Thoughts on the Incarnation

I am part of a team at my church that helps plan liturgical elements for the Sunday morning services. As such, I’ve been spending some time in this improbable and hot month of August going through a book of poems by Luci Shaw about the incarnation to see if there is any material we might be able use in the Advent season. In the poem “Salutation,” which references Luke 1:39-45, Shaw writes:

Framed in light,
Mary sings through the doorway.
Elizabeth’s six-month joy
jumps , a palpable greeting,
a hidden first encounter
between son and Son.

And my heart turns over
when I meet Jesus
in you.

Yesterday afternoon I got a message that my grandpa is dying. I went to the hospital and sat for some time with him last night. I rested my hand on his head and leaned in close to his ear to tell him I loved him, to speak the names of all the family members who could not be there, to tell him the things about his life and presence in my life that I was thankful for. I don’t know how much he heard or understood. His hearing is quite poor even at the best of times and he had just been given doses of morphine and Atavan to help him rest comfortably. So I sat back in the chair and held his left hand in both of mine and slowly stroked the back of it, careful of the inserted tubes, noting the fragile crepe of his skin and the deep reddish blossoms of bruising climbing up his arm. As I watched his eyes droop closed despite his labored breathing and the fluttering pulse beating in his neck, I wished there were something more I could do. But there wasn’t. All I could do was be with him, holding his hand and praying for him, being a witness to this final struggle. And the longer I sat there, the more certain I became that this was enough.

When it comes to the incarnation, I think there is a tendency in modern evangelical Christianity to focus primarily on the issue of personal salvation, where the incarnation of Jesus becomes all about asking Jesus into one’s heart and then being transformed by that indwelling so that one can become “better” and live a more fulfilling life. That act of indwelling becomes a ticket to heaven with the added bonus of one’s own personal Life Coach God. But reading Shaw’s poem after the experience of sitting with my grandfather last night, the incarnation struck me in an entirely different way. Jesus’s incarnation doesn’t end with his own body dying and resurrecting but continues in the bodies of those who know and follow him, and he doesn’t indwell us to serve us but to serve those who surround us.

To so many people, Jesus is a fairy tale, a curse word, a joke to make action figures out of or to call a homeboy on a trendy t-shirt. Christians might shake their heads disapprovingly at this, but we often distance and use him for our own purposes as well. Perhaps the packaging is more pleasing and seemingly respectful, but the act of usage is the same. In claiming to serve him, we use him to better our lives, to justify our judgment of others, to name brand him in a separate subculture that divides us from the rest of society with bumper stickers, logos, and radio stations. We seem proud to declare that we are separate from the rest of the world. But in doing so, I think we separate ourselves from the true meaning of incarnation.

If Jesus really is indwelling me, then I do not need to have signs and proclamations declaring this. It should not mark me out in a divisive or condemning way or cause me to withdraw from the world. It should humble me and cause a joyful fear and trembling as it did in Mary, the first vessel of Jesus and his indwelling. Mary did not strive to do anything or announce anything to Elizabeth. She simply walked through a door with Jesus in her belly, and another baby leapt and Elizabeth rejoiced. I wanted to be able to do something yesterday for my grandpa but I couldn’t—at least not actively or tangibly in the sense of helping him breathe more easily or rest more comfortably. But I could be there. I could bring the presence of Christ through the doorway and to his bedside and touch his head and hand with it. Jesus isn’t just in my heart for my own comfort and guidance and to iron out all the petty wrinkles of my personal sins. He’s there for my Grandpa and for every other person I speak to, listen to, touch, or simply sit next to. His incarnation exists in me to bless others just as it exists in others to bless me, and it is in this way—not through bumper stickers, slogans, or my own personal clean and shiny life—that God is glorified.