By Andrea Lingle

How does the wave properly love the shore? Each wave collapses onto the responsive breast of the land. At the seaside, the deepest furrows of the day are smoothed by the tidal kiss of the night. The contour of the sea bed ripples and curls the exuberant foam, and, in turn, the water beguiles the sand to dance. This relationship breathes in cycles of procession and recession. One moment the wave tumbles forward, supported and carried by the shore, and the next the shore must unburden itself, trusting that the water recedes attentively.

To live in loving community is to be in dynamic cycles of progression and recession. The Divine incarnation began with unanticipated procession and ended in shocking recession. If we believe that the nature of the Divine is love, the Divine mandate is to love, and Jesus was the incarnation of the Divine nature, those who desire to live toward love must attend to the moments we have of Jesus. Through Jesus's example, we learn something about Divine love. First, love chooses to participate. God-loving does not choose to do so from somewhere else, love takes part. Love is present. Second, Jesus plucked fishermen from boats, tax collectors from trees, and lepers from ditches. Jesus refused to become blind to need, too busy to pause, or too integral to empower others. Thirdly, Jesus was willing to step forward: acting and teaching, feeding and forgiving, healing and freeing. Jesus was was willing to crash like a wave onto the shore of humanity. He upended tables, berated the proud, and walked out his love relentlessly. Love does not mean to live conveniently slim. But in the midst of the adulation of the crowd, from the great heights of the teacher's bench, and from the intoxication of the leader's role he resisted the flood-tide of force. When the Divine chose to become human, the Divine rejected force: the grinding, merciless pressure which has indelibly become the medium, motivation, and master of human society. Jesus was willing to reject the life of force, allowing himself to recede—even unto death. Jesus could have grasped and grappled his church and disciples into his own image, but Love Divine has shown us that Love's hands are open.

Love comes close, takes up space, speaks, listens, acts, and, paradoxically, recedes.  

This is the mystery of the Christ: the God who Loves is the God who dies.