The incarnation is one of my favorite concepts to ponder each Christmas. This Christmas in particular, the concept of incarnation holds significant meaning. I find that working cross-culturally, and especially bouncing back and forth between cultures so frequently, I have a lot of opportunity to practice incarnational living – and trust me, it isn’t serene nativity scenes and twinkling lights!
You know, Jesus went off by himself to talk to his Father frequently. Don’t you wonder how those conversations went? Here’s how I imagine one of them might have gone…
“So, Father… This whole ‘body’ thing… it really is very restrictive. Being in only one place at one time is so limiting!”
“Yes, but imagine what havoc our image-bearers could wreak if they could all be everywhere at once like we are!”
Jesus chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But, what about this horrible head cold I’ve got. Man, my sinuses feel like they are going to explode! Can I just heal myself and be done with it?”
“No. This too shall pass. That’s the good thing about the way we designed the mortal body. They are temporary and they heal themselves! Nothing lasts forever with them!”
“I feel sorry for them. I mean, I understood the effects of sin from a big picture perspective since it started, but really experiencing them is a whole new level of understanding. I actually overheard someone the other day saying that the reason I was sick is because I’m always healing sick people and hanging out with lepers. The sin of mortals is like a massive systemic infection, affecting every function!”
“Indeed it is. Even the human’s fear can make them sick and irrational at times. That’s why it is so important for us to instruct them not to fear. It’s quite incapacitating for them. If only they understood how much power we have, they would never be afraid of anything again!”
“I’m really glad I got to go to that wedding in Cana right off the bat and experience their celebrations. Apparently, when you start hanging around with prostitutes and people with communicable diseases, you end up getting disinvited to quite a few events! My own brother didn’t want me at his wedding, for fear I would scare the guests away.”
Now the Father chuckled, “Don’t worry, when they want more wine, they’ll call you back! But seriously, it’s won’t be long and you’ll be back on this side of time – controlling it, instead of living in it.”
“I know, but that is part of the sadness in all this. I do get to leave soon, and because of my position, I know that these are only temporary restrictions and limitations. But they live in this day after day, year after year, generation after generation. When do we get to end all this for them?”
“I’m not going to tell you that just yet. But it will end. Just keep showing them Me, and remind them that all things will be made new. That’s why you are there – to restore all things on that cross. And I am with you. We are one. And they will be one with us.”
Now, let’s not get too theologically nit-picky about this exchange, because we can obviously never understand being fully human and fully God, and we can never understand how a conversation between beings that are One, but have somehow separated themselves in a time-continuum, might sound or what their interactions might be like. But there are some things that I appreciate about Jesus, and his temporary bondage to the limitations we inherently have.
Coming back from Sierra Leone during the Ebola crisis has put teeth on the incarnation concept for me. I have felt it before, but not this keenly. When you come back during an Ebola epidemic, regardless of how safe you might be to everyone around you, there is a stigma that surrounds you. It doesn’t matter if you recently made the cover of Time Magazine as Person of the Year. It doesn’t even matter if someone is medically inclined and understands Ebola transmission. There is still a hesitancy, an uncertainty, that clouds your interactions. There is a fear, that somehow you will contaminate those around you by your very presence.
The comment that gets thrown around is that people “treat you like a leper.” I like thatphrase. It gives me perspective. Because I love lepers. I mean, not that I’m a generic “leper-lover.” But I actually know some lepers, quite a few of them, and I love them. There is Adama, and Fatu Ernest, and Kaday Lobba, and Ami – just to name a few. I have sat with them. I have hugged them. I have looked at their rotting feet damaged by walking on rough terrain after their special leprosy shoes have worn out. I have held what’s left of their hands. I have prayed with them, sung with them, worshipped with them, wept with them. So while the phrase “being treated like a leper” is a euphemism for most Americans, for me it is a phrase with skin on. I know how lepers are treated. I have heard their stories of rejection from family, friends and community. I have seen their pain.
And when you boil it right down, while there are elements in this season of being “treated like a leper” that are similar to our women in Sierra Leone and their various disabilities, there are also differences that set me apart from them, to be sure – factors that lessen the impact to some degree.
If I get Ebola, by some remote chance, I will have excellent care, and my chance of survival is better than 90%. If our women in Sierra Leone get Ebola, there is very little care, and their chance of survival is less than 50%. After 21 days, my “leprosy” phase will be over, and most will return to seeing me as normal. For them, the stigma and discrimination goes on forever.
Nevertheless, living in this way brings poignancy to the incarnation that I may never have known. When I was in Sierra Leone, and we discussed with people the reason for our coming, and the ramifications of our return Stateside, a common comment or question was, “You have left your safe and comfortable home, and joined us in our suffering. You didn’t have to do that. Now we see how much you love us, and how much you care.”
May my heart respond likewise this Christmas. “Jesus, you didn’t have to come and live here, in this infected land, with us. You have indeed loved us well.” May my heart overflow with gratitude, knowing how much He gave on my behalf.