God Almighty?

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“Christ the Pantocrater” icon. Pantocrater is a Greek compound word for “all mighty”, thus depicting Christ as the all-mighty God

The first line of the Apostles’ Creed says, “I believe in God the Father almighty“. What does it mean to call God almighty? At first glance, of course, it means to affirm that God can do anything he wants. He is all-mighty; or, put another way, His might is not limited by the common limitations of human infirmity. He is mightier than anything in this world.

Of course, the snide theologically-minded junior higher might retort about God’s might: “well can God create a rock so heavy that he can’t lift it?”. Beside the fact that the question is a bit wonky (I’m fairly certain it is meant to be unanswerable), it points out a more important question: can God’s might transcend normal boundaries of logic, creation, love?

Alister McGrath explores this question by asking: can God create a four-sided triangle? He answers by saying,

Four-sided triangles do not and cannot exist. The fact that God cannot make such a triangle is not a serious issue. It just forces us to [think about God’s might] in a more complicated way. “To say that God is almighty means that God can do anything that does not involve logical contradiction.” (Theology: The Basics, Kindle Locations 1260-1263)

This is an important assessment. McGrath highlights the fact the God does and will not transgress the boundaries of logic; of course, this is preeminently because he is the one who created those boundaries in the first place! God made triangles three-sided; why would he want to create a four-sided one?

McGrath finishes his exploration of God’s might by answering that his might has boundaries. These boundaries are in place not because he is weak; God can in fact do anything. However, God won’t do anything which transgresses who he is or that which goes outside of the bounds he himself set up. God’s might is thus limited, but by choice. God mightily limits himself so as to remain inside the boundaries he decided upon.

Another (better) way to approach this is to say that affirmation of the line “God is almighty” is not the same as saying that “God is sheer might”. God is mighty, but he is also faithful to his promises. God is sovereign, but he is also love. This means that God’s might will never betray his love etc. And actually, 1 John 4 tells us that of all the things that God could be, he is in and of himself love. His might is thus subordinate to his love. He limits his might, and doesn’t transgress the boundaries he set up.

Hans Urs von Balthasar has a helpful discussion on this line of the Creed:

It is essential, in the first instance, to see the unimaginable power of the Father in the force of his self-surrender, that is, of his love, and not, for example, in his being able to do this or that as he chooses. And it is just as essential not to understand the Father’s love-almightiness as something darkly elemental, eruptive, prelogical, since his self-giving appears simultaneously as a self-thinking, self-stating, and self-expressing. (Credo, 31)

“Prelogical” is an important term here: God’s might does not come before the logic of his love. It is expressed in terms of his love. Here we have limitations again: God’s might is limited, or put better, filtered through his love. God cannot properly do anything he chooses if it out of line with his other attributes or out of line with the definitions he’s already created. For him to do this would create a God of sheer will, unloving, oppressive, “eruptive”.

von Balthasar concludes here that to say “God is almighty” is to affirm the unending nature of God’s love:

When the New Testament refers to him in many passages as “almighty”, it becomes evident from these that this almightiness can be none other than that of a surrender which is limited by nothing (Credo, 31)

Almightiness in terms of love means that God’s love is so mighty and his surrender so great that it cannot be stopped! This is what the cross is! God’s self-sacrificing, mighty love which destroys the power of sin and death and results in life eternal. Ah, that we can affirm!

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Praying to God as Father

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Christ the True Vine Icon. This icon pictures the disciples of Christ being caught up and participating in Christ’s death and resurrection, akin to branches connected to the vine (John 15)

In Matthew 6, the disciples, lost as to how to pray, ask Christ for a teaching on prayer. What Jesus gives them (and us) is the prayer of the Christian. It is almost credal in its emphasis. It does indeed mirror lines from the Apostles’ Creed. Early church father Tertullian, called the Lord’s prayer the “epitome of the whole gospel”. I assume, at least, that Jesus expected his disciples to memorize it, to know it intimately. To chew on the meaning of the lines, and to pray it often. This applies to the disciples of our age too!

One of the lines with which I’m almost always astonished as I pray, is the first line: “Our Father in heaven”.In this simple, short line, Jesus tells his disciples to pray to God as their Father. This command would almost certainly have been alarming to the disciples. Reason being is because the disciples could not conceive of calling God Father. 

In the OT, the Jewish people did understand Israel corporate to be God’s firstborn son. This is evident in passages such as Hosea 11:1 (a passage, interestingly, that Matthew depicts Jesus as fulfilling and subsuming in himself!). Israel was redeemed and adopted by God from their bondage to Egypt. However, no individual Jew would ever call God their Father. They related to God corporately, covenantally. Individually, however, Jewish people would not conceive to relate to God in such an intimate manner.

Connected to this is the reality that although all human beings can in some way attribute Fatherhood to God (Paul does in his discourse at Mars Hill in Acts 17), there is no human being that is properly, or by nature, God’s child. God is totally and utterly unique in his essence and substance. His holiness and “otherness” cannot even be comprehended by man. Certainly his nature isn’t shared by man. How then can a person even conceivably, realistically, call God a Father? This would have certainly been in the disciples’ minds.

So what did Jesus mean by commanding his disciples to call God their Father?

Frederick Bruner has a helpful discussion on this:

The church confesses in its Creed: “I believe in Jesus Christ, [God’s] only Son, our Lord”. Jesus’ relation to the Father is absolutely unique. He and he alone, is God’s Son by nature… Therefore, when Jesus gives us the right to call his Father by the address “our Father”, he is passing on something of his own priceless relation to God. This is Jesus’ greatest gift in the Lord’s Prayer… Jesus’ exquisetly simple reference to God as his “father”…, and now most intimately his gift to his disciples of “Our Father”, indicates a remarkable relation between Jesus, God, and Jesus’ disciples (Christbook, 296)

Bruner makes some theologically important points here (concentrate!): he points out from the Apostles’ Creed that Jesus, being God, has an actual, substantial connection to God the Father: he is God’s “only Son”; he shares in the same substance — the “homoosios”, as the Nicene creed says — as God the Father, and is thus his “eternally begotten Son”. When Jesus became a man, he did not give up his divine nature; rather, He added to himself a human nature — as the Chalcedonian creed says, he is one divine person with two natures. In this way then, Jesus the man, could call God Father and really mean it, because he had a true substantial relation to God the Father. He is truly the only man who can call God Father.

Going back to the Lord’s Prayer now: in giving us the command to call God “our Father”, what is Jesus teaching us?

Jesus is in fact expounding on one of the great mysteries of the gospel. As the early church fathers put it: God the Son became a son of man, that sons of men might become sons of God. That is to say, Christ came down and assumed what properly belongs to us, to give us a share in what properly belongs to him: Sonship (cf Gal 4:4). He united himself to human nature, that by by faith in him, we beggarly humans might be united to him and share in his relation to the Father.

I put the icon up top to illustrate this point. By faith, we are as it were, connected to Christ as branches to a vine; and he takes us up into himself — all the way up — to God the Father. And we gain filial relation to God the Father by the life of his trunk, or to say another way, by his Spirit. We are “born again” and receive supernatural life, and are adopted as true sons in the Son. We become, as a Peter put it, “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4), and can relate to God really and truly as sons. What a dizzying, amazing truth that is!

 

The Old Testament and Gentile Religion

I’ve written on this blog before about the purpose of God’s seemingly long pause between the fall and the incarnation and cross. If the cross is the remedy of man’s fallen state, then why, after the fall of Adam, does God wait thousands of years before the incarnation?

One answer is Israel: Israel is seen by Paul as God’s “training ground”. It is God “tutoring”, as Paul says, this covenant people, to understand certain key principles: sin, atonement, sacrifice, temple, holiness, et al. Once Israel understands these key principles, we find Christ coming not simply as Messiah, but as the “Lamb of God” (John 1:29). This term of course would have struck certain imagery into the Jewish person’s mind: Exodus, redemption, blood, sacrifice, atonement. God used this time to train Israel to receive their Messiah.

But what about the rest of the world? How did this long pause between the fall and the cross benefit, say, the Gentile pagan world?

Hans Urs von Balthasar has an interesting answer. He tries to explain that God’s intention for the pagan nations was to allow man to realize his own state as fallen and apart from Him.

Balthasar says this:

[My aim is] to show that man’s historical situation in this world is in a state of permanent tension: he is constantly on the lookout for a solution, a redemption, but can never anticipate or construct it from his own resources; nor does he have even an intimation of it. (Theo Drama 4, kindle, 981-983)

Since man can neither throw off his [desire for a higher power] …nor entrap [God]… within his own finitude by his own (magical) efforts, he becomes, right from the start, a figure of pathos on the world stage. To the best of his ability, he will attempt to make present, in finite terms, his orientation to [a God] that transcends him; thus arise the temples and kingdoms [of world religions]… (Kindle, 946-49)

[We cannot] play down the ultimately hopeless situation of finite existence in the face of a transcendence that does not automatically disclose itself (Kindle, 986-87)

Now, what Balthasar is meaning to say here, is that the pagan world was left, to a large extent, to its own devices after the fall. Yes, Israel was given revelation of the true God at this time. But the rest of the pagan nations were not. And so, they were left to their own creativity to “figure God out”; to understand their place in the universe. To know their own origins.

And because man is made in the image of God, and because he can observe God’s handiwork (creation), he is prone to search for him somehow. We find this in the differing world religions which manifested themselves after the fall. Man was expressing his desire to have God, to know him. Man was confessing his knowledge of his own falleness — he desires to be one with his Creator! Because of this innate, ingrained desire for God, we do find some rays of truth in world religions: Sin, god, atonement, sacrifice, laws, et al. But even with these hints of truth, without revelation, man can never understand or know God in his fullness.

Man’s finiteness hides the fullness of God from him (1 Cor 1:7). But even more than that, man’s falleness separates him from God. And his sin permeates his search for God in such a way, that religion without revelation becomes corrupt, evil, satanic even.

Frank Sheed adds interesting insight on how sin and separation from God affects man’s search for the true God:

[H]uman nature tends to build religion, so by the wounds [of sin] in it it tends to deform what it has built. Thus the human intellect would tend to see that there must be some sort of Supreme Being: but only a human intellect at full strength would by its own unsupported powers hold on to one God and that God spiritual, just as a human will at less than full strength would find one God too overwhelming, and a purely spiritual God too remote. Polytheism and idolatry came crowding in everywhere; pantheism was an escape in a different direction. Moral corruption naturally corrupted religion, too. Sexual rites could only grow monstrous: man’s fallen nature gets too much excitement out of sex to be trusted with sexual ritual. Nor did man’s fallen nature always keep blood rituals in control: animal sacrifice suggested human sacrifice, and human sacrifice could grow to hecatombs. And if this means aberration by excess there was the possibility of aberration by defect, religion falling to a mere ritual relation without love or holiness or sense of moral obligation, but only gods to be placated and a routine of placation. (Theology and Sanity, 193)

Religion without revelation, without God’s condescension, mixed with man’s falleness, spirals into a chaotic brutal worship. And this we find in the Old Testament. Pagan nations falling into brutal practices, just trying to find the God of creation. They knew he was there, and yet, their finitude and sin kept them from finding him truly.

This is precisely what God was meaning to teach the Gentile nations during this “pause”: one cannot know God fully without him making himself known. And the fallen man, plagued with sin, separated from God, cannot craft a religion which ascends to God. His religion, though it may have a hint of truth, will be mixed with error such that it spirals into idolatry.

Paul, in Acts 17, called this time period “the times of ignorance” (vs 30). “What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you” (vs 23), Paul preached. And “now [God] commands all people everywhere to repent” (vs 30). Paul explains that the pagan nations sought after an unknown God. This was all they knew. They were shut out from him.

God had allowed the nations to remain in ignorance, to feel their own lostness, to know their own finitude. To know that without him making himself know, they are lost. But now he has made himself known. And he commands all people to repent!

Life of the Trinity: Self-giving love

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Hans Urs von Balthasar, in his Theo-Drama IV: The Action, has an excellent (beware, Balthasar is deep!) explanation of the relationship between the persons of the Trinity. For him, life in the Trinity is the starting point of all theology.

In explaining the life involved inside the Trinity, von Balthasar centers on the “generation of the Son” by the Father. This, to him, is the starting point of the Trinity; it explains and reveals everything else.

Balthasar explains the “generation of the Son” as the eternal action of God the Father in giving of himself in love. Because God is love, he is constantly pouring himself out in love. As a result, this pouring of oneself out demands a Beloved — this beloved One is the Son, who is eternally begotten as a result of the Father’s eternal love.

von Balthasar explains*:

The action whereby the Father utters and bestows his whole Godhead, an action he both “does” and “is”, generates the Son. This Son is infinitely Other, but he is also the infinitely Other of the Father…

So, God the Father’s outpouring of love eternally generates the Son. And this outpouring is such that the Son is eternally begotten, and other than of the Father (other in Person, one in substance).

von Balthasar goes so far to say that,

God the Father gives… his divinity away in such a manner that it is not merely “lent” to the Son: the Son’s possession of it is “equally substantial”

And so, God the Son, as God the Father’s beloved, is consubstantial with the Father. von Balthasar describes this outpouring as the “kenosis” (emptying of oneself) of God the Father. He gives of his divinity, empties himself, such that the Son is equal with the Father as a result of that love.

von Balthasar then explains that the Son, as a result of this love, cannot help but give back:

It follows that the Son, for his part, cannot be and possess the absolute nature of God except in the mode of receptivity: he receives this unity of omnipotence and powerlessness from the Father. This receptivity simultaneously includes the Son’s self-givenness… and his filial thanksgiving (Eucharist) for the gift of consubstantial divinity.

What Balthasar explains is that as the Son receives this “powerless” outpouring, this kenosis, of God the Father, he cannot help but give of himself in an act of eucharistia (thankfulness). And so, the Son pours of himself in kenosis back to the Father. Thus, the Father and the Son give of themselves to one another eternally.

Consequently, this expression of kenotic love between the Father and Son is the Holy Spirit. He is the unity of love between the Father and Son.

Balthasar says that the Spirit is a

seal of that self-expropriation that is identical in Father and Son… [He is] the pure manifestation and communication of the love between Father and Son

So this is the life of the Trinity. It is a Lover, a Beloved, and Love which seals the two. We may call the Trinity a kenosis of love. For each person empties himself for the other. The Trinity is radically other-centered. The Father gives, the Son receives and gives, the Spirit seals and glorifies the other two.

von Balthasar goes on to explain that this doctrine of the kenotic Trinity is the starting point for the rest of Christian doctrine. The doctrines, broadly, of creation, covenant, and cross, are all seen as coming from the Trinitarian life of God.

von Balthasar explains,

We spoke of a first “kenosis” of the Father, expropriating himself by “generating” the consubstantial Son. Almost automatically, this first kenosis expands to a kenosis involving the whole Trinity. For the Son could not be consubstantial with the Father except by self-expropriation; and their “We”, that is, the Spirit, must also be God if he is to be the “personal” seal of that self-expropriation…

This primal kenosis (Trinitarian life) makes possible all other kenotic movements of God into the world; they are simply its consequences. The first “self-limitation” of the triune God arises through endowing his creatures with freedom. The second, deeper, “limitation” of the same triune God occurs as a result of the covenant, which, on God’s side, is indissoluble, whatever may become of Israel. The third kenosis, which is not only christological but involves the whole Trinity, arises through the Incarnation of the Son alone: henceforth he manifests his eucharistic attitude (which was always his) in the pro nobis [for us, in place of] of the Cross and Resurrection for the sake of the world.

This is a favorite passage of mine, because in it, Balthasar ties Christian theology to the life of the Trinity.

For Balthasar, creation itself is seen as an over-pouring of Trinitarian love, in which God creates and gives of himself to free agents. Creation, for him, is “a new ‘kenosis’ on God’s part, since he is thereby restricted, implicitly by creaturely freedom and explicitly by the covenant with its stated terms”. In giving implicit freedom, and explicit covenants, God is thereby binding and limiting himself (even limiting his own freedom) to his creation. Thus, the creation is an act of self-giving love from an overflow of the Trinity itself!

On a deeper level still, the cross is an expression of Trinitarian kenosis; because in the cross, Jesus pours himself out — he empties himself (Phil 2:7) — on behalf of mankind. He gives himself as a sacrifice for the sin of mankind, which is a pleasing aroma to the Father (Eph 5:2). Balthasar explains that the the Son’s surrender to death on the cross is a “representation of the Father’s trinitarian, loving self-surrender”. This fits especially with Christ’s words: if you have seen Me, you have seen the Father (Jn 14:9). Thus, when we look to the cross — this kenosis of Christ, this atoning surrender — we see the Father in his essence.

And so, Trinitarian self-giving love — kenosis — is the grounding of all Christian theology!

*All quotes come from section III, C, 1

Augustine and the Pelagius Debate: Pre-fall or Post-fall?

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Saint Augustine

In the world of theology, Pelagianism is generally understood to be the teaching (from a man named Pelagius) that mankind has the natural powers to “ascend” into relationship with God. Meaning, man without any help or grace or power from God, can be in friendship with him.

Augustine, a contemporary of Pelagius, refuted this teaching, arguing that man cannot in and of himself come into relationship with God. Rather, God must condescend to man if he is to know God as friend. Augustine taught this condescension as grace. God, in grace, comes down, thereby elevating and enabling mankind to be in relationship with him.

This debate is usually put in the context of post-fall mankind. In other words, mankind after the fall of Adam, cannot naturally come into relationship with God. Pelagius went so far as to teach that after the fall, man is not affected by Adam’s sin, and is born in a state of neutrality. And he can come into relationship with God by mere obedience to the law, or else if he sins, he came gain help from Christ. Of course, Augustine taught that mankind is mortally wounded by the fall. All men are born into original sin, and therefore need a positive righteousness if they are to be any type of friendship with God.

However, what most don’t know, is that the Pelagian debate didn’t just revolve around post-fall man, but also pre-fall man.

Pelagius taught that Adam was created with the natural capacity to be in relationship with God. While this might sound reasonable, Augustine staunchly refuted this. Augustine said that even pre-fall Adam, because he was ontologically (human, physicalseparated from God (divine), had no natural power to be in friendship with God. Rather, Adam needed an infusion of God’s own life to be his child. He needed God to condescend and give him grace.

For instance, Augustine says,

…the Pelagians have been bold enough to aver, that grace is the nature in which we were created, so as to possess a rational mind, by which we are enabled to understand — formed as we are in the image of God, so as to have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that creeps upon the earth (On Grace of Free Will, 25)

Augustine refutes this position, saying,

The first man had not that grace by which he should never will to be evil; but assuredly he had that in which if he willed to abide he would never be evil, and without which, moreover, he could not by free will be good, but which, nevertheless, by free will he could forsake. God, therefore, did not will even him to be without His grace, which He left in his free will; because free will is sufficient for evil, but is too little for good, unless it is aided by Omnipotent Good… (On Rebuke and Grace, 31)

So even pre-fall Adam, though created good, did not possess the divine qualities to be in relationship with God or to obey God perfectly, without grace.

Now, the reason for this, according to Augustine, is that though Adam was created innocent, he was still merely human. And mankind is by nature not divine, and he cannot possess divine qualities, unless God graciously imparts it. For this reason, Augustine taught that God created Adam with supernatural grace, in order that he might partake not only in human life, but in the divine life. God condescended, to make man not only a creation, but a divine son, sharing in his own nature.

Theologian Frank Sheed explains Augustines view, saying that Adam was given “supernatural endowment” at the point of his creation. He explains that,

…by this supernatural endowment we are raised from being merely creatures of God to being sons of God . For the power to see God as He is is a power which by nature belongs to God alone. Thus by the supernatural life we are being given a share, a created share certainly, in God’s own life. Merely as created spirits we are in the likeness of God; but this natural likeness is as nothing to the supernatural likeness whereby, enabled to do what belongs to the nature of God, we are raised to such a likeness of His nature as joins children to their father…

There was no first moment, however short, in which Adam existed simply as the perfect natural man. From the first moment of his creation until his fall Adam had two lives in him, the natural life and the supernatural life. (Theology and Sanity, p 165)

So then, Adam was created as man, but also, he was created with this supernatural life; this grace of God, which enables him to be brought into God’s own life. Indeed, as Sheed says, mankind was created to share and exist in two types of life: one natural (physical, bodily), and one supernatural (divine, eternal).

Involved in this debate is the thought that humans, even in a state of innocence, cannot live as God lives — eternally, without temptation or sin, etc. The Second Synod of Orange, in response to Pelagius, says,

No one is saved without God’s mercy. Human nature, even had it remained in the integrity in which it was created, could by no means have saved itself without the assistance of its creator (19th Canon)

To some this is surprising. But what this is merely asserting, is that mankind cannot preserve itself, even in innocence; nor can it share in God’s friendship without God’s divine life. Frank Sheed has an interesting aside, in which he examines that the creation, without the preservation of God’s life, would necessarily breakdown, or change.

Sheed says,

…the INFINITE BEING having all perfections is utterly changeless. Nothing else is. Every created being, however glorious, contains a certain negative element, lacks something, from the fact that it is made of nothing.

So St. Augustine writes (De Natura Boni): All the things that God has made are mutable because made of nothing.

And the Council of Florence tells us that creatures are good, of course, because they are made by the Supreme Good, but mutable because they are made of nothing.

…With MATTER we have of course ceaseless accidental change and the ever-present threat, only too often realized, of substantial change, of being so changed that it ceases to be what it was and becomes something else. So much is this so, that change is almost matter’s definition

…For the changelessness of GOD there is ETERNITY; for the continuous changefulness of MATTER there is TIME. Time is the duration of that which changes, as eternity is the duration of that which does not change… Space and time express its finitude. (p 124-125, 126)

He gets into some metaphysics here; but generally, what Sheed is saying, is that humanity, because it shares in matter (though mankind is by definition matter and spirit), changes, and is subject to finitude. Matter is just that way.

And so at the point of creation, God must have condescended, and given Adam a share in his infinite, divine life. Why? Ontologically, Adam could not in and of himself live forever, nor even look upon the face of God.

We can see a bit of this behind Paul’s explanation of the resurrection in 1 Corinthians 15:

For not all flesh is the same, but there is one kind for humans, another for animals, another for birds, and another for fish. There are heavenly bodies and earthly bodies, but the glory of the heavenly is of one kind, and the glory of the earthly is of another. There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars; for star differs from star in glory.

So is it with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body (1 Cor 15:39-44)

Natural bodies must be changed, sharing in God’s glory. And so Adam, at the point of his creation, was created with a body/soul which shared in God’s own life; because God condescended and gave him a share in his own life (2 Pet 1:4), making him a son rather than a mere creation. 

And, this is why glorification is necessary for the Christian: if we are to live in the face of God, we must “be changed”, as Paul says. Our fallen bodies (not just our souls) must be glorified.

Thus, Pelagianism reaches even to the pre-fall state, because we need God’s great condescension even then!

The Incarnation and the Physical

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One of the most central doctrines of the Christian faith is the doctrine of the incarnation. The claim that God the Son not only came into our world, but united himself with our world. The claim that God not only revealed himself to us, as he had already done in the OT, but that God became one of us. That God became truly human. That he came here physically. That he was born of a woman (Gal 4:4), that he lived and breathed, that he worked, that he walked and talked, that he ate and drank, that he slept, that God was truly human in every sense of the word.

The incarnation tells us that God not only came into our physical universe, but put on the physical. That he put on flesh. 

But what is so important about this fact? What is so important about God becoming truly man, being physical and material? Certainly the realness of Jesus’ humanity was important to the cross. Jesus had to literally (not spiritually) die and rise for our salvation. Had he not truly died, then we would not be saved. And had he not truly risen, we would have no hope.

But is the significance of the incarnation limited only to salvation? I would answer “no”. In fact, I would say that the incarnation speaks volumes about who God is and what he cares about. Let me explain.

I think that incarnation says something very important about God’s attitude toward the physical; toward the material. Namely, that God loves his material creation; that he thinks it “is good”; that his interest in our universe isn’t simply to get us out, or to remove us from the world. God doesn’t want to “rapture” us out of the world, in other words.

Actually, what the incarnation explains is that God wants to come into this world, not to get us out of it, but to transform it into a dwelling place for himself and for his creation. The reality of the incarnation tells us that God and the physical aren’t enemies, and that the great goal of God is that he would dwell on the earth, with his people.

In other words, the very reality that Jesus is the God-man, tells us that God has created the physical universe as a home for both him and man. He created the cosmos, that “the dwelling place of God…[would be] with man” (Rev 21:3). And so the incarnation tells us that the physical is inherently “good”, and that God doesn’t desire to remove us from it, but to enhance and beautify it! It tells us that God doesn’t want to do away with our physical bodies, but he wants to glorify them.

In short, God loves material, and we should too! That, is the beauty of the incarnation; the beauty of the God-man.

Theologian Robert Barron has much to add to this thought. He sees the incarnation as the central tenet of Christianity. Barron says this about the incarnation:

The incarnation tells central truths about God and us. If God became human without ceasing to be God and without compromising the integrity of the creature that he became, God must not be a competitor with his creation… God… enters into our creation, [and] the world is thereby enhanced and elevated. The God capable of the incarnation is not a competitive supreme being but rather, in the words of St. Thomas Aquinas, the sheer act of being itself, that which grounds and sustains all of creation, the way a singer sustains a song.

And the incarnation tells us the most important truth about ourselves: we are destined for divinization. The church fathers never tired of repeating this phrase as a sort of summary of Christian belief: Deus fit homo ut homo fieret Dues (God became human so that humans might become God). God condescended to enter into flesh that our flesh might partake of the divine life, that we might participate in the love that holds the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in communion. And this is why Christianity is the greatest humanism that has ever appeared, indeed that could ever appear.

God became a man, that his entire creation might be redeemed. This is the truth of the incarnation: that God cares about his creation, and means to bring us into the “divine life”.