Your Word Leaped from Heaven

by Mathew Block

“While gentle silence enveloped all things, and night in its swift course was now half gone, Your all-powerful Word leaped from heaven, from the royal throne…” — Wisdom 18:14-15

This passage, taken from one of the books of the Apocrypha, is one you’ve probably heard several times over the years, even if you don’t recognize it at first glance. A version of it appears in the liturgy for the Christmas Midnight service, and it sets the stage for our meditation on the miracle of the Incarnation—the Word of God entering into the silence of our world when, as one of our carols say, “half-spent was the night” (LSB 359).

Lutherans do not consider the books of the Apocrypha, which were written between the Old and New Testaments, as equal to Scripture. But we do recognize them as “useful and good to read,” to borrow Martin Luther’s words—although some books are certainly more edifying (and historically accurate!) than others. It’s not hard to see why this particular passage, with its reference to the Word of God descending from heaven, has resonated with Christians throughout the centuries; it seems to anticipate St. John’s account of the Incarnation of Christ: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14).

When St. John, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, wrote this text, he may have been responding in part to the Book of Wisdom and to the yearnings of the time in which it was written. Almost four hundred years passed between the close of the Old Testament and the events of the New—four centuries in which the Jewish people faced serious challenges in the form of external conquerors and internal divisions. They were also four centuries of apparent silence from God; for God sent no new prophets during this time. In the absence of any prophetic word, the people spent a great deal of time reflecting on the written Word of God—the great acts He had done in the past and the Messiah He had promised to send in the future.

The Word made flesh comes not to conquer but to save—to proclaim mercy not only to the oppressed but also to their oppressors. It is a Word of salvation for all, coming not through the death of an enemy’s firstborns but instead through the death of God’s own Son.

The Book of Wisdom is one such reflection. But it may surprise you to know that the passage we are discussing is not specifically a text about the Messiah. Instead, it is a remembrance of the final plague on Egypt: the death of the firstborns. “Your all-powerful Word leaped from heaven, from the royal throne,” we read, “into the midst of the land that was doomed, a stern warrior carrying the sharp sword of Your authentic command, and stood and filled all things with death and touched heaven while standing on the earth” (Wisdom 18:15-16).

The Word described here in the Book of Wisdom then is a word of judgment. And for a people who had long suffered under oppressors and been scattered by them, it is only natural that they might wish for a deliverance like that experienced in the Exodus. The people desired earthly salvation—a new kingdom and the destruction of their enemies. Even the Apostles sought this; as late as the Ascension, we hear them asking Jesus: “Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?” (Acts 1:6).

But the Word which came down from heaven in the Incarnation is not a proclamation of political victory. The Word made flesh comes not to conquer but to save—to proclaim mercy not only to the oppressed but also to their oppressors. It is a Word of salvation for all, coming not through the death of an enemy’s firstborns but instead through the death of God’s own Son.

What a great mystery this is, that the Word of God—the Word which is God (John 1:1)—should take on human form and suffer in our place. He comes not to kill but to be killed. He enters our darkness not to bring sorrow but to bring light. He leaps down from heaven’s throne that, having saved us from our sins, He might ascend again with us in tow (cf. Ephesians 8:8-9). For whether we are mighty or weak, whether we have been oppressed or oppressors, we are all sinners. We are all in need of saving.

The miracle—and meaning—of the Word made flesh is beautifully explored in the hymn, “What Child is This?” “Why lies He in such mean estate where ox and ass are feeding?” the hymnwriter asks of the infant Christ. And the answer? “Good Christian, fear; for sinners here the silent Word is pleading.” The Word of God has taken on human flesh and come to earth to plead mercy for sinners—for you. “Nails, spear shall pierce Him through, the cross be borne for me, for you. Hail, hail the Word made flesh, the babe, the son of Mary!” (LSB 370:2).

While gentle silence enveloped all things, and night in its swift course was now half gone, Your all-powerful Word leaped from heaven. And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

Thank you, dear Father, for sending Your all-powerful Word, Jesus Christ, to become flesh and save us from our sins. Open our hearts to receive Him now and always, by the power of Your Holy Spirit—that through Your Son we might remain steadfast in faith and hope until the day You call us to Yourself to dwell with You forever. Amen.

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Mathew Block is editor of The Canadian Lutheran and the Communications Manager of the International Lutheran Council (ILC).

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