Two Natures, One Person
Have you ever been on a ship at sea? On a clear day, looking out, the blue of the deep and the blue of the sky meet at the fence, the horizon. How different they are and how well matched. The water is heavy, the air so light. The currents and movements of the sea show up to your eyes as waves with white trim. The currents of the air invisible to you, yet real and felt on your skin. Look again at the limit of your sight, that straight thin line in the distance, where their conversation happens: hidden converse between blue and blue. Open space and earthbound waters—far apart as things can be, yet for beholding, on that horizon—you see both, together. In the panorama, revealed for you to notice, they meet, joined but distinct, together with but not merged. You observe this, absorb it and marvel at their union: true sky and true sea.
We look upon Jesus, walking with us this way of Lent, and see God with us, and we see our teacher, human as he can be. His heart is united with the One who sent him, but as we walk he gets tired and his feet may ache. Human and divine, two natures perfectly held together in a person. What was it like for him so sublimely at one with his Father? You and I get glimpses of such unity in our own life and prayer, but glimpses only. What was it like for him to be so true in his human element? Just as with Joseph of Nazareth, so with Jesus, his thumbs register a shocking jolt when struck with a mallet at the carpenter’s bench. More than mere glimpses, we live humanity, and all it brings.
Of course, we have scriptures to consider this Sunday. The writers of New Testament documents, the authors of John’s Gospel and the Letter to the Hebrews leave us these verses to contemplate:
“Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. —John 12:27
IIn the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to the one who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission.
—Hebrews 5:7
Must I?
He will if he must go into the unknown;
Likely, it will bring pain and misery
He does not want to.
Fearsome things to be endured,
fearsome even to anticipate,
suffering lies ahead.
Nerves of the body scream, “No.”
Swirling thoughts demand, “Why?”
Feelings plead, wringing the heart, “Help!”
“Father, I will, for You, I trust your purpose;
I will, for them, estrangement is no life;
I will, for myself, this love, my core, urges me on.” —DWP + March 2021