Skip to main content

Jesus came to earth... to reflect God to us




Do you remember playing with a magnifying glass on a sunny day?  That curved piece of glass you held in your hand captured the scattered rays, narrowing them down to a fluttering patch of brightness.  And all the light’s power was held in that one small circle, shrinking and shrinking… until finally you were rewarded with a sudden curl of smoke, and a neat charred hole.

Imagine, then, that God, seeking to reveal himself on earth, condensed his essential being through some kind of celestial magnifying glass.  That wavering point became smaller and smaller, losing none of its power… until it became the exact size of a human baby, growing in a womb.

Jesus is the image of the invisible God, says the verse in Colossians, the perfect reflection of God’s glory.  This is the first and greatest reason that Jesus came: to show us what God is really like.  Yet sometimes, reflected and refracted through 2000 years of history, the image that Jesus shows us seems as blurred as any other.  How do we see it clearly again?

Start by taking one step backwards.  Jesus’ reflection of God is not just about the Sermon on the Mount.  Not just about the people he healed.  Not just his final words on the cross.  If we’re not careful, we can lose ourselves in analysing the detail.  And like an Impressionist painting, the picture dissolves into dots of unrelated colour.  But when we step back and realise that Jesus was God, all of him, and his whole life was dedicated to doing the will of the Father, then we start to see some larger patterns.  His life, death, resurrection and glory all form one extravagant sweep that leads our eye towards God.

And now take three steps forward again.  This is not a picture you can view from a safe distance.  This is a person who demands that you get involved.  The New Testament is full of references to sharing with Christ; we share his sufferings, his death, his resurrection and his reign.  As he shared his humanity with us, so we, gradually, can come to share his God-likeness with him.  The communion table, where we share his body and blood for ourselves and with others, is a beautiful reminder.  The love of God was shown through Jesus, John tells us, and it is only through sharing with love that he can be fully known.

And this Advent, find a magnifying glass and give yourself some time to remember the unwavering light of God, shining from a point just the size of a newborn baby, lying in a manger.  All the light’s power, held in that one small life… and more than enough to kindle a flame.

Photo attribution: By shakko (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Labels:

Comments

Anonymous said…
Hi, one of my friend is doing an advent devotion on her blog and linked it to yours. I liked this post very much. Even though I never playeyed with the magnifying glass I can picture it. I will be looking forward to more Advent Sunday's. Cherry
28 November 2016 at 07:52
Martha said…
Glad you liked it, Cherry! Can I ask which blog you found it from?
29 November 2016 at 05:13
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mr White Watson of Bakewell

Once upon a time, back in 1795 or so, lived a man who was always asking questions.  The kind of questions like, "Why is glass transparent?" or "Why do fruit trees grow better in that place than in this place?" or "What does the earth look like underneath the surface?"  This last question was one that he was particularly interested in, and he went so far as to work out what the rock layers looked like where he lived, and draw little pictures of them.  Now he was a marble sculptor by trade (as well as fossil hunter, mineral seller, and a few other things) so he thought it would be even better to make his little pictures in stone.  That way he could represent the layers using the actual rocks they were composed of.  Over the course of his lifetime he made almost 100 of these tablets, as he called them. Then he died.  And no one else was quite as interested in all those rocks and minerals as he was.  His collection was sold off, bit by bit, and the table...
Post a Comment
Read more

Birmingham: Temples to many things

Birmingham's cathedral is overshadowed by more modern temples: the mirrored swirls of New Street train station; the dotted bulge of the Selfridges store; the lacy blocks of the library; the pillars and pediments of the museum and art gallery. Museum and town hall Next to all these, Birmingham Cathedral, in its square of dusty grass, isolated from the main flow of shopping and travel, seems less like a dominant building and more like a minor chapel. It turns out the unpretentiousness is deliberate. St Philip's Church was built in 1715 when the worshipping population of Birmingham had outgrown the medieval constraints of St Martin in the Bullring . Birmingham remained part of the Diocese of Worcester until 1905, when Charles Gore pushed for the creation of a new diocese and became its first bishop. Seeing the depth of need in the city, he decided to convert St Philip's to a cathedral rather than spend money on a grand new building. Birmingham Cathedral had to be restored afte...
Post a Comment
Read more

Southwell Minster, Newark-on-Trent, and a pilgrim cellist

You may remember that I recently mentioned people doing weird and wonderful things. Well, I found another one. Last year, Kenneth Wilson visited all 42 English cathedrals. On a bike. With a cello. It was a cargo bike; the whole setup, cello and all, weighed about 50 kg; and he mostly managed a rate of one cathedral per day, with occasional rest days and train journeys where absolutely necessary. That's a lot of cycling. Of course, he wrote a book about it, and when I found out he was on the schedule at Newark Book Festival, I had to go. It also provided the perfect excuse to visit Southwell Minster. Newark-on-Trent feels like it is in the depths of the Nottinghamshire countryside, but it isn't actually hard to get to, I thought as I buzzed along the dual carriageways of the A50, A453, A52 and A46 on a sunny Sunday morning. All along the route, the grass stood bleached and crispy, scorched by the summer heat.  Newark Castle with crispy grass The author event was at the National...
Post a Comment
Read more