The Joy of God

A reminder

Another follow-up to my earlier post, "God in the Fire.” In that article I wrote, “The God of the Bible is a God of constant pain.” This is true for at least a couple of reasons.

First, as long as there is sin, He will hurt somehow, as parents hurt when their child goes astray. In the days before the Flood, “The Lord was grieved that he had made man on the earth, and his heart was filled with pain” (Genesis 6:6).

Second, God is outside of time. He lives in the eternal now. In some sense, He’s always experiencing whatever has happened, is happening, or will happen.

One of the profound consequences of His being outside of time is that the Father and Son are always, eternally, forever, unremittingly living the grief of being separated from each other as Jesus hung on the cross bearing the sins of the world. And so I repeat, “The God of the Bible is a God of constant pain.”

But as I was working on that post, as I was pondering it even when I wasn’t sitting at my computer typing, something I read reminded me that He is also a God of joy. Deep, profound, unceasing joy. Joy beyond my understanding.

Of course I knew that, but I don’t often think of Him that way.

Joy and sorrow in the Old Testament

In the first few chapters of Genesis I see a God who creates a beautiful, perfect universe including an ideal paradise called Eden. He individually molds two unique human beings who bear His own image, and lovingly provides for their every need and desire. I can easily imagine Him being filled with joy as He views and interacts with His creation.

But then it all falls apart. Adam and Eve sin. The remainder of the book describes how every single person messes up, even His chosen ones. Exodus tells the history of Israel’s doubts and rebellions as God supernaturally frees them from slavery in Egypt, guides them by day and by night, and supplies all they need on their way to the promised land.

In the next three books, the Lord presents His perfect law for them to follow. He provides a sacrificial system as a way for those who stumble to return to Him. Even as they live daily with His miraculous signs and wonders, they constantly, repeatedly break that law and prove that they desperately need that system.

From Joshua through 2 Chronicles, God’s people have a few good moments, but they keep falling short, piling sin upon sin, until He punishes them by sending them into exile. The prophets reveal His broken heart as He warns Israel of the consequences of their disobedience.

Reading through the Old Testament, I find failure and judgment, but I rarely seem to catch a glimpse of a God of joy. In fact, the only direct reference I could find to God’s joy is Nehemiah 8:10, “The joy of the Lord is your strength.”

Of course there are many indirect references. The delight He takes in Israel (Deuteronomy 30:9). Their sacrificing to Him and rejoicing because He’s given them great joy (Nehemiah 12:43). David’s statement that the Lord Himself will fill him with joy in His presence (Psalm 16:11). God’s promise in Isaiah 56:7 to give His people joy.

Joy and sorrow in the New Testament

It’s a little easier for me to remember God’s joy when I’m reading the New Testament. But how often do I think of Jesus as a man of joy? Isaiah 53:3 describes Him as “despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering.” I tend to focus on this aspect of His experience because I feel closer to Him in His troubles than in His triumphs.

There are a few explicit references to Jesus’ joy, though. Luke 10:21 says He was “full of joy through the Holy Spirit.” When He was speaking to His disciples shortly before He was betrayed—knowing that His betrayal and sacrifice were coming soon—He used the words, “my joy” (John 15:11 and 17:13).

Still, I tend to think of Him as being dragged down by the weight of the world, rather than being continually filled with joy. During His years of ministry, I imagine Him grieving over suffering and injustice and hypocrisy and sin. In Matthew 26:36-44, I see Him deeply troubled by His upcoming crucifixion.

So I cherish this reminder that I just happen to stumble across as I’m going through each day with thoughts of His pain lingering in my mind. My God, the God of the Bible, the creator and sustainer of all that exists, the one who sacrificed His only Son for our salvation, is a God of eternal, unbounded, unremitting joy. Even in the midst of His constant sorrow.

My mistake is in assuming (although I don’t openly admit it) that the sorrow somehow diminishes His joy. I tried to think through this in my earlier post, with the analogy of my jug and His barrel. But the Bible gives me a better idea of how to understand a God who feels very real pain, yet is filled with overflowing joy.

Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians 4:17 that an eternal weight of glory far outweighs his suffering. His “light and momentary troubles” include imprisonments, severe flogging, and exposure to death again and again; receiving thirty-nine lashes five different times; being stoned once, shipwrecked three times, and beaten with rods three times; being constantly on the move; being in danger from rivers, bandits, Jews, Gentiles, and false brothers; being in danger in the city, in the country, and at sea; and being deprived of sleep, food, water, warmth, and clothing (2 Corinthians 11:23-27).

In addition, he had some kind of physical condition that he describes as a “thorn in the flesh,” tormenting him so badly that he repeatedly pleaded with the Lord for relief (2 Corinthians 12:7-8). Like Jesus, Paul also grieved constantly for the sin and rebellion among God’s people (Romans 9:3-4, 2 Corinthians 11:28-29).

Where does a mere mortal like Paul get the inner strength to be “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing” (2 Corinthians 6:10), if not from a God who right now, right in this moment, and for all eternity, is doing the same thing? I need to remember that.

 

 

Why Should They Believe?

A recent cultural shift

How can we expect our children to be dedicated to the one true God? Bible-believing Christians are a small minority in America. The dominant culture ignores or disdains our primitive ideas. Supporting biblical sexual morality is labeled hate speech.

Our country has changed drastically in my lifetime (sixty-plus years). As a child, my family only went to church at Christmas and Easter, and we rarely talked about spiritual issues at home. Yet I picked up a relatively accurate understanding of Christianity simply by living in America.

It wasn’t specifically taught in my public schools. There were no oral prayers being recited. But the cultural aspects snuck in.

We sang “America, America, God shed His grace on thee” and “God Bless America.” Our music classes presented Christmas programs with songs that reflected the original meaning of the holiday, not just the ones celebrating Santa Claus and snow. Our spelling words included omniscient and omnipotent.

Friends talked about God as if it was perfectly natural and reasonable to believe in Him. Everyone knew that BC meant Before Christ. We were a little confused about AD, though. Some kids speculated that it meant After Death. When we were considered old enough, we were taught—in public school—that it meant Anno Domini, Latin for “the year of our Lord.”

Fast forward to today.

I’m chatting with ten-year-old Michael at my church one evening. His parents are faithful believers. He has a good background in the Bible. He doesn’t openly question it, but he seems to have his doubts about the reality of some of its teachings.

Why should he believe it? He’s being bombarded every day with the message that it’s unimportant, it’s outdated, it’s based on superstition, it’s packed with hateful lies.

A historical cultural shift

For some reason Michael asks me what BC means. (He knows very well that BCE stands for Before the Current Era.) I tell him that it means Before Christ.

And then it hits me.

In spite of all our cultural denials, Jesus’ birth has had a tremendous impact on our entire world. I know that, but how many kids in America today have any idea that it’s true?

I point out to Michael that Jesus’ birth was considered so very important that our entire dating system is based on it. People used to number the years according to when the latest king began to reign, e.g. “In the twentieth year of Jeroboam king of Israel . . .” (1 Kings 15:9). Eventually they realized that it would be helpful to have an ongoing international system. No more turning back to year one every so often. No more using different dates in different countries.

The decision was made to base the calendar on the same idea (the reign of a king), but to set it up so that it could continue until the end of time without ever starting over. Which king could be chosen? Which one’s reign could never be surpassed by anyone else’s? Only the King of kings. Jesus.

The expression on Michael’s face is one of thoughtful relief. He wants to believe. And yet it often appears to him as if Jesus’ birth was something trivial, something only a minor few actually celebrate on Christmas Day.

But here is evidence that that hasn’t always been true. There was a time when many intelligent people regarded the birth of Jesus as the most defining moment in history.

Jesus’ importance

Jesus is far more important to our world than modern Americans are willing to admit. Our young ones need to know that. We educate them in the facts of the faith, as we should. We encourage them to learn the order of the books of the Bible and to read it for themselves, as we should. Some groups teach them apologetics at their youthful level. A great idea.

But eventually every kid realizes that only one small group believes all this. Does it really matter? How important can it be if most people simply ignore it?

Most of our children (and probably many adults) aren’t aware of the numerous ways Jesus’ birth has impacted our world. One profound impact is presented by Philip Yancey in his blog post, “What Makes Friday Good?”, from March 25, 2019. (The next four paragraphs are based on that article. All of the following quotes are taken from it.)

In America today, one of the most important values upheld by the dominant culture is concern for the marginalized. Those who can claim to belong to one or more oppressed groups are assumed to have a kind of moral authority, which gives them instant respect. Where did this type of thinking come from?

A French philosopher named René Girard did extensive research and “ultimately traced the phenomenon back to the historical figure of Jesus.” The Son of God not only stood up for the marginalized and oppressed, He actually chose to be born into a poor family in a conquered territory, to live as a homeless adult, and to die an unjust death. Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection triggered “the most sweeping historical revolution in the world, namely, the emergence of an empathy for victims.”

In contrast, up to that time most cultures supported “a social order in which the strong have a right to dominate the weak.” “Winners, not losers, wrote ancient history, and the myths from Babylon, Greece, and elsewhere celebrated strong heroes, not pitiable victims.” The Old Testament was the only exception to this rule, with its emphasis on helping the helpless, its willingness to tell the history of a nation’s failures, and its powerful expression of God’s love for those who mess up so badly.

Even apart from His saving grace (which is, of course, the most important message in His Word), Jesus’ birth was important. Jesus’ life was important. Jesus’ death was important. The resurrected Jesus continues to be important. “Today, if you Google indices that measure such values as economic freedom, press freedom, charitable giving, earth care, gender equality, quality of life, human rights, and lack of corruption, you will find that with very few exceptions Christian-heritage nations receive the highest ratings.”

The values that our current cultural elites consider so very important are based entirely on Christian theology. Those values didn’t originate with Jesus’ birth, though. He simply embodied them in a way that no one else had ever done before. The God of the Bible has been the same God for all eternity.

In the Old Testament, He demonstrated and demanded empathy and care for widows, orphans, the poor, immigrants, and anyone else who might be vulnerable to abuse by the powerful. Those commands had a real impact on Jewish life and character.

It wasn’t until the crucifixion, though, when “the victim became a hero by offering himself as a willing victim,” that people were motivated and enabled (with the help of the indwelling Holy Spirit) to do as God has always done. Not perfectly. Not consistently. But for the first time in history, it became a priority for one group (Christians) to care about the weak and the oppressed.

One of the messages our kids are hearing everywhere today is that Jesus and the Bible are trivial and irrelevant, or even dangerous. Maybe one way we can counter that idea is by understanding for ourselves and passing on to them the truth that Jesus is the most important person in history. Jesus’ birth was the most important event in history.

That importance can be seen not just in how we date our calendars, but in the powerful impact for good that still flows from His life today, even among those who don’t believe in Him. Even among those who detest His followers. God is continuing to fulfill His promise to Abraham that all nations will be blessed through his offspring (Genesis 22:18). The one whose birth we celebrate on Christmas Day.

 

 

Is it Faith or is it Greed?

Supernatural healing

God does one miraculous thing for me, and I’m thankful for a while. For days. Maybe a couple of weeks. But at some point, I put that in the past and look to the future. So what are You going to do for me next, God?

Is this faith or is it greed?

I’ve written before about how a medical issue affects my reaction to stress. When I’m feeling the strain of a new challenge in my life, my physical weariness increases. A little more, and the mental fog thickens. Pile additional trauma on top of that, and my emotions go haywire until they reach a point that I refer to tongue-in-cheek as my “insanity.”

Over the last four years, so much stress has built up for me (as it has for many Americans) that I’ve been getting to that painful emotional stage far more often than in the past. It takes longer to die down than it used to. Sometimes it feels relentless.

So I make a commitment at the beginning of 2022 to be extra diligent about taking care of myself in hopes of restoring what I’d lost. By the end of the year I can see a definite improvement. I’m about halfway back to normal.

Of course my efforts are accompanied by frequent prayers. Requests for strength and health. Thanksgiving for the energy that I do have (as limited as it is), for signs of gradual improvement, and for the ways God’s been drawing me nearer to Himself through it all. But for months He says no to a sudden, supernatural healing.

Until He says yes.

I read a brief comment in Tim Keller’s Walking With God Through Pain and Suffering. It strikes a chord deep inside. And suddenly, unexpectedly, out of nowhere, the emotional “insanity” ends. Just like that. It never comes back, in spite of my circumstances.

I’m stunned. I’m thrilled. I’m more thankful than words can describe.

But I’m cautious. I’m not sure how long it will last. I play the usual mind game of “Don’t show any signs of doubt, or He might take it away again.” As if it all depends on my imperfect faith, not His perfect grace.

Prayers of thanksgiving replace my prayers of agony. Months go by and the healing continues to be confirmed. My mood drops lower than normal and my anxiety climbs higher than normal when I’m caught up in some new trauma, but I don’t crash into those depths of fear and confusion that have been with me so often during these last few years.

The next step

As time passes, I go from frequent praise throughout the day to expressing my gratitude a couple of times a week. And then I get used to this new state of affairs, and I start thinking about the present and the future.

I’m still stuck in the second phase of my stress reaction. Each morning the mental fog rolls in earlier and thicker than it did in the past, reducing my ability to do what most people my age would consider normal everyday activities.

I make that natural human transition from wonder and joy over God’s supernatural healing to discontent over the suffering that remains. My thoughts turn from “Thank You, thank You, thank You” to “Please, please, please.”

I want to believe that I’m demonstrating great faith in a great God. But maybe it’s just my greedy heart saying, “Give me more and more and more.”

At what point should a sense of contentment take over? At what point should I accept my current physical status as God’s will, rather than continuing to ask for better health? When I was younger, the answer seemed to be, “Of course I should keep asking.” I had responsibilities that required strength and energy.

Aging and praying

But as aging takes its toll, most of us develop chronic health conditions. Is it faith, or is it a love for the things of this world, that goes to God and asks for supernatural healing from the natural deterioration of our bodies?

I once knew a man whose wife developed early onset Alzheimer’s disease when she was in her fifties. One day he asked a group of us to pray for God to cure her. My automatic reaction was a sense of disbelief.

Can we, should we, expect to be relieved of the ravages of aging? Was my friend demonstrating greater faith than mine by making this request? I don’t know.

I did pray a few times, but each prayer was deeply drenched in “Your will be done.” If her healing depended solely on my faith that God would do as I asked, then it wouldn’t happen. She lived fifteen years or so after her diagnosis. Her mind continued to deteriorate. She’s now home with Jesus.

Maybe the Lord could put an end to all these questions if He would just do like He did with Paul whenever we ask for healing that isn’t within His will. Paul pleaded with Him three times for relief from a thorn in the flesh that was tormenting him. Nothing happened.

Then one day Jesus said to him, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:7-9). No instant cure. A call to greater dependence on Jesus’ grace and power instead.

Sometimes the answer to my prayer is obviously either yes or no. Sometimes I get some sense of His will, a sort of internal leading. But it would make life so much easier if I could just hear His voice speaking to me as He spoke to Paul. Then I would know His will for sure. Then I could face my challenges with contentment.

That would be the contentment of knowledge, though, rather than the contentment of faith.

As I circle back to the question of my motive for asking for additional healing, I know I want to be living in gratitude, not greed. And I know that faith is the key to it all.

Am I asking with faith that God understands my needs and my heart, and that He’ll do what’s best for me and for those whose lives I touch, whether that means suffering or relief? Do I have enough faith to be content with His decision? Is my faith strong enough to live a life of thanksgiving even if He says no to my next request? That’s the kind of faith I want to have.

 

 

Final Lessons From Charlie

Saying goodbye to the best dog in the world

I saw the signs. I knew it wouldn’t be long. But I kept thinking, “As long as he’s happy. . .” I was wrong.

Of course he acted happy. That’s what dogs do. It’s an instinct that they can’t resist. When they were in the wild, they had to hide their weaknesses and put on a show of strength. Otherwise they’d be attacked by predators.

Pretend to be happy. Pretend everything’s okay. Even when the pain is almost unbearable.

Poor Charlie.

Maybe I just wasn’t ready to let go of the best dog in the world. The one who trusted me more than I trust God. The one who, unlike any other dog that I'd ever known, loved people more than he loved food.

So I let him suffer for too long.

I knew he had an uncontrollable, inoperable growth. But even as it continued to expand, it didn’t seem to bother him. He didn’t seem to know that it was there.

In the last few weeks, though, Charlie had begun showing signs that something had changed: Eating a little less eagerly. Occasionally acting restless. Straying from his usual routines. Failing to come to me in the evening, when he knew he could get some extra attention. At other times, appearing more needy, seeking more strokes. Lying out in the sun more often. He’d learned from his achy joints that heat could reduce pain.

I should have recognized what was happening.

It wasn’t until late one afternoon, when I took a closer look at his growth, that I could see clear indications of how very much it was hurting him. Poor Charlie.

My heart broke. Partly because I knew the time had come when I’d have to say goodbye. But even more because I’d allowed this dog that I loved so much to suffer needlessly.

It was too late to contact the doctor that day. And I needed to process my next steps, to be certain that there was only one way to relieve his pain.

The next morning I called the vet’s office as soon as it opened and made one last appointment for Charlie. I sat by his side as he fell asleep and as the overdose of anesthetic was administered. I said my last farewell with tears in my eyes.

How do they do it? How do dogs put on such a good show of being strong and happy even when they’re in agony? Don’t they realize that it only makes their suffering worse?

Hiding our pain

And yet we humans often do the same thing. Pretend to be happy. Pretend everything’s okay. Even when the pain is almost unbearable.

Not so much with physical achiness. In that case, we rush to the medicine cabinet or to the doctor. But we do it with emotional suffering.

“Don't cry out loud. Just keep it inside, learn how to hide your feelings.” (From “Don’t Cry Out Loud.” Lyrics by Carole Bayer Sager, 1976.)

“I am a rock. I am an island. And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries.” (From “I Am a Rock,” by Paul Simon, 1965.)

“In order to shield my pride, I’ve tried to cover this hurt with a show of gladness.” (From “The Tears of a Clown.” Lyrics by Smokey Robinson, 1967.)

Songs from my youth voicing our human tendency to hide our pain and weakness. To imagine that remaining aloof from others and maintaining our pride will feel better than taking the risk of being hurt. Why don’t we realize that it only makes our suffering worse?

We’re not dogs. We’re not compelled by instinct to pretend that we’re strong, that all is well. Yes, there are predators out there who will try to take advantage of us in our weakness. But there are also sources of comfort and strength. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted” (Matthew 5:4, italics added). “God . . . comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4 NLT, italics added).

Unlike dogs, we’ve learned as a species that we grow stronger emotionally and spiritually by facing our pain, revealing it to trusted friends, and allowing them to minister to us in our time of need. Why is it so hard to do that?

Seeing others’ pain

One reason I didn’t understand how much Charlie was hurting was because I didn’t try to look closely enough to see for myself how bad it had gotten. I was willing to take him at face value.

How often do we as Christians treat our fellow sufferers the same way? How often do we simply accept the show they put on instead of trying to peer beneath the surface? How much anguish could we address and relieve if we just took the time to look at the signs and reach out to them?

As with Charlie, the signs are usually there. A lack of appetite. Increased restlessness. Changes in routines or habits. Withdrawing from others. Acting more needy. Self-medicating.

Are we willing to see them?

Once I realized what was happening to Charlie, my next steps were obvious and straightforward. That doesn’t tend to be the case with human beings. Our emotional struggles are more complicated than a dog’s physical pain. Trying to be there for someone who’s hurting inside can get messy.

But if it’s done with prayer and compassion, desiring what’s best for the sufferer, being in tune to their needs and to the Holy Spirit’s leading rather than forcing our own agenda on them—and apologizing and learning from our mistakes when we fail—God can use us to help relieve their pain.

This isn’t optional. It’s what Jesus did when He walked this earth. It’s part of our calling as His followers. Part of His plan to heal those who are hurting.

 

What Does God Know?

The problem

There's something that's always bugged me about the theology that I’ve heard over the years. (If you’ve read many of my articles, you know there’s more than one something. I just want to address one in particular here. But don’t worry—I still stand firmly on the foundational beliefs of the faith. All my questions relate to the details of the theologies that have been built on that foundation.)

In my last post I said, “There’s a sense . . . in which God actually hurts.” (I should have added a reference to Genesis 6:6 here, but I didn’t think of it at the time.) “Because of that, He understands our pain more deeply and completely than we can ever imagine” (italics added). That’s what I’ve been taught. I’ve heard it from many wise sources. I’m willing to accept that there’s some sense in which it’s true, so I was okay with saying that in my article. But if we take it too far it can lead to serious errors in our view of God.

From what I understand, this idea is at least partly based on two passages in Hebrews.

Hebrews 2:17-18: For this reason, he [Jesus] had to be made like his brothers in every way, in order that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that he might make atonement for the sins of the people. Because he himself suffered when he was tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.

Hebrews 4:15-16: For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

These verses seem to imply that the Son of God, a full-fledged member of the Trinity, was only able to sympathize with our weaknesses and become merciful by taking on human flesh and seeing what it was like to suffer from temptation. If God, as the Son, had not experienced being human, the Godhead as a whole (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) would be unable to really understand us.

The greatness of God

But God is GOD. He knows all. He understands all. He created all there is out of nothing. He created the full potential range of our emotions and thoughts. Even before the beginning, He knew us, not just intellectually, but deeply, richly, intimately, completely (Psalm 139).

The mistake we make is to think that if God hasn’t experienced something for Himself, then He can’t really understand it or sympathize with those who go through it. That tends to be true for us. We usually need to live through something ourselves before we can really understand how it feels to someone else. But I don’t see how it can possibly be true for an all-knowing God.

So maybe there’s something different about this concept of Jesus’ learning to sympathize with our weaknesses than what I’ve generally heard. Maybe it’s not that He absolutely had to have some kind of human experiences in order for God to really understand these strange creatures who have physical bodies, who feel pain, and whose lives end in that bizarre event called death.

Maybe the reason Jesus took on human flesh was because of our weaknesses and our needs, not God’s. Maybe it’s so that we can understand Him better, not the other way around. Maybe we desperately need the reassurance and confidence that comes from knowing that He’s been through everything that we go through. Maybe we wouldn’t believe that He could ever “get” us otherwise (even though He always has).

So what about those passages from Hebrews? What are they trying to tell us?

I’m not an expert on Scripture. I don’t understand it all. But I wonder if the teachers I’ve heard have been looking at it from the wrong angle. Maybe the author of Hebrews is talking about the Son’s perspective during the thirty-some years of His incarnation.

Jesus was both fully human and fully divine. (Another mystery that we’ll never fully understand.) God never changes (Malachi 3:6), but as a human being, Jesus learned and grew. Luke 2:52: “And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men.” (This boggles my mind. How does God the Son grow in favor with God the Father???)

Maybe the passages from Hebrews mean that as a human being Jesus developed into a merciful and faithful high priest. As part of the Trinity, even prior to the incarnation He was merciful and faithful beyond anything we could ever deserve or imagine. (But maybe He didn’t take on His specific high-priestly role until after the resurrection?)

It was certainly as a human being that He made atonement for us. He sacrificed His own human flesh.

It was definitely as a human being that He suffered from temptation. James 1:13: “God cannot be tempted by evil.”

Resisting temptation has never been something that we can do all on our own. God has always been capable of helping those who are being tempted. David was asking for God’s help with it—and expecting a response—when he prayed in Psalm 141:4, “Let not my heart be drawn to what is evil, to take part in wicked deeds with men who are evildoers; let me not eat of their delicacies.”

So the idea that He can now help those who are being tempted can’t mean that God had to learn how to come to our aid through Jesus’ experience. Maybe it means that we can now relate to a human Jesus, who suffered when He was tempted. This change in our perspective gives us a powerful tool for resisting the temptations that we face. A tool that people who lived before Jesus’ time didn’t have.

The kind of teaching that I’ve heard tends to foster the misconception that God was somehow lacking in His understanding of us mortals until Jesus came along and discovered what we’re really like. That does a great disservice to our great God.

Whether or not God changes in some very limited ways, such as when Jesus experienced being human, is one of the big unanswerable questions of the Christian faith. But I suspect that the deeper relationship between God and people as revealed in the Hebrews passages means that we’ve been given the great privilege of being able to come closer to understanding Him, not that He needed to become human in order to fully understand us.