Advent Day 25: Son of God | Son of Man

Christ Pantocrator, Anonymous iconographer, Sixth century AD. Encaustic on wood panel, 84 x 45.5 cm. Sacred Autonomous Royal Monastery of Saint Catherine of the Holy and God-Trodden Mount Sinai, Sinai Peninsula, Egypt. Public Domain.

“God the Son” from the album In Excelsis. Composed and performed by Matt Redman, Andrew Bergthold, Quintin Trotter, and W. David O. Taylor.

“Silent Night” from the album Finding Christmas. Performed by GENTRI, music by Franz Gruber, lyrics by Josephus Mohr, arranged by Stephen Nelson.

Poetry:

“Christ-Hymn”
by Sandra Duguid

O You!
You tiny who
Of Simeon's song
You shepherds shock
You singular star-bright

You student
Shunning company
And travel
For scholars light.

Just apprentice
Of your mothers husband
True measurer
And leveler
And line

Authoritative voice
Enlisting aid
Selector
And selected
And Divine.

Creative host
Of weddings, picnics, graves
Most social
And uncelebrated
Friend

You thoughtful martyr
You thirsty man
You dying God—

I hoped!
But this concludes . . .
Amen. Amen.

O
Heir of power
Crasher
Of closed meetings
The unsummoned
Inviting inspection—

You natural!
You Master
Of surprise.

Who Do We Say He Is?

My Dad fled the Ukraine as a child. He, his sister, and my grandparents had the choice of remaining in their village after Nazi forces occupied it (and being shot as spies by the advancing Stalinists) or being packed off to Germany where they would live in refugee camps. They chose to flee — in a mad rush that left their extended family shocked, confused, and in lament.

For years my Dad refused to tell us about it. He thought it too much to grasp. But eventually he recalled to us the horror of seeing a childhood friend being killed, of being loaded onto boxcars by Nazi soldiers. There was little food or water. Can a child fear death? He did, and also dreaded separation, abandonment. The darkness of that time left my Dad with terrors he never quite overcame. One was the sense that God was not there for him. Yet, somehow he believed. For years in his upstairs office in our house, he kept a Russian Orthodox icon leaning against his desk lamp — an image very similar to the icons in our devotional today. In it, Jesus’ eyes were penetrating, sorrowful, inviting, reassuring. The icon you see here, known as “Christ Pantocrator” has special significance: it depicts our Savior in two modes: one side of his face shows an all-knowing judge; the other side shows compassion and care.

The face of our Savior in this icon shows a balance of intimacy and distance, a mysterious separation that my Dad understood. God, to him, was almost unapproachable out of reverence and awe. My Dad had little patience with the easy informality of some evangelical Christians in God’s presence. His mindset was captured by Solomon in Ecclesiastes 5:2: “Do not be hasty in word or impulsive in thought to bring up a matter in the presence of God,” Solomon said. Better to “let your words be few.”

Jesus’ teaching in this passage builds on this sense of reverence for God, the mystery of the incarnation. Jesus' disciples, like many who observed His life, had trouble grasping the significance of this God-man. “Who do people say I am?” He asked them. They’d heard the talk, the crowd’s confusion. “But who do you say I am?” He then asked, with persistence. And His question speaks to us. “No man has seen God,” noted the Apostle. But Jesus, as this icon shows us, explains God (John 1:18).

We are adopted children; through the propitiation of Christ, we can come close to God, calling Him Abba — Papa, Daddy. The beauty of Advent and of Christmas is that in embracing this Christ-child who would one day bear our sin on a cruel cross, we are invited into intimacy with the eternal God. We can call Jesus a friend, He tells us in John 15:14 — if we do what He commands. He will judge one day according to our obedience. So, with Matt Redman, we adore Him, a worship best done in the calm, silent night of Franz Gruber.

Prayer
Oh, Lord Jesus. What a kind and patient teacher you were to your disciples. You helped them see You, or at least try harder. And you help us. Our eyes and our minds are so limited. So you help us. And we are taken again, this Christmas, with the wonder of your birth. You came for us; You came to us. You found us when we were lost in the dark, wandering alone. And like the star that came and stood over your cradle, you’ve illumined us. You are that light. We worship you and embrace you as our Savior and Lord. And we welcome you into another year of journey with us. Immanuel. We are not alone; we will not fall headlong on the uneven ground for you hold our hand.
Amen

Dr. Michael A. Longinow
Professor of Journalism and Integrated Media
Division of Communication
School of Fine Arts & Communication
Biola University

For more information about the artwork, music, and poetry selected for this day, please visit our website via the link in our bio.