Would you, Christ, come alive to me?
May the Word become Life,
May the bareness of its bones
Be wrapt in the flesh of man;
Take on the breath of God for me;
That I might know your reality—
For you walked down dusty streets,You grew thirsty, drank, swallowed,
Walked barefoot, perhaps, along the beaches
Of Gallilee, hungered, sweated,
Spoke into the pressing crowds
Beneath the beating summer sun.
Your feet must have blistered and bled,
Ached and cried for relief on the many
journeys along Roman roads, and maybe
You got seasick as a boy, first time
On a boat. May I know you like that—
One who was real, who slept, ate, worked, smiled,
Who sought companions, who suffered, bled,
I would have you be more than
words to me—I would know you,
hear your words from the throat
Of a man I know as real.
Grant me, O God, eyes to see
such a man as him—
The Son of God and
Son of Man.
Be real to me.