Word Made Flesh

March 14, 2020 | By Raquel Sequeira, TD ‘21. Raquel is majoring in Molecular Biophysics & Biochemistry.

I thought it took three days.

“It has something to do with incarnation…”[1]

Something to do with feeling the perfect spiral when the ball leaves your hand, before you see its spin against the fiery dusk;

with launching into a stride with the dregs of strength from straining muscles;

with the shimmering sound of harmony;

with sweet gut laughter at texts from friends you hadn’t thought to miss;

something to do with insomnia and the nights your body goes on strike;

with yearnings only poetry can fill...nope, only deepen;

and something to do with the pain of a hug rebuffed by a regretful elbow.

(Remember when we called them crazy— the ones who said viruses were incarnate?)

This mortal shall put on immortality and this corruptible incorruption,

but the mortal and corruptible come first:

A trail of blood in the Israelites’ wake, a trail of pride in mine, and a trail of contact turned contagion,

while we wonder with each sacrifice, each quarrel, each outbreak, if this is the day that mercy runs out.

Still, they say, in the twinkling of an eye—

like the first morning light and your bleary smile before you bury your head in another hour of sleep;

like the thrill of a beloved voice, even in a dream;

like catching your breath at the thought of existence and love and the word made flesh—

in a moment like that, we shall all be changed.

I thought it took three days.

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[1] From Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, page 66.

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