November 10–16 ❘ A Man Like Ourselves

Nov 10

A Man Like Ourselves

If Jesus had no form or beauty
for me to desire—if he had
imperfect teeth and a wide-
gapped, crooked smile,

if he were plain, slight,
or bald, with a freckled
complexion, sunburnt nose,
and distinguishing mole—

he’d still have ears and eyes and limbs,
laugh lines and forehead wrinkles,
skin that’s bled and healed,
scars inside and out.

If he met me at the front gate
with a face I’d mistake for the porter,
it would only seem more natural for him
to unburden me of baggage

and walk with me to the door
asking after family,
how was my trip,
would I like a bite to eat.

If his appearance were as common
as dandelions in summer,
as unremarkable as clean linens hung
fluttering in the yard to dry,

he’d still be more than just like me,
with an understanding
that vivisects hearts
and love that knits them new again.

November 3–9 ❘ Linked