Who are you, little boy,

Little Boy

Who fills my womb with promise,
That an angel announced your coming?
Who are you whom the Spirit conceived in me?

Who are you, little boy,
Who grows within my betrothed
That in a dream God should call me?
Who are you for whom I am taking Mary as wife?

Who are you, little boy,
That angels chant your praise to mere shepherds?
Who are you for whom I rush down hills to town?
Who are you whom I seek in a manger?

Who are you, little boy?
Are you the promised one
For whom we’ve hoped and prayed and longed?
Have you come at last?

Who are you, little boy
Who fills my stable with groans of birth,
Then cries of joy and fresh-filled lungs?
Who are you that shepherds should kneel in my barn?

Who are you, little boy
That a star illuminates your birth?
Who are you to beckon old men with eastern lore
To travel far and fall at your feet?

Who are you, little boy,
Whom wise men seek in court as king?
Who are you to usurp my claim to rule my world?
Who are you, fearsome, fragile Messiah-boy?

Who are you, little boy,
Whose glory I have seen,
Who uncurls woodshavings near my bench?
Who sweeps and sands, and loves a stand-in father?

Who are you, little boy,
Who challenges scribes beyond our knowing?
Who weighs our answers, probes our doubts?
Who are you to call these golden halls, “My Father’s House”?

Who are you, little boy,
Who heals and teaches and loves?
Who breaks time-honored rules without shame?
Who generates such wonder within?

Who are you, little boy,
Who wounds your mother’s heart?
For whom do you suffer, if innocent?
What do you mean, “It is finished!” when you die?

Who are you, little boy,
Who comes into my world?
Do I know? Perhaps, but let me ask again:
Who you are, little boy?