One of the profound concepts of Christian theology that Armstrongism tended to overlook, or even mock at times, is the concept of the incarnation, failing to realize that it was the divine response to a deep, universal human longing.
The Incarnation is the hypostatic union—the permanent, personal union of the divine nature and a human nature in the one person of Jesus Christ, "without confusion, without change, without division, without separation." Jesus is thus truly God and truly man, one person with two natures.
At its core is the idea of a mystical longing—the creature's ache for the Creator, the finite reaching toward the infinite, humanity's innate desire for the divine. This isn't merely a Christian concept but a transcendent reality evident across cultures, religions, and eras. Philosophers, poets, and mystics have described it as an inner restlessness, a sense that earthly joys, achievements, and relationships ultimately fall short, leaving the soul yearning for something more eternal and fulfilling.
St. Augustine of Hippo articulated this most famously in his Confessions:
You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.
This restlessness arises because humans are created in God's image (imago Dei), imprinted with a capacity for the infinite that no finite thing can satisfy. It's a longing woven into our very being—a homesickness for the divine source from which we came.
For Christians, this universal ache finds its ultimate answer in the Incarnation: God becoming human in Jesus Christ. The baby in the manger is not just a sentimental image but the staggering fulfillment of that longing. The eternal Word "became flesh and dwelt among us" (John 1:14), bridging the chasm between the infinite God and finite humanity. As theologians like Athanasius and Irenaeus emphasized, God took on our humanity to restore what was lost—to make us partakers of the divine nature (2 Peter 1:4).
This is grace unimaginable: not a distant deity demanding we climb to the divine, but God descending to us in vulnerability and love. Born in a humble stable, among animals, to a young virgin and her faithful spouse, Jesus enters our world as one of us—experiencing hunger, joy, sorrow, and temptation—yet without sin. He does this, as the comment notes, "to show us how to love one another." The Incarnation reveals God's love as self-giving (kenosis, or emptying, as in Philippians 2:6-8), modeling perfect humility, compassion, and sacrifice. It teaches that true love isn't power imposed from above but presence shared in weakness.
The nativity scene powerfully symbolizes this. The shepherds—ordinary workers, many tiems the outcasts of society—represent humanity's humble longing answered first by angels' announcement of "good news of great joy." The Magi, wise seekers from afar, embody that cross-cultural yearning for truth, guided by a star to worship the King. Animals surround the manger, evoking Isaiah's peaceable kingdom where creation itself participates in redemption. Under a starry night, the infinite enters the finite, heaven touches earth.
In this child, the mystical longing is met with divine initiative. God doesn't wait for us to perfect our search; He comes to us, loves us into wholeness, and invites us to love as He loves. As we gaze on the manger today—especially on this Christmas Day—we're reminded that our restlessness has a resting place: in the God who became one of us.
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