Infant King.

The mouth that breathed the stars into the night now mingles breath with cow and ass.


How is it that this Child King places Himself in such a position that I must crouch down to enter its darkness and look down at Him? Look down at this King, snuggled amidst the winding cloths in the animals' feed?

You are always hidden in the most ordinary ordinariness, among the lowest and the least, reaching through accidents unworthy of You - elevating every low thing and humbling the self-elevated. Unless we are willing to bow our heads to enter the low entryway, we will not find You. Unless we turn our prideful heads downward, we may miss You altogether. You share the cave's air with simple beasts, and the shepherds and kings (truly wise men, to see beyond appearances) are not loathe to enter and praise You in the dim light.

"For unto us a child is born. Unto us a son is given."

A baby. No one fears a baby, except the madmen.

A baby, unseen, unknown, hidden in a cave. Love Incarnate is helpless and unthreathening.

Come, let us adore Him.