Hippolytus, an early Roman theologian reflects on the mystery of the Word made flesh:

“ We know that Christ’s humanity was of the same clay as our own; if this were not so, he would hardly have been a teacher who could expect to be imitated. If he were of a different substance from me, he would surely not have ordered me to do as he did, when by my very nature I am so weak. Such a demand could not be reconciled with his goodness and justice.

No. He wanted us to consider him as no different from ourselves, and so he worked, he was hungry and thirsty, he slept. Without protest he endured his passion, he submitted to death and revealed his resurrection. In all these ways he offered his own humanity as the first fruits of our race to keep us from losing heart when suffering comes our way, and to make us look forward to receiving the same reward as he did, since we know that we possess the same humanity.”

The Word became flesh. What does his early life tell us? In one sense, his birth and early life show us the helpless Word, carried along and cared for by others, part of an extended family that nourishes and instructs him, one of the nameless crowd swept along by the strong currents of his time.

Isn’t that what happens to all of us?