Gregory of Nazianzus on Jesus as God in Human Flesh
Gregory of Nazianzus on Jesus as God in Human Flesh
The incarnation should never cease to amaze us. So argued Gregory of Nazianzus (ca. 329–390) when he meditated on what it meant for God to take on human flesh. What is considered by many to be foolish or outrageous is the core of Christian hope—God became one of us to raise us up to him. Gregory was one of the three great Cappadocian fathers who defended Trinitarian theology in the contentious fourth century; the other two were Basil the Great (I discuss his On the Holy Spirit here) and Gregory of Nyssa (I discuss his Life of Saint Macrina here).
Gregory of Nazianzus captures the beautiful, mysterious tension of Jesus Christ’s divinity and humanity in a passage in “Oration 29: On the Son” (from the Popular Patristics Series volume On God and Christ). Here is an extended extract:
He whom presently you scorn was once transcendent, over even you. He who is presently human was incomposite. He remained what he was; what he was not, he assumed. No “because” is required for his existence in the beginning, for what could account for the existence of God? But later he came into being because of something, namely your salvation, yours, who insult him and despise his Godhead for that very reason, because he took on your thick corporeality. Through the medium of the mind he had dealings with the flesh, being made that God on earth, which is Man: Man and God blended. They became a single whole, the stronger side predominating, in order that I might be made God to the same extent that he was made man. He was begotten—yet he was already begotten—of a woman. And yet she was a virgin. That it was from a woman makes it human, that she was a virgin makes it divine. On earth he has no father, but in heaven no mother. All this is part of his Godhead. He was carried in the womb, but acknowledged by a prophet as yet unborn himself, who leaped for joy at the presence of the Word for whose sake he had been created. He was wrapped in swaddling bands, but at the Resurrection he unloosed the swaddling bands of the grave. He was laid in a manger, but was extolled by angels, disclosed by a star and adored by Magi. Why do you take offense at what you see, instead of attending to its spiritual significance? He was exiled into Egypt, but he banished the Egyptian idols. He had no form of beauty for the Jews, but for David he was “fairer than the children of men” and on the mount he shines forth, becoming more luminous than the Sun, to reveal the future mystery.
As man he was baptized, but he absolved sins as God; he needed no purifying rites himself—his purpose was to hallow water. As man he was put to the test, but as God he came through victorious—yes, bids us be of good cheer, because he has conquered the world. He hungered—yet he fed thousands. He is indeed “living, heavenly bread.” He thirsted—yet he exclaimed: “Whosever thirsts, let him come to me and drink.” Indeed he promised that believers would become fountains. He was tired—yet he is the “rest” of the weary and the burdened. He was overcome by heavy sleep—yet he goes lightly over the sea, rebukes winds, and relieves the drowning Peter. He pays tax—yet he uses a fish to do it; indeed he is emperor over those who demand the tax. He is called a “Samaritan, demonically possessed”—but he rescues the man who came down from Jerusalem and fell among thieves. Yes, he is recognized by demons, drives out demons, drowns deep a legion of spirits, and sees the prince of demons falling like lightning. He is stoned, yet not hit; he prays, yet he hears prayer. He weeps, yet he puts an end to weeping. He asks where Lazarus is laid—he was man; yet he raises Lazarus—he was God. He was sold, and cheap was the price—thirty pieces of silver; yet he buys back the world at the mighty cost of his own blood. A sheep, he is led to the slaughter—yet he shepherds Israel and now the whole world as well. A lamb, he is dumb—yet he is “Word,” proclaimed by “the voice of one crying in the wilderness.” He is weakened, wounded—yet he cures every disease and every weakness. He is brought up to the tree and nailed to it—yet by the tree of life he restores us. Yes, he saves even a thief crucified with him; he wraps all the visible world in darkness. He is given vinegar to drink, gall to eat—and who is he? Why, one who turned water into wine, who took away the taste of bitterness, who is all sweetness and desire. He surrenders his life, yet he has power to take it again. Yes, the veil is rent, for things of heaven are being revealed, rocks split, and dead men have an earlier awakening. He dies, but he vivifies and by death destroys death. He is buried, yet he rises again. He goes down to Hades, yet he leads souls up, ascends to heaven, and will come to judge quick and dead, and to probe discussions like these. If the first set of expressions starts you going astray, the second set takes your error away.[1]
As carefully noted in the edition from which I’ve drawn this extract, Gregory’s words are deeply rooted in Scripture. These various images are based on the biblical record of Christ’s life and the broad scriptural testimony to who he is. Jesus is no mere man. He is certainly nothing less than a full human being, but humanity joined to deity in the person of Jesus Christ yields this stunning array of seemingly contradictory characteristics of who Christ is.
In one striking place in the New Testament, we see a juxtaposition like what Gregory weaves together in this passage. In Revelation 5, John bears witness to the coming of “the Lion of the tribe of Judah” (Rev. 5:4), who is in the very next verse described as “a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain” (Rev. 5:5). The Son of God is both Lion and Lamb—in a mysterious joining of apparent opposites to become the sacrifice and reigning King we need to secure our forgiveness and eternal dwelling in a kingdom of peace.
This reflection of Gregory of Nazianzus in On God and Christ reminds us that the early church both took seriously the theological mystery of the hypostatic union (two natures united in the one person of Christ) and sought to edify believers in their faith in Christ. In our day we, too, can benefit from mimicking such a practice of joining doctrine and devotion.
[1] Gregory of Nazianzus, On God and Christ: The Five Theological Orations and Two Letters to Cledonius, Popular Patristics Series (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2002), 86–88.