Have you not often felt in Church, if the first lesson is some great passage, that the second lesson is somehow small by comparison—almost, if one might say so, humdrum? So it is and so it must be. That is the humiliation of myth into fact, of God into Man; what is everywhere and always, imageless and ineffable, only to be glimpsed in dream and symbol and the acted poetry of ritual becomes small, solid—no bigger than a man who can lie asleep in a rowing boat on the Lake of Galilee. You may say that this, after all, is a still deeper poetry. I will not contradict you. The humiliation leads to a greater glory. But the humiliation of God and the shrinking or condensation of the myth as it becomes fact are also quite real. –-C. S. Lewis, “Transposition,” The Weight of Glory
Myths are narratives that help explain a practice, belief, or natural phenomenon. They feature supernatural beings, heroes, and incredible journeys of triumph and loss. There are creation and moral myths, hero and trickster myths. Regardless of the type, most of us prefer them, like our fast food meals, super-sized. Anything less than a super-sized Atlas would collapse under the weight of the world. Arnold Schwarzenegger may have won the Mr. Olympia title eight times, but he could never throw a lightning bolt. For that feat, you need a super-sized strong man. You need the mythic Zeus, the Greek god of gods.
To “humiliate a myth,” to degrade and humble it, seems counterintuitive. It seems wrong. As humans, we’re limited by mortality and subject to natural forces that are indifferent, at best, and hostile, at worst. As myth consumers, it would seem foolish then to stand in line, only to place an order for a small myth (no extras). Consider the confused employee: “Excuse me, did you say a small myth? After centuries of typhoons, earthquakes, derechos, fire, drought, acts of unimaginable violence, and war, you want a small myth?” And you can imagine the talk in the break room: “Get this, some guy just ordered a small myth! Who does that?”
Yes, who does that? Who would have the audacity to humble the almighty myth? Who would dare transmute the glory of God into something small, solid—no bigger than a man who can lie asleep in a rowing boat on the Lake of Galilee? And who would consider something even smaller still? Not the Greeks, whose goddess Athena’s birth is legendary. Springing from her father, Zeus’s, head, she is born fully armed and ready for battle. Here is myth exalted, myth super-sized. But consider the birth of Jesus, who neither sprang from God’s head or—as the Norse giants, the Jotuns did—from the sweat of their father Ymir’s armpits (unpleasant but the stuff great myths are made of). Instead, Jesus came to earth as a baby—vulnerable, hungry, and placed in an animal trough. As Christian author C. S. Lewis writes, this is the humiliation of myth into fact, God into man. If God were attempting to out-myth the Greeks or the Norse, he might’ve had Jesus born as a superhero whose powers exceed all the Greek and Norse gods combined. If he were trying to make the New York Times bestseller list or sell rights for a feature film, he’d most likely receive polite but emphatic rejection letters: Thanks, but no thanks. Our readers/viewers would find your protagonist too colloquial and his birth story uninspired.
But God entered the world, not as a being imageless and ineffable, only to be glimpsed in dream and symbol, not as a myth but a human. Who does that? What god enters the world and lives among its inhabitants as a human, breaching the barrier between the immortal and the mortal? And who peoples his story with shepherds and innkeepers, tax collectors and census takers? God does, and herein lies the great paradox of how humiliation leads to a greater glory. Because we know how the story ends: how the humiliation of a birth in a stable and the agony of a death on a cross lead to a greater glory.
During Advent, we remember how the Christmas story begins—and ends. The world was a dark place at the time of Christ’s birth, as it continues to be today. But we come to the manger, blessed by a Savior, who is Emmanuel, God with us. We come, preparing our hearts for the mystery of the Incarnation: “the humiliation of myth into fact, God into man.” This is a mystery that continues to confound and amaze us. O come, let us adore Him.
Luke 2: 8-20
8 And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
13 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
14 “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”
15 When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”
16 So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. 17 When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, 18 and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. 19 But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. 20 The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
