"God could, had he pleased, have been incarnate in a man of iron nerves, the Stoic sort who lets no sigh escape him.  Of His great humility He chose to be incarnate in a man of delicate sensibilities, who wept at the grave of Lazarus and sweated blood in Gethsemane.  Otherwise we should have missed . . . the all-important help of knowing that He has faced all that the weakest of us face, has shared not only the strength of our nature but every weakness of it except sin.  If He had been incarnate in a man of immense natural courage, that would have been for many of us the same as His not being incarnate at all."  (C.S. Lewis, in Letters of C.S. Lewis, Feb. 23, 1947)

How easy it is to forget or fail to appreciate that God became man.  As well as I know the Gospel accounts, I cannot seem to fully grasp and keep hold of what it is to live the reality that God became man. that he (I'm deliberately not capitalizing that "h" to remind myself that God became fully human) felt the extremes of temperature, felt pain, had body odor and was dirty, was hungry, was afraid (why was he sweating blood?), and on one dark occasion, felt utterly alone and abandoned.  No doubt he knew his humanity more so than any of us, was alive to what it meant to be a living, sensual being.  He was a very particular person living in a very particular place and time, much like us, only more human, living more fully than any of us.

I'm rarely alive to life, but I'm trying.

I left the frigid and dry air of work this evening only to be bombarded by the oppressive humidity and heat of the South.  Praise God I'm human.  For a moment instead of silently complaining of the heat I reveled in it, let it soak in, breathed deeply and knew that this is what it is to be human in this place (just as Jesus knew the heat of a desert road in Galilee).  The sun is hot on my head and neck, and I'm sweating.  So this is what it is to be human, here.  This is life in the South.

I wake up to life, sometimes.

This evening I walked out in my yard for just a few moments, touching leaves of rhododendron, magnolia, maple, and holly, enjoying their different texture and shape.  And I'm glad Jesus knew what it was to feel something.  I wonder if it was a new experience for God the Father (who is spirit) to feel something via God Incarnate, not abstractly but with real hands and feet, not to know wine but taste it on His tongue. 

I'm glad I believe not just in a Spirit in the sky but in a real man with flesh and blood --- one of us.  Walking around my neighborhood, or lying in bed examining the outlines of my room in the half-light of morning, I can see with Jesus-eyes, walk with Jesus-feet, hold things and people with Jesus-hands.

He's real.  I'm real.  I'm waking up to life.