For thirty-three years Jesus felt everything you and I have felt. He grew weary. He was afraid of failure. He got colds, he burped, he had body odor. His feelings got hurt, his feet got tired, his head ached.
To think of Jesus in such a light is…well, it seems almost irreverent, doesn’t it? It’s uncomfortable. It is much easier to keep the humanity out of the incarnation. Clean the manure from around the manger. Wipe the sweat out of his eyes. He’s easier to handle that way. Something about keeping him divine also keeps him distant, packaged, and predictable.
For heaven’s sake don’t do it. Let him be as human as he intended to be. Let him into the mire and muck of our world. For only if we let him in, can he pull us out.
