If you’ve ever seen a lightning bolt, heard thunderstorms, felt the magnitude of an earthquake, smelled the potent odor of sulfur in a natural hot spring or tasted a hurricane’s wrath, you realize how completely at God’s mercy we are.
But that doesn’t even scratch the surface. There is the turbulence of the Great Red Spot, the toxic environment and crushing pressure of the gas giants, the intensely violent energy of a supernova, the supermassive R136a1, the ultra large UY Scuti and the inconceivable size of the universe.
We are absolutely insignificant compared to the enormity of creation.
Despite all these awesome displays of power, God chose to be born in a manger. He decided to enter into our brokenness. The Bible, however, doesn’t magnify God’s name through these awesome displays of power in the created universe, but in the gospel (see Romans 1:16).
By rejecting his Son for us, God chose to mourn. He chose to temporarily abdicate his power and might, and instead lament for his children, whom he adopted and showered with abundant comfort. God chooses to mourn so he can turn mourning to dancing.
This parallels a couple who can be out in the world doing things associated with adults, maturity, independence and strength, but choose to stay home and nurse.
I would argue that God’s nature as a mourner makes him more glorified. Somehow, God is more magnified when he grieves. Our God is a suffering God. A patiently enduring long-suffering God. Strength and vulnerability are inseparable in God’s dictionary.
The act of selflessly feeding others is also an inseparable part of God’s nature. There’s something particularly sweet and humble about giving of yourself to benefit others. Humility is strength. God is somehow more God when he laments. And when he comforts those who lament. Comfort, affection, tenderness, mourning and consolation are inextricable parts of God’s nature.
“[I’m looking for a] man who finds comfort and solace between the curved mounds of my chest and craves the taste of my milk.”