The Son of God became man so that we might become God.

“The Son of God became man so that we might become God.” — In these awe-filled words, Athanasius of Alexandria, the great defender of the faith, revealed a mystery so radiant that the ages have never ceased to marvel at it. It is no small thought, no gentle proverb; it is a proclamation of divine boldness, echoing from the heart of heaven itself. The frail human being, shaped from dust, is here told that destiny is not merely survival or virtue, but divinization — the rising of man into the likeness of God Himself. Not by pride or theft, as Adam once sought, but by grace and love, freely given through the Incarnation of Christ.

In the early centuries of the Church, when the foundations of belief were being tested by storms of doubt and heresy, Athanasius stood as a lion of truth. Against the teachings of Arius — who claimed that Christ was but a creature, not eternal — Athanasius thundered that Christ is truly God, one with the Father, uncreated and everlasting. For if the Son were not divine, then His coming could not have saved us; if He were merely man, He could not have lifted man to God. Thus Athanasius spoke the mystery plain: that God became what we are, that we might become what He is. Through the Incarnation, heaven and earth were forever intertwined.

To become God does not mean to rival Him, nor to seize His throne, but to share in His nature — to be filled with His light, His love, His immortality. The divine condescended, so that the mortal might ascend. Like iron placed in fire, humanity is not consumed but transformed — glowing with divine heat, radiant with divine flame. This is the miracle of deification, not by nature, but by participation; not through power, but through communion. Every act of love, every sacrifice, every moment of faith draws the soul closer to this celestial likeness, until the divine image shines again as it did before the Fall.

Behold how this mystery has played out through the lives of the saints. Consider Francis of Assisi, who, though a man of flesh, seemed to walk as living light upon the earth. In his humility, his compassion, his embrace of poverty, he became a mirror of Christ Himself. When he bore the marks of the stigmata, it was as though his very body was drawn into divine union — not that he had become God by nature, but that God lived through him. Such souls remind us that this promise of Athanasius is not mere doctrine, but destiny. For each human heart is a temple waiting to be set aflame by the Spirit.

This, then, is the wonder: that the Almighty stooped so low that man might rise so high. He who fashioned the stars entered the womb of a woman. He who ruled eternity wept as an infant. He who commanded legions of angels suffered as a man. Why? So that every sorrowing soul might find its way home — not merely to peace, but to divine fellowship. Through Christ’s humanity, ours is lifted; through His death, our corruption is slain; through His resurrection, our immortality is born. This is the sacred exchange: He took on our mortality that we might take on His divinity.

Let us therefore not treat our lives as lowly or aimless. If God became man, then every human life bears infinite worth. If He entered our weakness, then no wound is too deep for grace. The purpose of our existence is not to crawl among earthly vanities, but to grow into the likeness of the divine — to be merciful as He is merciful, to forgive as He forgives, to love as He loves. Each act of goodness draws us closer to the eternal, polishing the image of God that lies within the soul.

And so, beloved listener, remember this sacred calling. You were not made merely to survive, nor to gather fleeting joys, but to become radiant with divinity. Seek not the treasures that perish, but the virtues that endure. Pray with humility, love with purity, and serve with compassion, for these are the steps toward your transformation. Let your heart be the altar upon which the divine flame burns. For when the Son of God became man, He opened the gate for all humanity to walk into the very heart of God — not as strangers, but as children returning home.

This is the eternal truth of Athanasius’s bold and holy declaration: that heaven bends toward earth so that earth may rise to heaven. Live, then, as one being remade by grace — a spark of the divine, destined to shine forever in the light of God Himself.