Over my 26 plus years of teaching in the realm of biblical and theological studies I have taught ardent seekers of the Christian faith, cultural Christians (they know something about Christmas and Easter), zealots (they are eager to pray for my salvation) Dones (they have rejected institutional faith), Nones (they have no religious affiliation), Buddhists, Muslims, Sikhs and who knows what other people groups. And in that time, I have often been asked what is the most indigenous claim of Christianity? A younger me would have pointed to the suffering, death and resurrection of Christ as a victory over death. That was good. I probably would have added, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (John 15:3) But Jesus was not the first or last to have given his life for others. And while the resurrection has its own unique theological implications, if it was “the mission” in and of itself, there was no need to come to earth in the form of a child. We could have been spared the drama of Christmas.
Today, I would argue the most indigenous claim of Christianity is the incarnation. It is the understanding that God, the supreme being presented God-self to the world as an infant, in the most unimaginable vulnerable way possible. God became a child in all its helplessness at the mercy of God’s own creation. And in keeping with this agenda, God incarnate slept, grew older in wisdom and stature and if death had not come by way of the crucifixion, arguably it would have come the same way it happens to everyone through a breakdown of living cells and tissues.
The incarnation is the mad, mad story of God tethered in a womb to a young woman’s body for God’s life support. In the incarnation we get a glimpse of perhaps God’s defining value, namely God’s vulnerability which theologian William Placher describes as “a perfection of loving freedom without limit.”[1] The incarnation is not God stooping down to humanities level but is perhaps the act that fully manifests God’s divine love and self-revelation.
What then does it mean to be human? At a very minimum the incarnation reveals that never again should we apologise for being human. To be human is as Christ has lived to be finite and vulnerable. And with that comes the real risk of loving and losing love.
Since the beginning of Covid, I have suffered through the loss of my parents, 10 days apart, my in-laws, numerous friends and acquaintances and yes even Jack, a Labrador dog who belonged to my daughter’s family. They did not die from Covid, though Covid has made this journey more difficult, but the pain of these losses is not only part of what it means to be human, it is also an indication of the depth of the mutual love we shared. It is what makes love such a precious quantity and it is perhaps the most God-like communicable attribute we share.
[1] William Placher, Narratives of a Vulnerable God. Pp. 19-20. Impassibility has long been touted as an incommunicable attribute of God. It was thought to be a logical consequence of a God who cannot be acted upon by emotional appeals. In this way God was protected from a constantly changing humanity and the people were protected from a capricious God. While it has been an historical evangelical mainstay, few doctrines are as out of sorts with the Biblical witness, if we are paying attention to the life of Jesus.
‘Paying attention to the life of Jesus’. What a poignant quote. I wish there would be more of this and less of the dogma, judgement, and narrow exclusivity that some believers seem heir to. And yet there are those who embody this Jesus life so well that I am drawn to know the ’life that is truly life’: More blessed to give than receive, purity of heart unveiling the divine in the world, meek merciful peacemakers, mourners and comforters. Thanks be to God for so many unspeakable gifts of grace in the world. Inshallah And amen.