Some days ago
I bumped into teachers
who had once taught me.
After all these years,
they still recognised me.
And I wondered,
were they proud to see me?

Did they feel
they had shaped
who I had become?
I hoped so.

Then I think of You
in Your hometown.
They knew You as the carpenter.
They had watched You grow.
They thought they understood You.
And when You spoke with authority,
did they feel unsettled?

Someone so ordinary
now called Rabbi.
Someone familiar
now speaking with power.

I imagine standing among them —
realising
that the neighbour next door
was the Messiah all along.

Perhaps the hardest thing
is not believing God can come —
but accepting
that He comes so close,
so ordinary,
so near.