When the Word Became Flesh: Finding Light in the Darkness

By Andy Richardson

Over the past few weeks, I’ve found myself reflecting on the profound mystery of God becoming flesh—that breathtaking moment in history when the Creator stepped into His creation.

It’s the divine and the human becoming one. God didn’t need to become human—He chose to. Yet, too often, we create a disconnect in our faith, unintentionally overlooking the full humanity of Jesus. We acknowledge His divinity, but do we truly grasp what it means that He was fully human, with all that entails? Ignoring Jesus’ humanity isn’t just a theological oversight; it diminishes the depth of God’s act of love in taking on flesh.

John opens his Gospel with these words:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through Him, and without Him was not anything made that was made. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

These are not just poetic words; they are a declaration of God’s intent. “In Him was life, and the life was the light of men.” And then, there’s the promise we cling to—through the darkest nights of the soul and the brightest moments of joy:

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Many of you know that my mother has dementia and Parkinson’s. It’s an unrelenting, heartbreaking disease—one that robs her of so much. On Boxing Day, my younger brother and I went to visit her, and in that moment, God revealed Himself to us in a way we never expected.

My mother has never had faith. She has never believed. Yet, in the depths of her confusion, in the darkness of her mind, she said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“When you kiss me on the forehead, I know you’re praying for me. I hear you talking to God.”

And then, she spoke words that stunned me:

"The Word became flesh."

It was a flicker of light in the darkness. A spark of the divine in the frailty of her humanity. A defiant glimmer of truth shining through.

This moment reaffirmed something for me: we must never separate the divine from the human. When we try to compartmentalize the two, our faith becomes fractured. If God Himself saw fit to wrap the divine in human flesh, why would we ever try to keep them apart? They are inseparable. And learning to live in that sacred intertwining is the key to a faith that is both real and transformative.