Andrea Sanborn

We didn’t expect you to come this way.

You were supposed to rescue us from our enemies, but instead you rescued us from ourselves.

We expected retribution, but instead you brought healing.

We thought you would bring judgment’s sword, but instead you brought words of kindness. Humility. Love.

You washed our filthy feet.

We didn’t expect you to come this way.

You were supposed to ride in as conqueror, but instead you came as a babe, entrusting yourself to a frightened peasant girl.

We expected lofty words, but instead you spoke of seeds and bread and sheep. You pleaded with us to hear, your voice breaking in sorrow on the mountainside.

We thought you would wear a fine robe and dine with priests, but instead you broke bread with the worst of sinners.

You touched the diseased and the broken, your calloused hands meeting our wounds with tenderness.

You gave us life.

We didn’t expect you to come this way.

To us, in our need and wounds and darkness. To us, in our apathy and indulgence and pride.

But you did.

Hallelujah.