Introduction to Why God Became Man

Every now and again I come across the debate over which is more important: Christmas or Easter. Certainly in the popular mind Christmas is far superior. Whereas Easter is a nice time to get the family together for a nice dinner or have a nice egg hunt or eat some nice bunny-shaped chocolates with nice yellow and purple pastel decorations, Christmas gets at least a month of its own nostalgic music on the radio and extravagant decorations on the lawns of every second house, the excitement of shopping for unique gifts for all our loved ones, several Christmas parties, dinners, and dances, cleverly designed Santa-shaped chocolates—not to mention the endless popular forms of Santa Claus, St. Nicholas, Sinterklaas, and their sidekicks the Krampus or Zwarte Piet—all, of course, in the popping shades of red and green.

But the answer to the debate must move beyond these superficial, or at least prima facie, details. Both Christmas and Easter commemorate much deeper mysteries central to our salvation. The former recalls the Incarnation, the taking on of a human nature by God the Son, the Word becoming flesh and dwelling among us. The latter recalls the Passion, death, and Resurrection of that Incarnate Word for our redemption.

Now, in its most basic form, the argument for the supremacy of Christmas is that there could be no Passion, death, or Resurrection, no redemption, no salvation if it were not for the Incarnation in the first place; therefore, Christmas is the more important feast. At first glance, this may be compelling, but the logic is faulty.

Which is greater: amassing an army or winning a war? Designing blueprints or building a monument? Picking out a good block of marble or creating the Pieta? Plowing a field or reaping a fruitful harvest?

In every case it is the latter. No one cares so much that the Duke of Wellington led an army that included the 52nd Light Infantry or the 10th Hussars as that he defeated Napoleon at Waterloo. None can tell us the name of the man who designed the Chartres cathedral, but we cannot cease in our praises of its beauty. No one cries out for the dignity of the marble when we gaze in awe at Michelangelo’s masterpieces. A farmer does not celebrate his spring plowing but the harvest at Thanksgiving.

I am not suggesting, of course, that the Incarnation is not a great mystery worth celebrating to the nth degree, for indeed it is! But more so is our Redemption for which purpose the Word became flesh in the first place. It is a great feat to amass an army that can defeat Napoleon, but that work is simply for the sake of gaining the victory. So also producing a blueprint or selecting the right piece of marble or plowing a field; they are all great in themselves but are ordered toward something even greater. This is the case with the Incarnation.

Christmas is a great feast, but it is ordered toward our redemption. This is what Athanasius, Aelfric, and Anselm tell us in the three pieces we present in part 3 of our Christmas issue. All three of these men reflect on the mystery of the Incarnation and arrive at the conclusion that, as Athanasius puts it, God “was made man that we might be made God” (On the Incarnation, 54.3). The Word participates in our human nature so that by his grace we may participate in his divine nature. This wondrous exchange is accomplished at Easter, but it is set in motion at Christmas, and it is at Christmas that we most seriously meditate on this meeting of two natures in one Person.

Aaron P. Debusschere
Editor