Conceived of virgin, launching life of strife.
In unpretentious setting, You were born.
You claimed to be The Way. The Truth. The Life.
Judged blasphemous, then kinged with crown of thorns.
They say a prophet goes unrecognized
In his or her own town … and this was You.
For there you were, distrusted and despised –
Not warranting the hatred that You drew.
Could they not see Your Father in Your face?
Were they not there to witness healing hands?
Were they not awed by one so full of grace?
Yet all was in accordance with Your plans.
My Jesus, I believe Your every word,
Which, only by Your grace, my ears have heard.
© Marie Elena Good, 2017