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Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.
The second verse of “In the Bleak Midwinter” is a clash of opposing truths. The grandeur of God is so immense, so uncontainable, that there is not room for him in the heavens nor on earth. The intimacy of God is so near and tender, that in the flesh of a small child, the God of the universe is held by a feeding trough. In only four lines, Christina Rosetti encapsulates the miracle of the incarnation: the uncontainble God cradled in the arms of a young mother in a stable place.
This week as I reflect on this hymn, I am overwhelmed with wonder. Can it be that the God who exceeds the bounds of heaven and earth took on fragile, finite human flesh? Can it be that God, who is limitless, became limited, and in so doing made it possible for each one of us, in our limitations, to experience the boundlessness of God?[1]
I am accustomed to limits. I think about them off and on throughout the day. This morning, when Jeff asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I said, “An extra 24 hours to get everything done.” I wake up thinking about everything I want to accomplish, and I know there probably isn’t time for all of it. I take my kids to school, pack my lunch, and head to the church where I think about all of plans, hopes, dreams, and needs vying for my attention. So many pressing things, and only one me. I work on as much as I can, and then it’s time for lunch.
After lunch, I look up at the clock and am shocked by how little time I have left to finish everything I had on my list for the day. I pick up kids from school, head back to the church for meetings. When I get home, I try to find enough time to make something for us to eat. After helping with homework and tying up any loose ends from the day, I get ready for bed. When I climb into bed at night, I mentally do the math to see how much sleep I’ll get if I fall asleep right away. (The answer is usually “Not as much as I really should.”)
Human life, even for those of us who are better adept at setting boundaries than I am, is a practice in living with limitations. Our bodies don’t always function as we’d like them to. Our circumstances are quite often out our control. We make plans, and life gets in the way. We set goals, and something happens that forces us to change course. I sometimes think that among the hardest lessons we learn in life is how both to have goals and hopes and to know how to hold them loosely enough that we can shift gears when necessary.
In the second verse of “In the Bleak Midwinter,” Christina Rosetti simply, but powerfully reflects on the boundlessness of God. God isn’t restricted by what restricts us. The entirety of the heavens and the earth cannot contain who God is, and when God’s reign breaks into the world, the heavens and the earth “shall flee away.”
Rosetti makes a clear reference to the words of Solomon upon the completion of the Temple. Solomon begins his dedication of the Temple with these words: “But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!” (1 Kings 8:27). At a time when people believed God’s presence dwelled in the Temple in a special way, Solomon acknowledges that nothing can contain the fullness of God. Rosetti, as she contrasts God’s boundlessness with the particularity of Christ’s birth in a stable, invites the reader to be caught up in the wonder of the paradox of the Incarnation.
In a reflection on this verse of the hymn, Rhys Laverty writes this: “Rossetti’s careful choice, among shifting syllables, to have the syllables swell at this point, poetically mirrors God’s greatness. The earth cannot contain him, nor the heaven of heavens–how could Rossetti’s mere line of verse, even as it strains the limits of its syllables?” [2] Isn’t that beautiful? Even the way Christina Rosetti constructed her lines of verse illustrates the boundlessness of God.
And yet, God chose to enter into our limited world and take up our limited flesh. The boundless God became bound for us, and in so doing, made possible the unfathomable: that God might also dwell in human hearts.
As I write these words, I’m sitting near our lighted Christmas tree. I am feeling the good-tired of a weekend of open house parties at my house and a full morning of worship and study at church. In this small moment of time, I can feel myself transported into the picture Rosetti paints with her words. I slowly draw near to the edge of the manger, with the fridgid, desolate winter world raging outside. I peer inside to behold the Savior made flesh, and I see a child, fully dependent, vulnerable and new.
Could it be that this also is my Lord, the one who made the heavens and the earth? Heaven and earth could not hold him, so he allowed himself to be held. May I, in my finite and fragile self, experience the boundlessness of God within the cradle of my heart.
Lighting the Candle of Peace – Advent, week 2
Reader 1: In verse 2 of “In the Bleak Midwinter,” Christina Rosetti marvels at the boundlessness of God. How can it be that God who cannot be contained by heaven and earth can be born as a helpless child? Each word she chooses in this verse is filled with wonder. How can these wonderful things be true?
Reader 2: In 1 Kings 8, the temple Solomon wanted to build for the Lord is complete. Solomon offers a dedication of the temple, and he begins it this way: “But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!” Solomon knew that God could not be contained. Even the most beautiful temple built by human hands could not hold the fullness of who God is.
Reader 1: God could not be contained by the temple, and God could not be contained by heaven and earth. So, why did God choose to enter the world as a child? This was part of God’s plan to bring peace–wholeness–to the world, and to human hearts. By taking on flesh, God experienced our weaknesses and limitations so that in our limitations and weaknesses we might know we are not alone.
Reader 2: On this second Sunday of Advent, we light the candle of peace (light two purple candles). Ever since sin entered into the world, God has been working to bring healing and peace to us again. In the birth of Christ, God went a step further. God entered into our sufferings and made a way for us to come back to him.
Reader 1: Let us pray. With the candles of hope and peace before us, we ask that you would fill us with your hope and peace. In the gift of the Word made flesh, may we find our way back to you. As you work for the renewing of this world, give us the courage and the clarity to do the same. In Jesus’s name we pray – Amen.
[1] Robin Williams’ genie in Aladdin wasn’t referring to the Incarnation when he said this, but it applies so well: “Phenomenal cosmic power! Itty bitty living space.” [2] Rhys Laverty, “Syllables Cannot Hold Him: In the Bleak Midwinter and the Grandeur of God”
In the Bleak Midwinter Advent Series
The Premise
Week 1 – Stuck and Still
Week 3 – Enough for Him