‘Hail, space for the uncontained God’
          From the Agathistos Hymn, 6th century

The common womb of Mary
became “the home of God”,
Creator fitting into
the woman he had made,
uncontained God taking root
in a maid whose womb was filled
without the touch of man,
the seed inside somehow Spirit,
to come forth as Jesse’s Shoot.
The very fruit
of her womb
was Very God.
And she would nurse
at her breast
the Hope of Nations,
who came from God’s heavens
into the New Eve’s womb,
to wrest us from the curse.

​You came afar to this place,
from unseen to sight,
from worship to scorn
from pure light to dark.
“That’s where I want to go,”
you must have told the Father,
for You, the very God-Self,
made your way to this infected sphere
in which few expected you
and none bid you come,
for we fear a God too near.
​
In your train trailed bits of yourself:
grace, mercy, hope,
endless springs of love.
And, in your return
to joy-filled Heaven,
in your train are grateful souls.

​Sing ye, womb of Mary:
the capacious God
who contains all things
has formed into flesh
within your confines.
Your Yes to an angel’s word
brought forth God’s Word,
God unborn, then first-born,
the very Yes of God.

Sing ye, red-stained straw,
debris of common grass
cast into troughs
as feed for beasts.
You throw-aways became
a soft bed for the babe
to drop from the womb
and to know, “I am here!”

Sing ye, stable walls.
You recite forever
the mother’s birth-screams,
the baby’s howls,
the father’s tears.
A birth-place is a noisy
place, even for God.

          We sing with joy this night
          to welcome God’s Delight.
          ​Come all, come all,
          ​Come to his light.

I feared I would live alone,
unsoftened by a woman’s love.
Then she sang her song
into my crusted heart.
How could one so young and kind
love me, a man of hardened hands?
I imagined our days ahead:
marriage, daughters as fair as she,
sons to be workers of wood like me.
Only you, God, could work
such a wonder of love,
to wrap she and I
together for life.
I thanked you, God, every time
I looked into her eyes.

Then the unthinkable – pregnant!
How can this be?
The one I trusted is with child.
And her story!
That it was you who touched her womb;
that you are the life-giver
of her first-born, not me.
I, her betrothed, wasn’t needed.
I wasn’t needed to give her
our first-born child.
You and she have shamed me.
​
And now your Angel?
“Don’t be afraid to marry her,” he said.
God, wasn’t it enough
that I was betrayed?
That she made me an old fool?
Wasn’t it enough
for me to put her aside
and give her up without punishing her?
Now you ask too much of me.
Do you always give a gift in one hand
and a trial in the other?
I’ll take the gift of loving her as wife,
and I will do so with all my heart.
Help me to be as strong-hearted
with my Son,
the Son you’ve given us.

Light stretches,
rolling out across the land,
warming the face of the earth,
raising a gentle breeze,
soft upon our skin.

Robin and rooster proclaim the morning,
stirring us
to joy of day.

A glow shines
from the heart of the garden,
drawing,
summoning,
growing in
radiant splendor
until it outshines the risen sun, and
the whole garden blazes with glory.
Our heart leaps.

For You come,
descending in all Your fullness.
Sand melts to
sapphire glass
beneath Your feet.

The host heaven assembles all around.
Your voice rushes through the garden
a thundering waterfall:
​
          “I take the earth to be My kingdom,
          the image bearer to be the steward of my rule.
          I set my throne in Eden,
          the place of my rest.”

A chorus rises all around,
as all the host of heaven proclaim:

          “Holy, holy, holy is the Eternal One,
          Yahweh Almighty!
          The whole earth is full of Your glory!”

We bow in the dust of the earth,
face to clay:

          “You have created all things.
          Worthy, worthy, worthy is our God and King
          to receive all worship,
          for in You we live and
                    move and
                              have our being.”

Your voice pours over us,
a rushing stream:

“Rise, my child, image-bearer.”

We rise and look You full in the face.
Your face!
Radiant beauty from which all others echo.
Eyes that see straight to the depths of our soul.
Ears that hear the faintest whispers of our heart.
Mouth that speaks mountains,
subdues seas,
kindles stars,
and anoints us
bearers of that image.

Rapt we stand,
a moment, a day, a thousand years,
who can say?
Glory inexhaustible--
what time could suffice to behold it?
Before You, a diamond of infinite facets
would hold no allure.

You speak:

          “Be fruitful and multiply!
          Fill the earth and subdue it.
          For My kingdom is your kingdom,
          My rule, your rule.
          Where you dwell, I will dwell,
          and in Me you will find your rest
          ​as you carry out My rule on the earth.”