nothing in his appearance that would make us desire him

Ever wonder if the disciples dealt with
the juxtaposition of God long imagined,
now physically manifest before them,
and so much … what? … less?

So particular, in any case.
The word made flesh,

and not as physical perfection—

not (at least as I image Jesus)—
some Greek image of the divine
as the ideal of the human figure—
the epitome of, in this case, masculinity,

in sculpted marble—

hard, unforgiving,
eternally unchanging,

but flesh—
strong maybe, not hard,
forgiving to the point of
bruising, tearing—
dirty, sweaty, smelly,

and yet as the epitome of a way of being—
for which looks matter not a whit.

So I imagine disciples
periodically just staring,
lost in thought (and wonder?)
at Jesus’ profile,
or at one particular feature—
his nose, his eyes—the shape of them,
the angle of his forehead
or of the skin under his jaw back to his neck,
the hair from his ears or on the back of his neck—
just staring and marveling.

“Not what I would have pictured.
How can this be … God?”

A good question for us all to consider,
in our culture obsessed as it is
with particular characteristics
of height, weight, and proportion—
a good question for us all to consider
contemplating any features, yes?

All features.


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