?
My concern became that You escape from the face of Herod, for You are salvation and I am perdition. And I follow You, becoming Your disciple, and carry my cross with You, and am crucified with You, and rise with You, so You save me. Then You return as a child, this time to save those who seek my life — me. And You remain in wandering between a cave and a cross, that You may release us into the transfiguration of the resurrection, while You settle into the experience of pain to save everyone. We taste the glory of the resurrection, while You remain nailed to the cross, tasting pain forever — because of us.
O God, how deep is Your love and Your humility, that You should become a child for my sake, and hand over Your very self to Mary, and entrust Joseph to protect You from the sword of men! How did You endure the hardship of childhood, O God, and the pains of fleeing from the face of a creature whose face You came to illumine? How did You bear to be a child in a cave, and to weep in the garden while You are God, and accept to be crucified for the face of Your murderer?
How do we grasp the secret of the thousand “hows”?
Your secret, O Jesus, is that You are a free God of great majesty: You decided, and You created; and when You created, You declared — because of us — that You are the God who suffers forever, ever present in our world, in wandering, between birth and crucifixion, between flight and arrest, between cave and tomb, seeking us. And You shall remain the born and the crucified One in the world of pain, and even after the end of the world You shall remain, because You denied Yourself — the God crucified forever, weeping over those who are not saved, O God.
You are a God of pain, of freedom, of love, of passion, of rapture — our God, wounded forever.
And I? … I nearly go mad from the abundance of Your love, O God.