Jesus Christ would have been an abject failure on “Shark Tank.” You can picture the scene: Standing before the sharks, berobed and sandaled (Didn’t he want to put his best foot forward?) they ask him, “What’s your product?” Kingship, salvation, authority to reshape the world. With dramatic flair and a playful spark in his eye, Jesus pulls back the curtain on his visual aid, revealing a dusty, dung-covered, odiferous animal pen — the divine workspace, the initial base of operations. Cue the camera panning over the incredulous looks from Cuban and Herjavec.
One of the more striking features of the incarnational drama is how little sense it makes on the surface. It is a story of contrast and subversion, where world-shaking events occur in the places no one is looking and among people nobody knows. It is this mood of divine irony that is captured in the 1865 hymn “What Child Is This?” by William Chatterton Dix, which is why it has always been one of my favorites. Throughout this simple hymn, the incongruities between import and circumstance are laid bare with the nativity staples of angels and shepherds, peasants beckoned with kings, and the intimate portrait of Mary holding the sleeping Christ Child alongside livestock eating from their troughs. No wonder the song opens with a profound question; confusion would be a natural response were we to see this drama play out with fresh eyes.
The second verse is, for me, the pinnacle of the song (and sadly omitted from many modern renditions, likely due to an unfortunate inclusion of a synonym for “donkey”):
Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christian, fear: for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
The line, “Good Christian, fear: for sinners here / The silent Word is pleading” beautifully captures the scandal of Advent. Really? This is the divine plea? This is the pitch for salvation from on high? The Word of God that thundered creation into being described here as “silent” is so fitting. The Incarnation is a holy whisper in the tumult of our world, and the hopes of humanity rest upon a sleeping infant — the one who has ears, let them hear.
In the brilliant “The Screwtape Letters” by C.S. Lewis, one of the names the demon-author uses for hell is the “Kingdom of Noise.” Advent is a season when we are invited to reattune our hearts to hear the Word made flesh speaking in the din. I often need this reminder, especially in a season with as much noise and busyness as Advent, that God probably will not speak in the ways I most expect. A new humility is required, as is a willingness to be surprised. The world around spotlights the loudest voice, the most bombastic spectacle, the flashiest new thing. God’s plea for human hearts, on the other hand, is in the form of quiet, holy wonder as heaven brushes earth. This year, every year, may we learn to listen anew.
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