Only Human?

(Luke 2:7 KJV) And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. 

(Romans 16:25-27 NIV)  Now to him who is able to establish you by my gospel and the proclamation of Jesus Christ, according to the revelation of the mystery hidden for long ages past, ²⁶but now revealed and made known through the prophetic writings by the command of the eternal God, so that all nations might believe and obey him-- ²⁷to the only wise God be glory forever through Jesus Christ! Amen.

Do you end personal letters with a Doxology? “Give my love to the kids, and all praise and glory be to God, through Jesus Christ, Amen!” That's how Paul ended his letter to the Romans. While it seems perfectly normal for a book of Scripture to end with a doxology, when we remember that before Romans was Holy Scripture, it was a personal letter, it may seem strange.

An ordinary letter:  communication with some friends; expressions of concern for their well-being; some advice and council regarding a mutual concern; some closing remarks and then this doxology.

But it didn’t stay “ordinary.” The people in the church in Rome were anxious to know when Paul would arrive.  This man, reputed throughout the empire, had announced plans to visit Rome; but kept being delayed. They knew he lived under constant threat of death, so every week, when the church gathered, the conversation began, “Has anybody heard from Paul?”  “How’s he doing?”  “When is he coming?” 

Then the letter arrived, and word spread quickly: “There’s a letter from Paul” And on Sunday morning the church was packed. A hush fell over the room as the scroll was opened. Heads nodded sagely at the beautifully-constructed theological passages; knowing smiles were exchanged at the personal references. Then, once again: “I’m coming.  I’ve got to go back to Jerusalem, but then I’m coming to you.”

Copies were made and circulated among other congregations in Italy, and the theological passages began to show up in sermons and teachings and even in the worship litanies; this ordinary letter to some friends.

But, years later, this same letter became a part of sacred scripture. In the hands of God, the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

Take, for example, birth. There’s nothing more ordinary—more common—than birth. I dare say everyone reading this blog has experienced it. Most females will give birth at some point in their lives; and most males will sire offspring.

But, in one sense, birth is always extraordinary. In a dirty shack—beer cans and cigarette butts on the floor, cockroaches rummaging through last night’s leftovers still on the table—birth can be an extraordinary problem: another mouth to feed; another child to shield from an abusive spouse. 

In a suburban apartment complex—rock-and-roll blasting from the stereo by the pool, sports cars in numbered parking places—a birth can be an extraordinary intrusion and inconvenience in a life of carefree self-indulgence.

But under different circumstances—in a secure relationship of love and mutual commitment, as God intended—birth is even more than extraordinary; it becomes almost a sacrament: life is given.

Where there is love and stability—where a baby is wanted and parents are ready—a woman who bears a child becomes, literally, bread of life for that child. Through her broken body, and her shed blood, she gives life, and she and her child are linked in an unbreakable communion as close and as holy as Christ’s own Eucharist.

When birth takes place within the context God intended, the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

Of course, there was never anything ordinary about the birth in the Gospel reading above. For most women the announcement comes from her doctor; and most of them already suspect, anyway.  In the text from Luke, it had been an angel who had broken the news to Mary; and it had come as a complete shock.

And listen to the content of the news from the angel: “He shall be great; and shall be called the Son of the Most High.  And the Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor, David; and he shall reign over the house of Jacob forever.” (Luke 1:32-33  KJV) Nothing ordinary about that!

And when he was born, angels sang, and the very stars announced his birth. International kings came and worshipped him.

But all this we know.  What we may overlook, amid all the extraordinary trappings, is that the birth of Jesus was quite an ordinary birth.

What made the birth of Jesus extraordinary was not angelic choirs and brilliant heavenly lights; nor the visit of international royalty. What made it extraordinary was that in the Babe of Bethlehem, God became ordinary. The Word Became Flesh!

We find it extraordinary when a human rises to superhuman accomplishment; but human acts of heroism happen almost daily. If youwant extraordinary, find a rich man who gives it all too the poor—becomes poor, like them—and then stands with them and works to better their life. That’s extraordinary!

If you want extraordinary, find a God who becomes human and stands with humanity in order to save humanity from its own self-destruction. Find a God who becomes human; and in that act redeems humanity to the divine state in which it was originally created.

I grow so weary of hearing people talk about humanity as if were some kind of disease—a disability that burdens us and pulls us down. A running back leads the league in rushing  four years in a row, and then has an “off-year”—plays hurt—and people say, “Well, I guess he’s just human, after all.”

What was he when he was setting records and leading the league? If our human condition is but the dregs in the bottom of the cup; if being human is what we are when we fail and when we’re weak, then what are we when we soar to heights of extraordinary accomplishment?

If the human condition is a handicap, what does that say about Christ, who, “being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human form.” (Philippians 2:5-7)

It was as a human that Jesus turned the water into wine, healed the crippled, restored hearing to the deaf, and gave sight to the blind and life to the dead. It was as a human that Jesus gave us the beatitudes and the Lord’s Prayer. He called himself, “Son of Man.”

And yet, we call him, “Son of God”. We call him “Emanuel: God with us”. We call him “Savior of the World.”  How is it that an ordinary human takes on such extraordinary identity? And how are we to follow him—to be like him?

First, let us stop referring to humanity as “ordinary.”  To be human is to be created in the Image of God; so, let us accept our true identity and stop using our humanity as an excuse for failure: “What do you expect? I’m only human!” Jesus said to his human disciples, “I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than these…. (John 14:10-15 NIV)  It’s not our humanity that holds us back!

Second, as humans, created in the Image of God, we have an extraordinary capacity that no other creature has: MORAL CHOICE. And it is in the exercise of that capacity of Choice that the ordinary becomes extraordinary—the human takes on the nature of the divine.

It began with his mother. Confronted with the extraordinary news of the impending birth of her son, she had a choice. And here was her response: "I am the Lord's servant. May it be to me as you have said." (Luke 1:38 NIV) 

It was the same with Jesus: “And being found in human form, he was obedient unto death, even death on the cross.”  (Philippians 2:8)  It is in the words, “Not my will, but Thine, be done,”—words of extraordinary obedience to the Will of God that ordinary humanity bears the extraordinary marks of divinity.

On this fourth week of Advent, I pray that we become so sensitized to seeing the extraordinary among the ordinary that closing our personal letters with a doxology is just an ordinary occurrence.

That’s how I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim