Manna, Not Mammon: The God-Man Is Not a Triviality
The Scandal of the Incarnation: Nestorius, Kierkegaard, Barth, and the Danger of Trivializing Christ
The greatest danger to Christianity is not outright denial—it’s domestication. It’s turning the scandal of the Incarnation into a sentimental ornament, something explainable and safe.
But then you read this:
“Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat. But I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail.” (Luke 22:31–32)
The One who upholds all things by His word is praying for a fisherman.
And then this:
“Jesus marveled at him.”(Luke 7:9)
Twice the Gospels tell us Jesus marveled—at the centurion’s faith (Luke 7:9) and His hometown’s unbelief (Mark 6:6).
Can omniscience marvel? Can eternity pray? These are not throwaway lines. They open a window into the paradox that Nestorius and Kierkegaard refused to trivialize.
Nestorius: A Fear of Collapsing the Creator
Nestorius, bishop of Constantinople in the fifth century, resisted calling Mary Theotokos—“God-bearer.” Why? He feared careless speech might blur the Creator-creature line, as if divinity began in time.
His critics accused him of dividing Christ into two persons. Karl Barth later echoed this critique, warning that Nestorius failed to hold the unity of the God-man.
But pause before judging him too harshly. His protest came from reverence:
When we reduce the ineffable mystery to a system, we diminish the Infinite. Better to tremble before wonder than tame the living God.
Kierkegaard: The Offense of the God-Man
Fast forward to the nineteenth century. Kierkegaard wasn’t fighting terminology; he was resisting Christendom’s comfort. He thundered:
“The greatest danger is not that the truth becomes a lie, but that it becomes a triviality.” (Practice in Christianity, 1850)
For Kierkegaard, the Incarnation was the absolute paradox—God in time, omnipotence in weakness, eternity in an infant’s cry. When we nod politely and move on, we prove his point: the offense is gone.
What Is the Hypostatic Union?
The Church answered this mystery at Chalcedon (451 AD):
Christ is one person in two natures—fully God, fully man—
“without confusion, without change, without division, without separation.”
This is called the hypostatic union (hypostasis = person).
Not a mixture (which would diminish both natures)
Not a split (which would destroy the unity of the person)
Barth put it simply:
“The unity of the person of Christ does not mean a mixture of the natures nor their separation.”—Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics I/2, §16 (paraphrasing Chalcedon’s language)
This balance guards mystery without making it absurd—and awe without making it manageable.
Scripture Will Not Let Us Soften the Edges
Jesus prays for Peter as if the conflict is real.
Jesus marvels at faith as if wonder belongs to His experience.
Jesus limits knowledge (Mark 13:32) not because He is less God, but because His humanity is unfeigned.
This is the paradox Kierkegaard guards and Nestorius strained to protect:
Christ is no mere hero nor a distant deity. He is God with us—without confusion, without separation.
Barth feared Nestorius’ split.
Nestorius feared our ease.
In that fear, they share a holy instinct:
Do not make the Incarnation small.
A Hunger Older Than Bread
Across cultures, people ate what they hoped to become:
Warriors consumed the lion’s heart for courage.
Aztecs ate ritual bread to share divine essence.
Hindus receive prasāda—food offered to the deity—believing it carries blessing.
The impulse is universal: What I take in will shape me.
Jesus does not scorn this longing. He fulfills it:
“I am the bread of life… Whoever eats My flesh and drinks My blood abides in Me, and I in him.”(John 6:35, 56)
We do not partake to seize His power for our agendas, but to share His life. The attributes the world tries to grasp—strength, favor, glory—Christ gives through communion. Not superstition, but sacrament. Not grasping, but grace.
To eat this Bread is to become like Him—filled with love, joy, peace (Galatians 5:22). This is not metaphor alone; it is the mystery that sustains the Church.
Living the Paradox
So what now? Resist the urge to make Jesus manageable. Let Him astonish you again. Let His prayers for Peter remind you that your story is held, even in sifting. Let His marveling remind you that God’s life in flesh embraced real relationship, real risk, real wonder.
The Incarnation is not a concept to master but a life to enter. And every time you pray, “Give us this day our daily bread,” you are asking not for theory but for Him—fresh grace, present presence.
Reflection
Where have you made Jesus “safe” in your imagination?
How does His prayer for Peter reshape your view of your own trials?
What would it mean for you to live as one who feeds on the Bread of Life daily?