Such an ordinary birth room
With makeshift cattle crib,
Under Caesar’s cruel thumb,
Destined for an earthly tomb,
Saddled with a baby’s bib,
Nourished on an infant’s crumb.

Celebrated by sheep slaves
Surprised by heaven’s choir,
Worshipped by alien mystics
Magi saving you from royal knaves
And other destinies so dire,
Yet to be celebrated in triptychs

In cathedrals throughout the world,
The gold, frankincense, and myrrh
Presaged your certain future glory
That over time would be unfurled
And would men’s hearts stir
To complete your earthly story.

So hidden even now your splendor
Is to human sense and comprehension
That only divine illumination can reveal;
Which leads us mortals to adore
The Child’s redemptive work’s dimension
Feeding us in each Eucharistic meal.

How did the Magi discern this majesty?
When from an unknown place they came
To recognize this untold infant royalty;
They could not know what they would see
Or prophesy Messiah’s future fame,
Setting mortal sinners forever free.

Ordained Servant Online, December 2022.