Open-form poem
Flesh exists because God asked a question. Not a trivial one, not a motiveless one, but one for whose sake every other question was born. What is the worth of being God if the cost is death in a body that bruises, breaks, bleeds, and hangs between two thieves? Value cannot stay abstract. It must be tested. So the world became an arena and flesh became the place where the contest plays out. Suffering was never a mistake. It was the revelation of value, the place where worth stands exposed and nothing hides behind light. Humanity gave up. We always do. No man ever carried God’s identity with the weight God himself carried it. We dropped the glory. We hide ourselves in shame. But God did not. He could not or be not God If He is the Publisher of His own identity, the Word must take on the very thing that questions it: skin, bone, hunger, pain. The word for this is Incarnation. The old stories were only drafts, ink drying on pages waiting for the full answer. Every sacrifice, every prophet’s cry, every law carved into stone was the pre-publication of the final revelation. And then the Answer walked among us. He is the Last Publication, the Full Expression, the Final Word that puts every question into its place. Once this is understood, suffering stops being pointless. It becomes the stage where the Cross makes sense, where value proves itself in torn flesh and a love that stands its ground Jesus is the reason for bodies at all, for blood that carries truth, for a world where value must be shown and not simply said. And He showed it with His own life.
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