One of my favourite Christmas cards is of the infant Christ reaching up from His cradle to cradle the face of a donkey.  The look of mutual wonder and delight is suffused with light and love.  It sounds kitsch, I know, but in truth it cuts to the heart of the Incarnation, and expresses a profound theological reality.  

Think of it:  for generation upon generation, the people of God had been longing to see the Face of God.  Moses asked for this favour, but was only allowed to see the back of God after their meeting.  To gaze fully on the face of God would be overwhelming, and he would die.  Even at that, Moses’ face was so radiant afterwards, he had to wear a veil, to protect his people. 

For generation upon generation, God’s people cried out to him in their darkness and captivity.  Although they received words through the prophets, God himself seemed distant and unapproachable.  Increasingly, there were prophecies about the tenderness and fatherhood of God, but His face was always hidden.

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Until - when peaceful silence lay over all, and night had half run her swift course, down from the heavens, from the royal throne, leapt your all-powerful Word; into the heart of a doomed land, the stern warrior leapt (Wis 18: 14-15).  I love this description of the Incarnation, of  the coming of the Word, Jesus Christ, into our  lost humanity.   It was as if He waited as long as He could bear it, then leapt into our darkness to save us.  And he didn’t just come to us:  He became one of us – embedded in our flesh and spirit,  uniting us with his divinity.  

After the millenia of cries to see the face of God, this was the moment it happened.  This was when the Creator of all things first saw His creation with human eyes, from the “inside” of humanity.  And this little donkey, infinitely precious to the One who made him, saw his Creator. 

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Can you imagine the wonder and awe in Mary and Joseph’s hearts, knowing that they were beholding for the first time in the history of the world, the Almighty God Himself?  They could see the Face of God and live, because his humanity made it possible.  The Incarnation made all things possible.  St Athanasius said that God became man,  that man might become divine.  He went down into our Hell and he draws us up to Heaven with Him.

This is what marks Christianity as unique:  our God comes to save us by becoming one with us. This wasn’t just a thought or a theological concept; it wasn’t a sudden emergence from on high. It was a true incarnation, which means to be made flesh.  What could be more incarnated than embedded in the womb of a woman,  being knit together with human sinews made from her DNA? 

The season of Advent stirs our desire to see God.  By the end, the cry for Him to come is incessant.  When our longing is strong and desperate enough, our hearts are open to receive.  That’s what we celebrate on Christmas Eve.

The danger is allowing the Christmas cards and story to remain only with this extraordinary moment. Jesus entered our world in his Incarnation but He comes to us at every moment, and in surprising ways.  We can often “see” His face in the glory of Nature, in beautiful liturgies, in the silence of our hearts.  But have you caught a glimpse of Him in the face of a homeless man, or a refugee family or by a death bed?  

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When I was living among the poorest of the poor, when I had nearly run out of love to serve one more, an inebriated street person would utter a word I knew was spoken to me from God.  In a poor border town, a young refugee family – a man and woman with their baby – appeared out of nowhere, seeking help.  I was filled with light and joy as I took care of them, and almost not surprised when I never heard or saw them again.  When one of our members died, the sweet fragrance of Christ filled the room as she breathed her last six breaths.  Grief was transformed into wonder and joy.

Lord, give us eyes to see Your face everywhere, especially where least expected.  It is Your face that we seek.