We know what the Incarnation is—the eternal Word became flesh and dwelt among us. But what does it mean for us to be or become incarnational? What is it of ours that can take on flesh the way the Lord did, even if it is a dim imitation?
There are two things to note at first. The first is that the Lord became a man in a great act of humility, and the second is that that which could not be seen or handled became tangible or concrete. A great artist who carves a magnificent statue in arrogance and pride is not being incarnation. A retiring individual who, in the name of humility, never does anything concrete or specific, is not being incarnational.
Now when we sing, as with all the arts, we are making something tangible. Something that did not exist before is now taking shape. If we do it with grace and humility, then the song we sing is incarnational. If we sing with the tongues of angels, but have no love, the result is just a mingle mangle. If we have love, but never express it, we actually have no love.
Now when the Lord stooped to become a man, the greatness of the miracle involved was in an inverse relationship to the distance He covered. The greatness of the miracle—for which He will be forever praised—was made possible by how much He had to stoop.
In the same way, when we sing the glories of God in simple tunes, with three chords, this is not an insult to Him. This is part of the point. Provided the great thing is done, the glory of God is displayed.
Musical archangels who refuse to stoop do not display God’s glory. But roly poly bugs who think that it all begins and ends with them are just refusing to stoop from a much lower place. God’s wisdom is seen in this—He brings high and low together, unity and diversity together, simple and complex together. And it is in Christ that all things hold together.