Not too long ago, I had the undeserved privilege of hosting Max Lucado for our Back Porch Theology podcast. I was so excited to get to sit across the table from dear Max, but I was also a smidge nervous because, while I’ve known him for twenty-five-plus years (he’s even better in person than in print, which is saying a lot), he’s one of my heroes of the faith, and I respect him immensely.

Unfortunately, my anxious enthusiasm got the best of me, and I yammered on and on and barely gave him a chance to say anything, even though I was supposed to be interviewing HIM! I was embarrassed when the podcast aired and thought, Oh my goodness, there I was with a great spiritual leader and instead of gleaning from his wisdom, I gabbed almost incessantly. I might as well have plopped down on a piano bench next to Beethoven and hogged the keyboard with a clunky rendition of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.”

I can be such a verbose, self-involved woman. And I’m certainly old enough to know better. I was glad to get to see Max again recently when we visited his church in San Antonio and have the chance to apologize in person. But here’s how that humble man responded: After giving me a warm hug, he replied sincerely, “Oh, Lisa, that’s not at all how I remember our conversation . . . I really enjoyed our time together.”

His genuine kindness left me with watery eyes and a grateful heart. I did talk over him and interrupt him frequently—I’ve got digital proof of my culpability. Yet Max spends so much time with Jesus, he chooses to focus on what’s good in the image bearers around him instead of fixating on their flaws. In this modern era where being canceled, bullied, or shamed is all too common—sometimes it seems to have become a communal blood sport—his deep kindness stood out like a glittering diamond on dark velvet. When someone with well-earned success and authority doesn’t live a segregated life in a proverbial ivory tower and instead chooses a humble, compassionate, and accessible way of life, it’s remarkable. The fact that the King of all kings did so is astounding.

From the very beginning of the formation of our belief system, the fact that Jesus has a divine nature—that he’s really and truly God in the flesh—has been nonnegotiable. In fact, the divinity of Jesus was so imperative to Christian orthodoxy that it was the main focus of the first two formal gatherings of spiritual bigwigs, the Council of Nicaea in AD 325 and the Council of Constantinople in AD 381.

But you know how it is with us prone-to-wander Christ-followers, we tend to get in one ditch or another—simply suggest a carpeting color change in the sanctuary and watch the ensuing fireworks!—so about a century after the matter of Jesus’s divinity seemed to be conclusively settled, another formal meeting of spiritual leaders had to be convened at the Council of Chalcedon in AD 451 to condemn the “overcorrection” that happened after Nicaea and Constantinople, which was the erroneous assumption some were making that since Jesus was fully divine, He couldn’t possibly be fully human at the same time. The rumblings of what would ultimately congeal into heresy in the early church went something like this: I mean, goodness gracious, how could God Himself shrug into an incarnate suit of skin and hang out with tax collectors and Samaritans without losing some of His deity? Surely all those warm fuzzies Jesus extended were just for the camera, right? How else can you explain it? Our holy Redeemer couldn’t be a leper-hugging rabbi at the same time!

One ancient leader who held that unorthodox view went so far as to insist that when Jesus cried at the tomb of Lazarus, they were faux tears . . . the tears of an actor! Thankfully, the Council of Chalcedon established that Jesus Christ has two natures and is both truly divine and truly human simultaneously. The fancy theological term for this juxtapositional miracle is the hypostatic union.

Mind you, trying to wrap our human cognition around the fact that Jesus is perfectly divine and perfectly human at the same time is more difficult than playing Twister at my age while wearing two pair of Spanx! Thankfully, a plethora of ancient theologians – including Origen, Cyril of Alexandria, Tertullian, and Thomas Aquinas – as well as modern scholars like Kevin DeYoung, Michael Bird, and my pretend theological boyfriend, J.I. Packer – have studied and help clarify the astonishing reality of the hypostatic union with keen observations like this one:

The really staggering Christian claim is that Jesus of Nazareth was God made man—that the second person of the Godhead became the “second man” (1 Cor. 15:47), determining human destiny, the second representative head of the race, and that he took humanity without the loss of deity, so that Jesus of Nazareth was as truly divine as he was human.1

“He took humanity without the loss of deity . . .” That single phrase in Dr. Packer’s quote slays me every time. Our Savior is indeed the King of all kings—perfectly powerful and reigning in absolute authority over the entire universe—and yet He chooses to commune with the likes of us in easy-to-reach humility. I was momentarily overwhelmed that a godly man like Max Lucado chose to overlook my bumbling and rambling. I will be forever undone that the Son of God chose to lay down His scepter in Glory and be born in a Bethlehem barn to envelop a yahoo like me.

The more I think about Him humbly condescending to wear an ancient pair of Pampers, the more gobsmacked I get. All our Savior had to do was speak to a raging thunderstorm to make it subside to His majesty (see Matt. 8:23–27). All He had to do was touch a grieving mother’s dead son to raise him back to life (see Luke 7:11–17). All He had to do was stroll up to a chaotic scene on a tombstone-strewn hillside, and His presence alone caused an entire troop of the enemy’s minions to soil their lying britches (okay, that was a bit of an exegetical stretch, but I really, really hate demons!) because they recognized His deity (see Mark 5:1–13). Yet before Lord Jesus chose to express His supernatural power, He deigned to be potty trained, to be weaned from Mary’s milk, to learn to read, to do His chores, and to apprentice at the home reno business of His earthly father, Joe.

Jesus is not some faraway, dispassionate, cape-wearing superhero who rescues us from a distance, y’all. He’s the authoritative Deliverer who will ultimately defeat all our enemies and He’s the accessible High Priest, who is empathetic with all our hopes and heartaches. Hallelujah, what a Savior.

Lisa Harper is an engaging, hilarious communicator as well as an authentic and substantive Bible teacher that many enjoy hearing in person, or on countless TV and radio platforms. She holds a Master of Theological Studies from Covenant Seminary, and a doctorate-in-progress at Denver Seminary. She’s been in vocational ministry for thirty years and has written fifteen books and Bible study curriculums but says her greatest accomplishment by far is that of becoming Missy’s (her adopted daughter from Haiti) mama! They live on a hilly farmette south of Nashville, Tennessee, where they enjoy eating copious amounts of chips, queso, and guacamole.