Strictly speaking, the only time God ever changed was in a manger.
That is the problem with being infinite, omnipotent, and all the rest. The theologians have a fancy word for this: immutability. It means that God does not shift. He does not evolve. He does not wake up on a Tuesday feeling a mite better than He did on Monday. He is the Great Constant, the same yesterday, today, forever.
For the philosophers, this is great news. It means the universe has a steady floor. But for those of us who like a good story, it presents a narrative difficulty. A character who cannot change usually makes for a boring biography.
But then comes Christmas.
Christmas is the moment the narrative breaks. It is the moment the Unmoved Mover moves—not just geographically, from heaven to earth, but ontologically. The High King of Heaven, the Son of God, by whom the galaxies came into spinning, burning existence, suddenly finds Himself incapable of speaking at all. The One who sustains all things by his word is suddenly sustaining Himself by fumbling for milk at a young girl’s breast.
We have heard the story so many times that the shock has worn off. But stop for a moment and reckon with the absurdity of the Incarnation.
We are talking about the Infinite becoming the Infant.
In the manger, the Limitless One accepted limits. The Word became speechless. The Architect of the cosmos shrank Himself down to the size of our hands, wrapping the boundless glory of the Godhead in the fragile, shivering skin of a human baby.
When God decided to save the world, He did not send an army. He did not send a philosopher with a new, airtight system of ethics. He did not send a politician with a comprehensive policy plan.
He sent a baby.
He sent the most helpless, useless, dependent creature in the known universe. A baby cannot pass a law. A baby cannot fight a battle. A baby cannot even lift its own head. A baby is pure need.
Why would God do this? Why would the Omnipotent clothe Himself in impotence?
I reckon it is because He knew what we actually needed. We didn’t need another display of power (we have plenty of storms and earthquakes for that). We didn’t need more information (we have libraries full of that).
We needed to know that we were worth coming for.
If God had simply remained the “Infinite”—the distant, perfect, unchanging Sky Father—we might have respected Him. We might have feared Him. We certainly would have obeyed Him, if we knew what was good for us. But we could not have loved Him. And we certainly would not have felt that He loved us.
