Jesus was God with skin on in a coat of humanity that he wore to walk the blocks of Brooklyn and to sit beside a dying, wrinkled hand in a home for the lonely. He wore skin to raise the water in the desert for souls long dry. He knew the woman at the well, he needed her to see him to tell her that she was seen.
He wore skin so that they could see the nail scars after he gave every thing his body could give.
He wore skin so that a prostitute who knew well how much she needed forgiveness, could break an alabaster jar and drip the fragrant oils across his hair,his hands and his feet.
He wore skin so that he could wash our feet.
He wore skin so that we could know his tears and his blood as he carried the cross up the hill to the stripping of his skin so that we might live.
He wore skin so that he could kneel beside a beggar on Hollywood Blvd, drive a Humvee in the Middle East, whisper truth into a child who is locked up in a basement “you are precious.”
He wore skin so he could catch a fish open its mouth, and spit out the tax into a hand, Gods hand with skin on, so that he could pay” Caesar what is Caesar’s. ” because it was tax time. Flesh and blood and skin tax time.
Jesus wore skin.
Jesus was God with skin on.
Jesus was God with skin on, skin that cracked in the heat, grew dirty and had to be washed in the river Jordan. Jesus wore skin that other’s crushed in crowds, cut with swords, grabbed with desire. Jesus wore skin like a shield, like a work of art, a bent cosmic manipulation of spirit. Jesus “became flesh and dwelt among us.” So that we could understand him. So that God became something tangible, that could be touched and bruised and crushed, just like the best of us. He defined us, because he became us.