I want to be near birds. I love to observe them, to pursue them for learning about them, and to identify them. I love the challenge of getting near enough to get a good photo. I feed birds, so that they come closer. I learn to recognize their language so I can persuade them to come closer.
I don’t like it that birds are so flighty. Sometimes the smallest movement causes a whole group to swirl into the air and leave the area. Just when I think I’m quietly getting near, the bird I’m pursuing takes off for another part of the forest. And I start all over.
It’s frustrating when birds assume that I will hurt them. I mean no harm. My camera doesn’t hurt them, nor take anything away from them. And they like the food I bring, but they are afraid of me. There seems to be no way to prove to them that I will not harm them.
I want to be near birds. But I’ve never really wished to live like a bird. I’ve never wished to scratch and peck for my food. I’ve never envied the way they survive in the bitterly cold or rainy weather. I’ve never wished to trade my brain for a birdbrain.
But God…
God, the Father of all, has always wished to be near his creation. From the beginning he designed things so that he could dwell, abide, and be near the humans he created.
How frustrating it might have felt to God when humans didn’t get it: When humans fled, and hid, and flew away as if God meant harm; when humans resisted and fought against the free and joyful relationship God desires to have with us. This time of year we remind ourselves of an incredible change in God’s pursuit of his flighty humans, and the astounding mystery: “the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us…” Read more about it here, John 1:1-14.
Isaiah prophesied centuries earlier that “Immanuel”, meaning “God with us” is a name given to the Son that is “begotten” of the Father. This mystery has enormous purpose.
This astounding mystery is too great for some to believe, so it is often rejected. It is so astounding that others feel it has to be analyzed in order to make it acceptable. Many scholars and theologians have helped provide insights and angles of perspective on the mystery. Some have tried to eliminate the mystery. One of the worst things we can do with this mystery is to reduce it to an event, to a story of the unusual birth of a baby with intrigue and drama included—so as to create a reason for festivity.
I urge you to absorb the impact and the implications of this amazing and one-of-a-kind claim: that the eternal God, from whom all things are created, became a mortal creature without losing the essence of the divine in all his holiness. (It’s impossible to adequately describe this mystery in a sentence, or in a book.)
It is as great a mystery, and as great a likelihood as to imagine me becoming a small, feathered creature that sings from a tree branch and migrates south in September—so that birds of this world might think and reason and recognize the ultimate meaning to life.
A God who couldn’t be touched by death accepted an existence that was subject to death so that death—as a power—could not have the final say for every human. Read Hebrews 2:9.
The greatest achievement of this mysterious plan is that humans are set free from the power of death, and are destined for living—living “abundantly” and living unendingly.
God with us. It is not an event; it is a permanent reality—unless we ridicule the things we don’t understand, and reject the idea that God would care that much about changing our lives and our existence.
This mystery, called the Incarnation, is a reality in which we may live: God, in his full expression as Father, Jesus Christ, and Holy Spirit dwells, abides, lives, exists in real time with those who believe and accept this mystery—so that this life has meaning for now and for time without end.