‘God spoke the Incarnation and then so was born the Son. His final Word was Jesus, He needed no other one. Spoke flesh and blood so He could bleed and make a way divine. And so was born the baby, who would die to make it mine.’ (Michael Card, The Final Word )
The Incarnation is both a glorious mystery that leaves the greatest scholar scratching her head, and the most practical, earthy motivation for all our local church ministry. Scripture teaches that Mary was the ‘envelope’ in which the Holy Spirit placed the foetus of Jesus of Nazareth, the ‘Word made flesh’.
The early church was keen to defend the ‘hard-to-believe-and-impossible-to-prove’ claim that Christ was born of a virgin, to fulfil Isaiah’s disputed prophecy. Immanuel was not tainted by the sin of Adam in any way, and Matthew’s Gospel emphasises that there were no sexual relations between Mary and Joseph before Jesus was born.
To be the Saviour we need, Christ had to be ‘undiminished deity united with perfect humanity in one person, forever.’ The miracle is astonishing, the condescension of the Son of God breathtaking. ‘From sapphire-paved courts to stable floor’ is a carol that uses poetic licence, but the wonder, the humility, the courageous, embodied love displayed at the incarnation is ultimately an act of divine poetry that defies analysis, and makes us fall on our faces, and sing ‘O come let us adore Him, Christ the LORD.’
But we can’t leave it there if we are to do justice to the incarnation. The mind-bending theology is also disturbingly practical. If Christ was prepared to step across the stars, and take on human form to bring God’s salvation to us, how far are we prepared to go to bring the Good News to men, women and children for whom Christmas has lost its meaning?
What changes can we make inside our church, and where can we go outside to make the Good News as clear and accessible as possible in honour of the One who swapped angel chorus for swaddling clothes? How can we be the hands and feet of Jesus to our neighbours, and work colleagues?
As we contemplate the creator of the galaxies lying in the arms of a teenage Jewish girl, in a stable because ‘there was no room in the inn’, we are challenged to associate with the weak. Perhaps with refugees in our neighbourhood, or with Additional Support Needs (ASN) adults and children? How can we better honour those who society dismisses – the frail who can’t get out on a Sunday anymore, or marginalised communities all around us?
On a more personal level, what do we need to empty ourselves of for the one who ‘emptied Himself of all but love, and bled for Adam’s helpless race?’ (And Can It Be, Charles Wesley). Husbands, how much are you sacrificing yourself for your wife and children? Elders and deacons, will you lead through servanthood, washing the grubby feet of awkward church members? Pastors, will you stop jostling for position, and give yourself in humility to the sheep in your care?
Incarnational ministry is disturbingly practical. But it is eternally worth it, and declares with every strain, headache and tear, ‘thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!’
en wishes to record its huge appreciation to Jeremy McQuoid for his contributions in this space in recent years as this is his last column due to increasing responsibilities elsewhere. Thank you, Jeremy!
