• Renée

He Came

He came.

Not to a hospital.

Yet, he would be a hospital.

A healing place

For the sick,

The weary,

The fearful,

The please-tell-me-it-gets-better kind of people

Which, is all of us,

If we got real honest.

And though it’s said

The night was silent,

I believe that all of Heaven chorused

With a rhapsody

too divine to describe,

Because Heaven’s best,

the best of us,

The One who would redeem us

And love us

With the best of Himself,

Had come.

He came.

And grew.

To be a man.

Yet, he was

More than that.

Much more than we can fully grasp.


Poured into this man,

This man with skin, and bones,

Unfancy features,

Was The Way back.

The Only Way,

The Whole Way

The Holy Way.

Our. Way. Back.

He came,

To say, “Come, follow me.

Follow in This Way”

And his feet trod a path

Right back home,

Right back to paradise,

Where we belong.

And those who believe,

Can go there,

As family.

This Jesus Man says,

“There’s plenty of room”.

He came.

And gave a humble yes,

To a criminal’s death,

Though his was innocent blood.

And the death was deservedly ours.

But no, this



Compassionate Jesus Man

Didn’t run as the lead-tipped whip

Seared his flailing skin,

Didn’t resist, though



Spat on;

Didn’t refuse a cross that

Condemned his righteousness

And cursed his holiness.

The cost was more than we can know.

Because the gift was a fullness

Without comparison.

At the direction of his Father,

Who yearned that all orphans

Would come home,

He endured punishment enough,

For forever freedom

For us.

He came.

He comes.

He stirs.

He knocks.

He invites.

He pursues

He persists.

Over and over and over

He persists.

Because He cannot be less than He is.

And He is ALL love, and hope, and second chances.

And Love,

The kind HE is,

Which is the true, real,

Perfect kind of love,

Always intended to come,

For us.

And so,