By Randall Smith
Many have probably seen the impressive photos from the James Webb Space Telescope showing thousands of galaxies. Not just stars, but galaxies, each one filled with billions of stars. Now imagine those thousands and thousands of galaxies compressed into an infinitely dense point the size of—no one really knows—but let’s say, the size of a baseball. Something like that is the image we have of the Big Bang theory about the beginning of our universe. It may have happened that way or not, but we can conceive it as a possibility.
I mention that possibility simply as a way to help us understand what is implied in the Incarnation. The Creator of all those galaxies and every atom and quark in them—the infinite Source of Being and Goodness of all that exists—contracted Himself to the size of a baby, to the size of an embryo. In the movie Aladdin, the genie mentions the paradox of having «phenomenal cosmic power» in a «tiny little space.» It doesn’t even come close to the greatness of the power or the smallness of the space we’re talking about here.
In Philippians 2:7, St. Paul says that Christ «emptied Himself» of His divinity and assumed our humanity. Do we really understand how radical this statement is? The Incarnation is not like Apollo or Zeus appearing to someone or taking control of a human body for a time. Those «gods» are localized entities, not as vast as the entire universe. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—is vaster than the universe itself.
All that is already quite difficult to assimilate. In fact, I don’t think we can ever fully understand it. We don’t even know what «dark matter» is, or what’s inside a black hole, or why the Higgs boson does what it does. While God not only knows those realities perfectly, but He Himself created them, and they only continue to exist because He sustains them in existence. The difference between that «mind» and our minds is like the difference between a cherry tomato and an entire galaxy, only now you’d have to multiply that difference by the largest number you can imagine, and still you wouldn’t come close.
Well, now try to understand the idea that it is precisely that God who loves us. He doesn’t just notice us, like you might notice a moderately interesting stone on the beach, which would already be surprising enough. There must be more interesting things to contemplate in the universe than me. There are more interesting things on this desk than me. But God doesn’t just notice: He really loves us.
How do we know? Why would we think we even matter to Him? The laws of quantum physics don’t care about the world or you. They just are. Why would anyone come to the surprising conclusion that the universe is a gift of infinite and boundless love? It’s not something you perceive immediately by looking at the world, so we should be very understanding when some of our contemporaries find it hard to believe.
Christians believe that the evidence of this all-pervading creative love is found in the Incarnation. A God greater than we can imagine chooses to become flesh in an embryo smaller than we can see with the naked eye. Undoubtedly, that turns everything upside down. Pope Benedict XVI wrote somewhere that this is like balancing the well-being of the entire cosmos on the head of a pin.
The most powerful force in the entire universe became flesh in perhaps the most powerless reality we can imagine. Is there anything more defenseless than a baby? God didn’t just «assume our humanity,» He assumed it in its weakest and most unprotected form. And then He goes even further and does the one thing that the classical Greek gods could never do: die. He dies for us, taking upon Himself our sin and our death to conquer both. Again, we must be understanding with those who can’t fully assimilate this. It’s a lot.
But at least we should have this clear. If Christ is not who Christians say He is, then we are left with an empty and meaningless universe. At least Nietzsche was honest in recognizing that if God is «dead,» then the only sensible path is to maximize the will to power while one lives. Anything else would be servile. What would make living according to selfless love reasonable?
When we proclaim that «Christ is Lord,» we echo what St. John writes at the beginning of his Gospel: «In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that has been made.» And «the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.»
But here is where everything becomes decisive. As Pope Benedict XVI pointed out: «only if it is true that the universe comes from freedom, love, and reason, and that these are the real and fundamental powers, can we trust each other, move toward the future, and live as human beings.» Christ is the Lord of all things because through Him creation came into existence. And what this reveals to us is that «freedom and love are not ineffective ideas, but forces that sustain reality.»
The birth of Christ is not just a gift—though it certainly is—but also (and we must not overlook this) the supreme, incarnate sacrament that points to the meaning of the universe and all that exists. Before Jesus has grown enough to utter a word, He is the Word. His incarnate presence in that Child already says a lot.
About the author
Randall B. Smith is a professor of Theology at the University of St. Thomas, in Houston, Texas. His most recent book is From Here to Eternity: Reflections on Death, Immortality, and the Resurrection of the Body.