Immanuel

Immanuel
By Paul Thomas Thigpen

He said a Guest was coming
so we swept the temple bare,
compiled our sacrifice reports
and memorized each prayer.

But while we tidied up the altar,
dusted off the pews,
a sound came from the city streets
to smash our stained-glass views:

No hymn or mighty chorus
but an Infant’s startled cry
and the simple, homely comfort
of a mother’s lullaby.

Immanuel!
A priest, we could anticipate;
a prophet, we might tolerate;
philosopher, evaluate;
a prince, we could applaud.

But who had thought to see the day
when Potter climbed inside His clay,
when Monarch in a manger lay,
when Heaven walked the sod?

Immanuel!
You send us running home again
to wash our windows clean,
to sweep our floors and open doors,
to break the tired routine.

You drive us to the streets and squares
to glimpse you passing by.
You beckon us to follow there—
and wait for our reply.