Tangible Love

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There's something about holding a newborn baby that changes you. The weight, the warmth, the tiny fingers wrapping around yours—suddenly, love isn't just a feeling. It's tangible. Real. Right there in your arms. John opens his Gospel not in a delivery room, but in eternity. 

Let’s take a moment to read John 1:1-14:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.

The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God—children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

REFLECT

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." It's cosmic. It's theological. It's... a lot. But then John brings it crashing down to earth with one of the most stunning sentences ever written: "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us."

The eternal God—the one who spoke galaxies into existence—took on skin. Took on fingerprints. Took on hunger and exhaustion and the need for a nap. This is the Incarnation, and it's the hinge on which everything turns.

Think about what this means. God didn't send a manual. He didn't text instructions from heaven. He didn't dispatch angels to fix everything while He stayed at a safe distance. No, God showed up. In person. In flesh. In a baby who needed his mother to nurse him and his father to protect him.

The Greek word John uses for "made his dwelling" literally means "pitched his tent." God didn't just visit our neighborhood; He moved in. He became our neighbor. He experienced every birthday, scraped knee, family dinner, and restless night that makes us human. When Jesus laughed, those were God's laugh lines forming. When Jesus wept, those were God's tears falling. When Jesus got hungry, that was God's stomach growling.

This changes everything about how we understand God. He's not a distant deity observing us from heaven like we're ants under a magnifying glass. He's Emmanuel—God with us. God who knows what it's like to be us because He was us.

John says we "have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." Glory in a manger. Majesty in a Middle Eastern teenager's arms. The King of Kings learning to walk, talk, and tie his sandals.

But here's what gets me every time: He didn't have to do this. God could have loved us from a distance. He could have stayed in heaven and sent messages. He could have ruled from a throne of clouds. Instead, He chose proximity. He chose relationship. He chose to express His love not just in words but in flesh and blood and breathing and being.

This is love expressed in its purest form—not love that talks about caring but love that shows up, moves in, and stays. It's the difference between someone saying "I'm here for you" and someone actually sitting beside you in the emergency room at 2 a.m. The Incarnation is God in the emergency room. God in the delivery room. God in the living room. God in every room where human life unfolds.

During Advent, we prepare for Christmas by remembering that the gift we're waiting for isn't just a sweet baby in a manger. It's God breaking into human history in the most personal, vulnerable, radical way possible. It's God saying, "I love you enough to become one of you."

The Word became flesh. Love became tangible. And because of that, we can touch, taste, see, and experience the reality of God's presence—not just 2,000 years ago in Bethlehem, but right now, in this moment, in our lives.

RESPOND

Take a moment to process what God might be leading you to do in light of what you read.

• What does it mean to you that the eternal Word of God took on human flesh and lived among us?

• How does knowing that Jesus experienced human life change the way you approach Him with your struggles and joys?

• In what ways can you make God's love "tangible" to others this Advent season?

REST

Take a moment to rest in God’s presence and consider one thing you can take away from your time reading, then close your devotional experience by praying:

God of the Incarnation, thank You for not loving us from a distance but for becoming one of us. Thank You that in Jesus, love became flesh—real, tangible, and present. Help us to grasp the profound mystery that You know what it's like to be human because You were human. May we respond to this incredible gift by making Your love tangible to those around us. Amen.