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THEOLOGY 1: How can Jesus be divine and human?

A summary of the talk given by Rev John Hadley; the first in our series entitled ÒTheology for the Layman / LaywomanÓ.

X-plore Programme

 

 

 

 

 

Obviously, nothing could be more utterly different than God and humanity –

so how could the two possibly come together in one person?

Council of Chalcedon – doctrine of the two natures of Christ –

seems so artificial; based on a static model that stems from later Greek philosophy

Apollinaris rejected this picture, saying that in Christ the divine Word took the place of ordinary

humanity: but was rejected as a heretic

How can we find a more helpful picture?

Are God and humanity really so utterly different?

 

(1)            God.   Phil. 2.6, wrongly translated as e.g. Òdid not snatch at equality with GodÓ

but what it actually says is

      oukh        harpagmon       hegesato      to      einai       isa       Theou:     (literally

 Ònot         a snatching         he thought        being       equal      with GodÓ,  that is

Òhe did not think (that) being equal with God  (was) (a matter of) snatching/grasping.....

      Ò..... but he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, becoming in the likeness of humans...Ó

      In other words, divinity does not involve snatching, standing on a pedestal, being superior:

      on the contrary, divinity involves self-emptying, humility, giving oneÕs self away.

Christ was not less divine by becoming human: on the contrary, that is how he showed his divinity.

And this is not an isolated text: throughout the gospels, Jesus rejects the model of ÒSon of GodÓ which involves power, difference, superiority: and accepts only that of self-giving love (cf the Temptations, PeterÕs confession, and all the sayings about giving up oneÕs life in order to find it, taking up oneÕs cross etc etc).  It is because he is willing to go all the way to the cross that he is truly divine: only so can he embody God who is the God of love.

(The dispute over the unwarranted phrase Òand the SonÓ (filioque, which the Western church added to the Nicene Creed, is much more than a quibble about words, because, with this addition, Jesus is left up there with God rather than down here with us.)

 

(2)            Humanity.   Again, we assume that humanity is as different from God as it could be.  But Genesis 1 tells us that men and women are made in the image of God  Some theologians say that at the ÒFallÓ this divine image was entirely lost; but this is not our experience.  Divinity still lurks in our depths, and calls out, beckons, sings to us – an experience we know as longing or yearning...

ÒAnd so the yearning strong

with which the soul doth long

shall far out pass the power of human telling...Ó

Shakespeare in a couple of his gloomier passages refers to ÒmanÓ as Òthis quintessence of dustÓ and as a Òpoor, bare, forkÕd animalÓ; but in fact the very sadness of these passages is itself a pointer to a world beyond the dust.  The Oxford chemist and atheist Peter Atkins maintains that the sciences are the only true indicators of reality: the arts might have their place as a pleasing escape from reality, but they are not serious academic disciplines.  Whereas I would maintain it is  the arts which, intentionally or otherwise, constantly transfigure the merely material and point us to the spiritual reality of God.  Thus a sculptor can take a familiar shape and show us in it something we have never seen before; painters can astonish us, with the synergy of their subject and their materials, by making the mundane beautiful; and a musical genius like Mozart can use the simplest combinations of notes to take us into a different world.  If Atkins is right, of course, all this remains an irrelevant distraction: but for me it is evidence (?) of the hidden divinity which every so often breaks out Òlike shining from shook foilÓ as Gerard Manley Hopkins puts it.

And in Christ, the Son of Man, the Second Adam, we see someone in whom our calling to divinity has been realised.  The more human we are, the more divine we become.  Those who have tried, for political or even religious ends, to Òquench the spiritÓ, to suppress the divinity in humans – ShakespeareÕs Malvolio, DickensÕ Mr Gradgrind, Mao Tse Tung, Pol Pot, the Taliban (donÕt have fun, donÕt enjoy, donÕt embellish, donÕt laugh, donÕt sing) – are on a horrific but in the end a doomed enterprise: the cakes and ale will always reassert themselves.  Perhaps this is why the Òsin against the Holy SpiritÓ is for Jesus the ultimate blasphemy.

 

(3)            I have described a God whose divinity is known not in aloof grandeur but in self-giving love; and a humanity which is at its truest when it is unearthing divinity in its heart.  Far from being polar opposites, God and humanity constantly reach out to one another and yearn to be at one.  The New Testament is full of language along these lines: the voices from heaven, the prayers of Jesus, and PaulÕs astonishing language of reconciliation:  Òin Christ God was reconciling the world to himself... for our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of GodÓ (2 Cor. 5.19,21). 

And it is good that at the very heart of the Bible lie those few pages of mysterious and passionate yearning which we call the Song of Songs.  The coming together of God and humanity in Christ is not an intractable proposition or a complicated diagram, leading to a very unconvincing piece of psychology (how could someone with two natures really be one of us?), but a love story; one which ends, not with God grudgingly ÒadoptingÓ us his children again once Jesus has made a suitable sacrifice for us: but with Christ welcoming us as sharers of his sonship, of his divine humanity, in what he calls Òthe Kingdom of GodÓ.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Rev. Philip W. Rowe, Vicar of Almondsbury and Olveston with Aust
The Vicarage, 3 Sundays Hill, Almondsbury, Bristol, BS32 4DS
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