Incarnation: A Reflection on Advent in Three Parts, I – Cynthia Holder Rich

So God created humankind in God’s own image…

Genesis 1:27

…the body is one and has many members…if one member suffers, all suffer with it…

…now you are the Body of Christ and individually members of it.

I Corinthians 12:12-27

Advent comes with the glorious, heart-warming, goose-bump inducing news of Incarnation.  The Messiah, whose birth and anticipated return the season celebrates and for which it helps believers prepare, is known as God-with-us (Immanuel), the one in whom the Godhead is seen, veiled in flesh, God’s Word in flesh appearing.

Incarnational theology focusses, rightly, on God’s gracious and loving choice to become incarnate – to take on human flesh and walk the earth with those whom God created and made just “a little lower than God” (Psalm 8). God made us a just a little lower than God.  This is what it means to be created in God’s own image. So incarnation is not only about the presence of God in Jesus – the incarnation of God on earth.  It is also about the image of God which resides in all people, all of humankind, whom God has created, is creating, and will create.  And it is about recognizing God’s image in all – about seeing God’s image in the people God creates, particularly those whom God grants us the grace to encounter and with whom we are offered opportunity for interaction. We can see Christ in many a guise as we walk the earth – such is the mystery and wonder of God’s gracious act of incarnate love.  Incarnation continues to work within us, so the theology goes, so that believers are ever more able to see Jesus in those they meet, even those who are different from themselves, even those who might inspire fear, anxiety, distrust, or even scorn and hatred.

Some of us have not received the memo.

It’s painfully clear that some whom God has created have not heard that others whom God created are ALSO made in God’s image, a little lower than God.  Distrust, fear, and anxiety among and between peoples whose life experience differs runs rampant. Many of my own racial background – including many who follow Jesus – are confused, perplexed, and frightened by the ways in which many people have responded, with protest, anger, rage, and deep and abiding public lament, to the deaths of unarmed African-American men and boys in recent months and years. Tragically, other deaths of brown skinned persons have occurred in much the same way in recent months and years; many of these have attracted little attention. Those deaths that have engendered protest come with added risk to the communities most affected, as recent research shows that when African-Americans protest the killing of an unarmed man or boy, whites in the area buy more guns.

It turns out it is mighty difficult to remember, or to see, or to recognize, or to acknowledge the incarnation of Christ, the image of God, which lives in others, particularly if those others are sufficiently different than we.

Over this week, I’m going to reflect on incarnation, and the ways in which we might move toward becoming a more incarnation-seeking, incarnation-recognizing society – or at least toward a more incarnation-of-Jesus acknowledging Body of Christ, a community of those who can readily see Jesus in others.  I begin today with a few stories of being a “Feckless White Person” (FWP).  Any white person who has put themselves, either intentionally or accidentally, into a context where they are in the minority, have stories like these to tell. White people are, in almost any context in the world, generally in a powerful, dominant position.  This does not help us understand other cultures – we don’t have to because people will accommodate us.  This results often in our being FWPs, because, as James Scott reminds us, those in power don’t have, or don’t take, the opportunity to learn about the lives others have to live, which those without power must learn in order to survive.

FWP story 1: One summer in the late 1960s, my family – Mom, Dad, five kids ages 2-13, Grandma, and at least 2 St. Bernards, all stuffed into an AMC Rambler Station Wagon – we were bound for a church conference vacation in the southern suburbs of Chicago.  Of course, as always, we 1) got off later than Dad had planned, and, 2) had car trouble on the way in – my parents never had enough money to keep vehicles in great running order, nor to buy new cars.  So, it was WAY AFTER DARK, and we got hopelessly lost.  We were driving around the south side of Chicago, late at night, and at an intersection, with all windows down (of course there wasn’t AC in the car), we heard some people yelling.  We looked over and Dad began to think that the yelling was directed at us.  He pulled over after the light to look at a map.  The yelling continued, and seemed to be coming our way.  An older man came up to Dad’s open window and asked if we were lost.  My Dad explained who we were and where we were going and that we were lost.  The gentleman looked us over, looked over his shoulder, where the yelling continued, and then turned back to Dad.  “Pastor,” he said, “You need to get out of this neighborhood.”  The man told my Dad how to get out of the south side, encouraged him to slow down but not to stop at lights unless he had to, and told us all to wind up the windows and lock the doors. Dad thanked him, we all did exactly what we were told, and we did make it to the conference site that evening – in total silence and great gratitude.

FWP story 2: As a seminarian, I led a church youth group from Chicago on a work trip (what we now call short-term mission trips) to a Presbyterian church on a Navajo reservation in Arizona where a friend was serving an internship. It was a week full of many kinds of learnings – including that we were the 11^th Vacation Bible School that had been offered at this church that summer, and that some of the stories and even some of the crafts we had brought to lead had already been offered earlier that season. (That summer was when I began to really think about short-term missions, but that’s a story for another time.) One day, some of the kids, the other female leader and I went into town to do laundry. When we returned, the church was quiet and we couldn’t discern where the rest of the group was – so we assumed they had taken a hike and we got busy preparing dinner. It turns out we were right – they had taken a hike – to the top of the mesa, to see the sunset. There are at least three things to say about sunset on the desert: 1) it is spectacular, particularly from the height of the mesa; 2) it is completely dark after it is done; and, 3) it’s pretty surprising how quickly it can get cold once the sun goes down.

After a while, as it was getting dark, some of the kids who did laundry with us came running with the news that they had heard our group members – including the two adult male chaperones – yelling from the top of the mesa. By the time we realized what was going on, it was completely dark – and we had most of the youth and two chaperones up on the mesa, without warm clothes, food, water, or gear or know-how about how to get down. As we were trying to discern how to proceed, and as I pondered what would happen if one or more of the kids got hurt, out here in the middle of the desert and hours away from a healthcare facility, Dara approached us. Dara, who had seen her share and had her fill of FWP in her day – and maybe even during that summer – was about 65, which made her a pretty young matriarch in her clan. She approached us, with ropes, water, a bag of snack bars, and flashlights, and wearing climbing gear. Calmly and quietly, she told us that she was going to get them down.  Then she did, as we prayed for the safe return of all. All came down that night and were able to eat and sleep, all thanks to Dara.

There are lots of other stories I could tell. In both stories, someone saw something in us feckless white people worthy of respect and care.  That is, in both cases, the incarnation of Jesus in us was seen and honored by others who were in their own element, when we surely were not. In both cases, we might have been left to our own stupidity, and continued to bungle into even greater risk. In both cases, danger was present and it was avoided because someone who owed us nothing saw in us something that called to them, that made them take action and offer attention – in ways that made it possible for poor feckless white people to arrive safely at their destinations. They owed us nothing – except the care that humankind made in the image of God, made a little lower than God, might receive and expect. These are just two of many stories I could tell where my personal survival and safety was assured by people who are not like me – but people who nonetheless saw in me, and in us, the image of God.

If this can happen in that direction – how do we make this happen in the other? How can we white people come to care as much about the survival of others in ways that FWP in many, many places have received care?  I reflect on this question tomorrow.

Cynthia Holder Rich serves as the Sr. Pastor and Head of Staff of First Presbyterian Church, Findlay, OH, and as Director of ecclesio.com.