No one talks about the incarnation as poignantly as one of my favorite writers Frederick Buechner. Here he is in Whistling in the Dark (Harper San Francisco, 1993):
“The Word became flesh. Ultimate mystery born with a skull you could crush one-handed. Incarnation. It is not tame. It is not touching. It is not beautiful. It is uninhabitable terror. It is unthinkable darkness riven with unbearable light. … You can only cover your eyes and shudder before it, before this: ‘God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God … who for us and for our salvation’ as the Nicene Creed puts it, ‘came down from heaven.’ Came down. Only then do we dare uncover our eyes and see what we can see. It is the Resurrection and the Life [Mary] holds in her arms. It is the bitterness of death he takes at her breast.”
