Imanuel Reedy

Not you, son of Joseph and Mary,
The carpenter's son, the ax at the root of the tree;
Not you, Jesus of Nazareth,
The wonder worker, and healer of the blind;
Not you, the offspring of David,
Preaching sedition against Cæsar;
Not you the King of the Jews,
Restorer of the throne, the power of Israel;
Not you the consolation of Judah,
The mediator, the propitiation, the judge, the rabbi;
Not you, the stone of stumbling, the head of the church;
Not you, whose words and works
Are the substance of customs and creeds,
And that law which you uprooted, but which grew again;
Nor even you the friend of publicans and harlots,
The feaster, the liver, the sweet companion;
Nor even you the first fruits of them that are asleep—
But you, the son of God, the man of sorrows,
The vine and the witness
Of youth's swift dream, and manhood's lingering pain,
And faith whose root is dead but lives again;
You the symbol of immemorial betrayal.
The agony fulfilled, the occult sacrifice;
You, the High Priest of the Greater Mysteries,
Of birth and death and life renewed,
Ritualist of the rose of Sharon, the song of the morning star,
Fulfiller of the law of the soul;
You, the Word that was with God, and is made flesh;
Great Seal of the marytrdom of man, you the cross,
The hieroscript of Life.
O ineffable Christ!