Modeling the “Yes” of the Incarnation

“When you became man to set us free you did not shun the Virgin’s womb.” Te Deum, 1979 BCP

“‘Thou didst not abhor the Virgin’s womb,’ so we sing. Thou didst not abhor the beast’s manger, so we may sing too; and is not this hoc erit signum, a very ensign of love?” Lancelot Andrewes

Many in the church planting/missional community world began to use the phrase “incarnational ministry” in the early 2000s. The phrase is evocative on its face and feels irrefutable. Who wouldn’t want their ministry to be like Jesus’ ministry? Who wouldn’t want to be “incarnational”? In another sense though, it is a category mistake to describe the ministry of the church as incarnational. The Incarnation of the Son of God, the Word becoming flesh, is an unrepeatable and unfathomable mystery. As such it is not a model for ministry at all, but rather the grounds of our salvation and the heart of our proclamation.

A saying from the ancient church sums up these themes in a succinct and potent way: caro cardo salutis, the flesh is the hinge of salvation. Only by taking on all that we are, all that it means to be human—to be fully enfleshed, save for sin—can Christ save us. The Fathers have another way of putting the same point: What is unassumed is unredeemed. What they meant is that every aspect of the human person, in order for it to be healed and redeemed, had to be assumed by Jesus in the flesh.

In order to redeem us, the Word became flesh, but we cannot become flesh because we cannot become what we already are. Jesus became flesh so that we might become what he is—those renewed to the fullness of the image of the invisible God. St. Athanasius makes this point central to his On the Incarnation: “The Word of God came in His own Person, because it was He alone, the Image of the Father, who could recreate man after the image.”

While “incarnational ministry” may not be the most helpful framework for the ministry of the church, something stands behind the Incarnation that should inform our vision of ministry and mission. This vision comes to us in the potent phrase from the Te Deum—”he did not shun the virgin’s womb.”

How does one become flesh? To be enfleshed one must first be en-wombed; one must abide in utero, an act of total dependence. To take on flesh, Jesus hides himself in the virgin’s womb, but in that hiddenness something is unveiled—both his humility and his patience. In Advent we remember Mary’s humble and triumphant “Yes”: “Let it be done to me according to your word.” But behind her yes is the divine yes to humanity, the Son’s yes to the Father that He, the Word, would become flesh and dwell among us. And this yes was a demonstration of divine humility.

We may not think of humility as a divine attribute, but it is. The collect for the first Sunday of Advent reminds us that Jesus came in “great humility,” not despising the humble estate of our flesh, gladly and willingly taking up residence within the womb of his mother, to take on flesh and dwell among us.

Such humility does provide a model for us. A humble church says, in looking to our Incarnate Lord, “We cannot bring about our own redemption.” We can only cry out, “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” To pray as we do, “Come, Holy Spirit,” is a prayer of humility, which says in effect, “I cannot do this on my own. I cannot do this in my own power.” Imagine if such prayers became the norm for the people of God. Imagine a humble church that says yes as Mary said yes, that says yes as Jesus said yes and then humbly waits for the Lord to work in and through us.