01/11/2025
“The Lonely Saviour”
Born in the cradle of straw and stars,
not in a palace, nor under golden light —
but in a hut,
where silence was His witness
and shepherds were His first believers.
No priest knew His name,
no ruler marked His birth.
He grew among the fields,
the carpenter’s son,
the hidden Word made flesh.
For thirty years He waited —
in the quiet, in the dust,
listening to the voice within the wind.
Patience was His teacher,
time His silent companion.
Then came the wilderness.
Forty days beneath the burning sun,
forty nights beneath the whisper of serpents.
Alone — yet never forsaken.
He came out clothed in the Spirit,
with fire in His breath
and light in His hands.
He spoke truth beyond the walls of temples,
and men of law trembled.
He healed with a touch,
and the blind saw,
but the wise called Him mad.
He walked among His own —
yet they knew Him not.
He fought unseen wars:
against spirits, against sickness,
against the weight of human hearts.
Betrayed by a kiss,
abandoned by friends,
beaten beneath the laughter of the crowd,
He carried the cross — alone.
The nails sang their cruel song,
and heaven turned its face.
In darkness He entered the tomb,
the world holding its breath.
Then, on the third dawn,
light broke through stone.
The lonely Saviour rose —
death undone,
the grave unmade.
And when He ascended,
the earth stood silent.
No monument bore His plans,
no scribe recorded His dreams —
only faith remained,
and the echo of His steps
still walking through the hearts of men.
