How Does a King Arrive?

I have in my mind the way it should be,

Parades and pomp and jubilee.

Gold and Rulers and dancers too,

White horses who prance under skies of blue.

Chariots and horns for the festive crowd,

The celebration is joyful, cheerful and loud.

The wealth, the splendor, the arrogant pride,

Isn’t this the road that a king would ride?

It’s hard to imagine a better day

For a king to arrive any other way.

But the Ancient of Days had it all figured out,

From the very beginning there is no doubt.

The Father of all would become one of us,

Without celebration, without any fuss.

The Palace and pomp would not have a part

Of the immaculate arrival that would live in our hearts.

Born of a virgin and laid on the hay,

Our salvation secured in a peculiar way.

King of all kings and Lord of all lords,

Protected by God, not by swords.

The high road is low, humble and plain,

What an unsuspecting way to cleanse our sins’ stain.

How does a king arrive?

From a barn to the cross, from the grave to the sky.

That is the road that the true King came by.