Advent: Embodied Love
The smell of steamy hot chocolate, the sight of twinkling lights, and the sound of Christmas carols cause my mind to drift toward associated memories, and I find myself frequently reminiscing during the season of Advent. I have an abundance of memories tied to the physical, but sometimes my imagination gives way to wondering what a circumstance might have been like if it were only experienced in the abstract. There would be less color. Less fragrance. Less. The complex tapestry of one specific memory reminds me of how physical presence or embodiment creates enduring impact. There is deep pain in this reminiscence, but even more so, there is love.
When the high emotions and physical distress of the car wreck had begun to dampen, the evidence of the accident remained. As I scratched my head, there was debris fixed to my scalp. It was glass—bloody glass.
During that particular season of life I regularly switched my masks depending on which group of people I was around. Of course, living life as a hypocrite is exhausting. The mask is heavy. It’s costly. One moment, I would be singing hymns, leading Bible study, or instructing on how to live the Christian life faithfully. A split second later, you could find me living in contradiction. Not only had lying to family and friends become commonplace to cover up my sinful decisions, but I also was not honoring my girlfriend. And I was acting no differently on this Sunday afternoon in the late 90s.
My girlfriend and I decided to see a matinee movie. Driving home after the film, while daydreaming and distracted, I made a left turn directly into an oncoming vehicle. The impact was brutal. The car I was driving was totaled, and the car I hit was demolished. My girlfriend was rushed via ambulance to the local hospital. This was entirely my fault. I felt terrible. Disgusted.
Before leaving the scene, the EMT escorted me to the passenger side door of my mangled black and red pinstriped Chevy Lumina. He was ecstatic to show me the anti-intrusion beam on the side door. The Lumina model I was driving was in its first year of having this particular safety beam, and it was evident from the damage surrounding the door that it had saved my girlfriend’s life.
The ride home in the back of the police cruiser was gloomy. It was quiet in the car but loud inside my head. This whole mess was entirely my fault. I had injured my girlfriend, hurt a total stranger, and ruined my parents’ car; underlying all this were lies. They were the kind of lies any teenager is naive enough to think their parents will believe.
How was my dad going to respond? The verbal flogging of a lifetime swirled around in my imagination. Indeed, I expected I was going to hear how moronic I was, how this was all my fault, and how this would financially hurt my family. To be clear, my dad had never treated me this way, but the internal dialogue during the ride home had convinced me of this condemnation.
We finally arrived home. My dad and mom were standing in the yard waiting for me. I stepped out of the car, met my parents, wept, and my dad embraced me. Contrary to what I had envisioned, he said, “I love you, and I’m glad you’re okay.” Never once did my dad rebuke, humiliate, or shame me for what I had done. My dad knew it was my fault. I knew it was my fault. The insurance company knew it was my fault. But what I needed was compassion, and my dad knew that. He showed it. Love.
That Sunday, I experienced the deep love of God working through my earthly father by the power of the Holy Spirit. John, the beloved disciple of Jesus, writes, “God is love” (1 John 4:8). Thus, love is not merely an act of God but rather his eternal, unchanging disposition. Carl F.H. Henry states that love “is not accidental or incidental to God; it is an essential revelation of the divine nature, a fundamental and eternal perfection. His love, like all other divine attributes, reflects the whole of his being in specific actions and relationships” (God, Revelation and Authority, Vol. VI: God Who Stands and Stays, 341). Thankfully, this attribute of love can be communicated through his church body today. For instance, our family has experienced multiple seasons of medical adversity, during which we have been the recipients of God’s love through numerous meals, hospital visits, financial assistance, and much more.
Many years later, as a father of three daughters, the practice of being with Jesus directly impacts not only my relationship with him but also my children. While being an earthly father is anything but perfection, it has provided the soil to practice showing compassionate love much like our Heavenly Father has shown me. That’s the beauty of the gospel of Jesus Christ. While we were still sinners, Immanuel came to experience this life embodied and present with us. Before his physical death and physical resurrection, Jesus experienced the tangible physical reality we engage with daily. God is not only transcendent, but also imminent because of Jesus. We have no need to ponder if God understands us, as he was one of us. He understands our love, pain, grief, and joy to the infinite degree.
As we reflect this Advent season on the embodiment of love in Christ Jesus, we may be confident that God’s love is perfectly shown in Jesus’ birth, life, death, burial, and resurrection. Because of the faithful working of the Holy Spirit in our life, we too can offer love representative of the light Jesus brought into the darkness. Those who behold Christ Jesus will be held by him. He is with us. He is love.
Mikey Conrad resides in Cincinnati, Ohio with his wife and three women children. He has worked for a missionary organization for twenty years in multiple capacities. He has been a faithful member of Missio Dei Church in Cincinnati for over a dozen year where he has also served as a lay pastor for eight years. Mikey enjoys geeking out in the deep lore of Middle Earth, finding rest in watching the toil and beauty of birds, and sharing stories of cancer survivorship as he has endured twice himself. You can find him on Instagram @mikeyconrad.