As of writing, this week, the first in December, marks the beginning of the Advent season. To Christians the world over, this is a time of expectation and meditation. Most obviously, this expectation builds unto the Christmas holiday at the end of Advent, and leading on into Epiphany. But more than just the expectation for the merriment of Christmas alone, this season constitutes an opportunity to meditate upon the historical event to which Christmas points. The essence of Christmas is the most distinctive and fundamental doctrine of Christianity: that the Triune God, in his Second Person, entering time and history, emptying himself of his former glory, all for the sake of a world which was not asking for his grace, took to himself a truly human nature and became man. Summarizing this truth, few more beautiful words have ever been penned than those captured in the Nicene Creed:
τὸν δι’ ἡμᾶς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους καὶ διὰ τὴν ἡμετέραν σωτηρίαν κατελθόντα ἐκ τῶν οὐρανῶν,
καὶ σαρκωθέντα ἐκ Πνεύματος Ἁγίου καὶ Μαρίας τῆς παρθένου,
καὶ ἐνανθρωπήσαντα,[We Christians believe in] the one who, for the sake of us humans, and for the sake of our salvation, descended from heaven, who was incarnated by the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, and who became human.
Notice that, for the Nicenes, this was no cold, propositional truth to be confessed and not felt. The wording is deeply personal: Jesus, the God whom the Christians confess, was incarnated for the sake of you and I. I dare say that there is no more moving truth confessed by anyone than this one of the Christians, that the God of the universe bridged the gap himself created by human sin and misery, becoming incarnate and joining in the human condition as the only antidote fitting for such a disease as ours.
This Advent, as part of my own meditation and expectation, I’ve decided to meditate on the words of some of the great Christmas songs which have come down to us. Too often, I think, some of these songs end up being sung around this time of year as part of some rote tradition, without any thought to the great truths which they contain, but truly the only adequate response to the realities contained in some of even the most commonly sung Christmas songs are enough to evoke wonder.
What Child is This: An Introduction
As a first entry in what will, Lord willing, be a short series, I’ve decided to cover what I’ve often touted as my favorite Christmas song, namely, “What Child is This?”. It was originally composed in English by poet William Chatterton Dix, while he himself was bedridden due to a near-fatal illness.1 The setting for the hymn is Jesus’ nativity, and the tone is reverential. Ultimately, the hymn, as its title suggests, constitutes a reflection upon Jesus’ identity, as both God and man. The paradoxical weightiness of the ultimate reality (the “Word made flesh”), juxtaposed with the lowliness of the scene presented to us in the Gospel narratives.
Verse 1
What Child is this, who, laid to rest,
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?2
The hymn begins with the question of identity: who is this child? At first glance, this may be taken to be any infant; he appears no differently: he is tired, so he sleeps in the lap of his mother, Mary, wholly dependent upon her for his care and well-being. Yet, this is only the surface, for the hub-bub surrounding his recent birth is celebrated by none other than the angelic choir to nearby shepherds, in reference to the episode recorded in Luke 2:
καὶ ἐξαίφνης ἐγένετο σὺν τῷ ἀγγέλῳ πλῆθος στρατιᾶς οὐρανίου αἰνούντων τὸν θεὸν καὶ λεγόντων· 14 δόξα ἐν ὑψίστοις θεῷ, καὶ ἐπὶ γῆς εἰρήνη ἐν ἀνθρώποις εὐδοκίας.
And suddenly there was with the angel many from heaven’s army who were praising God and saying, “May glory be to God in the highest heavens, and may there be peace on earth among those whom God approves!3“
Luke 2.13-14
So although this child appears as any other, appearances are deceiving. Surely no ordinary child would receive such entourage, the fanfare of the heavenly armies themselves, whom the God of the universe commands. But notice that there is an explicit juxtaposition between these two realities: the earthly and lowly appearance contrasted with the weighty reality of what precisely is happening. This juxtaposition forms the backbone of the entire song, and will be repeated over and over again.
This, this is Christ the King,
whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
come, greet the infant Lord,
the babe, the Son of Mary!
Suddenly the first refrain comes to answer the questions raised by the first verse: who is this child? It’s Jesus of Nazareth, here identified as “Christ the King.” Christ, as in, the Anointed Son of David, the fullness of the Old Testament’s prophetic hopes. And he, this infant, just born, is paradoxically reigning as King from the stall in which he was laid. King over what domain? Notice that no modifier is given: the hymn does not read “Christ the King of Israel,” but rather reads “Christ the King.” And, furthermore, he is not “Christ a King”, but “Christ the King.” The implication being that this one, the “infant Lord” as the song goes on to name him, is not simply a king among kings who reigns over his specific plot of land in the middle east, but rather is the King over all other kings, the King par excellence, to which all others ought to bow the knee, “lest he be angry… for his wrath is quickly kindled.” (Ps. 2.12)
This paradoxical reality is enlightened by the fact that this infant is like none other: he is the “infant Lord,” here certainly not a reference to him as a human lord (although he certainly is, by virtue of his humanity), but rather as the Lord, the God of Israel, the Lord of lords. This heavenly entourage is then justified, since though this infant cannot yet speak, he is himself the Word, and even now upholds the universe by his powerful word; though this infant is not yet able to reason, he is Wisdom herself; though this infant is younger than his mother, he is older than every created thing.
The infinite became finite, the eternal and supratemporal entered time and became subject to its conditions, the immutable became mutable, the invisible became visible, the Creator became created, the Sustainer of all became dependent, the Almighty infirm. All is summed up in the proposition, “God became man.”
John Murray
Verse 2
Why lies he in such low estate,
where ox and ass are feeding?
Now that the identity of the one in the stall has been settled, this raises a second question: why is he here? Why is he not in a palace of cedar, like his forefather David was? Why is he born into a family of penniless exiles, rather than of rich aristocrats? Why is he surrounded by an ox and an ass, feeding from the same stall in which this King is “enthroned,” and not thronged by court servants, ready to do his every bidding?
Good Christian, fear: for sinners here
the silent Word is pleading.
For those in Christ, he is here for your sake. This great “kenosis,”4 whereby the Son is “emptied” of his glory, is done that he might save those who are his, and heal the human condition. The hymn is blunt about who we are: we are those in need of intercession, the sinners. But the infant lying in the stall, he is the great Intercessor, the one who “pleads” the account of sinners before the God and judge of the universe, sent for our sake. When Paul speaks of Christ as “intercessor,” he highlights the humanity of Christ as the basis for his intercession:
τοῦτο καλὸν καὶ ἀπόδεκτον ἐνώπιον τοῦ σωτῆρος ἡμῶν θεοῦ, ὃς πάντας ἀνθρώπους θέλει σωθῆναι καὶ εἰς ἐπίγνωσιν ἀληθείας ἐλθεῖν. εἷς γὰρ θεός, εἷς καὶ μεσίτης θεοῦ καὶ ἀνθρώπων, ἄνθρωπος Χριστὸς Ἰησοῦς, ὁ δοὺς ἑαυτὸν ἀντίλυτρον ὑπὲρ πάντων, τὸ μαρτύριον καιροῖς ἰδίοις· εἰς ὃ ἐτέθην ἐγὼ κῆρυξ καὶ ἀπόστολος ἀλήθειαν λέγω, οὐ ψεύδομαι διδάσκαλος ἐθνῶν ἐν πίστει καὶ ἀληθείᾳ.
[Praying on behalf of pagan kings] is good and acceptable in the sight of God our savior, who desires all humans to be saved and to know the truth: for God is one, and there is one Mediator between God and humans, the human Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all humans, the witness at proper times, for which I myself was appointed a preacher and an apostle. I speak truthfully; I, the one who teaches the Gentiles in faith and truth, do not lie.
1 Timothy 2.3-7
Notice that it’s Christ’s intercession as human that’s on display here, thus, he can be the intercessor for all humans — even pagan kings, and the Gentiles, since there is only one God, and it’s not as if they have another mediator than the one in whose name the Christians pray. So Christ’s incarnation is intricately linked with his ability to serve as the in-between, the intercessor or mediator, between us and God the Father. And this is the reality to which the song points here: it is this incarnation, this lowly one, which humans needed for our salvation from sin.
The only proper response then, is the one which the song itself prescribes: reverential fear, at the one who would give himself for us all. The verse goes on to the second refrain:
Nails, spear, shall pierce him through,
the cross be borne for me, for you;
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
the babe, the Son of Mary!
Even at the stable, the coming passion, the great sacrifice of Christ’s body as a ransom for sinners, is in view. And this is really the content of Christ’s intercession: that he died as a ransom for sinners, and therefore those sinners may be brought to God.
Verse 3
So bring him incense, gold and myrrh,
come rich and poor, to own him.
The King of kings salvation brings,
let loving hearts enthrone him.
Raise, raise the song on high:
the Virgin sings her lullaby.
joy, joy for Christ is born,
the babe, the Son of Mary!
This final verse is really the pay-off of praise in response to all the great realities discussed in the last two verses. The reference to the three gifts of the Magi are gifts fit for the king he is. Anyone, rich or poor, can join into this praise to confess the one who is both the eternal King and the lowly infant. And this eternal King brings salvation to those who would themselves “enthrone” him. Not as if he needs any objective enthronement, but the subjective enthronement by which the paradoxical kingship of the one lying in the stall is acknowledged, seeing past the lowly manger and up to the glory of the one standing at the right hand of the Father.
The song closes with one final paradoxical reality, the two songs: one of the angelic army on high, singing the praises of this King, like in Luke 2 mentioned above, and the song of the Virgin Mary, a lullaby to put this child to sleep. And, to reflect once more on this great reality, it is truly beautiful that, for the sake of sinners, God, the one who by nature has no needs, put himself into a position where he needed to sleep, to be utterly reliant upon his young mother. And all of this, while still a cause for reverential fear, also brings much joy to the heart of the Christian, who because of this reality knows truly that his sins have been covered. “For if God did not spare his own Son,” Paul says, “how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?”
- http://christmasclassics.com/christmasmusic/christmas-classics-person-of-the-day-william-chatterton-dix ↩︎
- The text for this hymn is taken from here: https://hymnary.org/text/what_child_is_this_who_laid_to_rest/compare?selected=CAH2000-729 ↩︎
- “Those whom God approves” is my own, non-traditional translation of the phrase “ἀνθρώποις εὐδοκίας,” literally, “humans of good-will” or “humans of approval” Usually in Christian/Jewish writings εὐδοκία refers to God’s good-will or approval, not man’s, so the sense here is probably not “good-willed humans,” but rather “humans upon which God has shown good-will,” in the sense of God approving of these humans. God approves of those who trust in his Messiah for salvation, as Abraham did: isn’t a wonderful truth that God approves even of us, in our infirmities? The KJV, from which we get the traditional “good-will to men,” is translating a different text which says “ἀνθρώποις εὐδοκία” (lacking final sigma), which I would render in English as “may God’s approval be among men.” This would be another cry from the angelic army, separate from “may there be peace on earth.” Interestingly, although I believe incorrectly, the Vulgate seems to understand εὐδοκίας here to refer to humans who themselves have good-will: the Latin reads “in hominibus bonae voluntatis,” which I would render as, “among good-willed humans.” In Latin, the sense of “approval” is not in the lexical range for voluntas, as is the primary sense of εὐδοκία, so it would not be “among well-approved humans.” ↩︎
- “Kenosis” is a slippery theological term. I use it here, because I think, rightly understood, it is beautiful, and in the clause following, beginning with “whereby,” I explain exactly how I’m using the term. It has become “slippery” because of a group of theologians, historically called the “kenoticists,” who argued that the Son emptied himself of divinity at the incarnation. It is simply the Greek word (κενωσις) which Paul uses to speak of the Son being “emptied” in Philippians 2. In John’s Gospel, Jesus prays to the Father prior to his passion: “Glorify me with the same glory which I had with you before the world was,” that is, the divine glory, which he left for you and for me. The Son “leaving his glory” does not imply a substantial change in the Son’s god-ness, as if it were possible for God to cease to be God. Rather, it speaks to the Son’s humiliation, such that he is not glorified as his divinity demands, prior to God exalting him as God-man back to that same glory in response to his passion (see the second half of the hymn). Notice that the Son’s “emptying” in the great Christological hymn in Philippians 2 is not accomplished by a removal, but by an addition: “by taking the form of a servant.” ↩︎