Reflections on the Incarnation and Freedom of God | Devotional
What could be less scary than a newborn baby with jerky limbs and eyes that do not quite focus? The King had cast off his robes.
Think of the condescension involved: the incarnation, which sliced history into two parts had more animal than human witnesses. Think, too, of the risk.
In the incarnation, God spanned the vast chasm of fear that had distanced him from his human creation. But removing that barrier made Jesus vulnerable, terribly vulnerable.
For those who believe in God, it means, this birth, that God himself is never safe from us, and maybe that is the dark side of Christmas, the terror of the silence.
He comes in such a way that we can always turn him down, as we could crack the baby’s skull like an eggshell or nail him up when he gets too big for that. (Frederick Buechner, The Hungering Dark)
How did Christmas day feel to God? Imagine for a moment becoming a baby again. God as a fetus! Or imagine yourself becoming a sea slug—that analogy is probably closer.
On that day in Bethlehem, the Maker of All That Is took form as a helpless, dependent newborn.
Kenosis is the technical word theologians use to describe Christ emptying himself of the advantages of deity. Ironically, while the emptying involved much humiliation, it also involved a kind of freedom.
I have sometimes pondered the “disadvantages” of infinity. A physical body freed Christ to act on a human scale, without those “disadvantages.”
He could say what he wanted without his voice blasting the treetops. He could express anger by calling King Herod a fox or by reaching for a bullwhip in the temple, rather than shaking the earth with his stormy presence.
And he could talk to anyone—a prostitute, a blind man, a widow, a leper—without first having to announce, “Fear not!”
Philip Yancey
He currently has more than 17 million books in print, published in over 50 languages worldwide. In his new memoir, Where the Light Fell, Yancey recalls his lifelong journey from strict fundamentalism to a life dedicated to a search for grace and meaning, thus providing a type of prequel to all his other books.
