The Son of God took our nature, and in it took upon himself to

In the luminous and humbling words of Peter Abelard, “The Son of God took our nature, and in it took upon himself to teach us by both word and example even to the point of death, thus binding us to himself through love,” we behold one of the most profound mysteries of faith—the union of divinity and humanity in the person of Christ. Abelard, a thinker of great brilliance and deep emotion, gazed upon the mystery of the Incarnation not as a distant doctrine, but as a living revelation of divine compassion. In these few words, he unveils a vision of God who does not rule from afar, but stoops down into the dust of His own creation, taking upon Himself the burdens, sorrows, and frailties of mankind. For Abelard, the Incarnation was not simply a theological necessity—it was the supreme act of love, through which God wove the human heart to His own.

The meaning of this quote lies in its revelation that salvation is not achieved by force, fear, or compulsion, but by love freely given and freely received. In taking on human nature, Christ sanctified it; in living as a man, He showed what man could become. By word, He taught truth; by example, He taught compassion; and by His death, He taught love in its most perfect form—the love that gives all without demanding return. Abelard saw in this act not merely an atonement for sin, but an invitation to union with God through imitation of His Son. To love as Christ loved is to enter into that same divine bond, to live no longer for oneself but for the One who first loved us unto death.

The origin of Abelard’s thought can be found in the fierce intellectual and spiritual debates of the 12th century. At a time when many saw Christ’s crucifixion chiefly as a ransom paid to divine justice, Abelard spoke of it instead as a moral awakening of the human heart. His was a bold and tender theology: he saw in the Cross not the wrath of God, but the love of God made visible. He wrote in his Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans that “our redemption is that supreme love in us which not only frees us from slavery to sin, but binds us to the will of God.” In other words, the crucifixion was not meant to terrify humanity, but to transform it. Christ’s suffering was the final, perfect sermon—a sermon of mercy that conquered hearts, not by fear, but by love.

This truth is written not only in theology, but in the lives of those who have walked in the shadow of the Cross. Consider the story of Maximilian Kolbe, the Polish priest imprisoned at Auschwitz during the Second World War. When a fellow prisoner—a husband and father—was condemned to die, Kolbe offered his own life in his place. In that dark pit of human cruelty, he lived the teaching of Christ: to love even unto death, to show through action what cannot be expressed by words. As he starved, Kolbe led his companions in prayer and song until the day he died. In his sacrifice, the truth of Abelard’s words shone brightly—that to take upon oneself the suffering of another, out of love, is to share in the divine nature of the One who did the same for all humanity.

Abelard’s insight into the binding power of love carries with it a moral and spiritual imperative. If God Himself chose to enter our pain, our hunger, our weakness—to dwell among the poor and the outcast—then how can we, who are made in His image, turn away from one another’s suffering? To follow Christ is not to escape the world’s pain, but to bear it with compassion. Just as He taught by example, so must we: by gentleness instead of pride, by forgiveness instead of vengeance, by generosity instead of greed. The love that binds us to God is not passive; it demands that we act, that we serve, that we lay down pieces of ourselves for the good of others.

There is also, within Abelard’s words, a message of profound hope. In a world often filled with cruelty and despair, the Incarnation assures us that no darkness is too deep for divine light to enter. The Son of God took on our nature, not because it was pure, but because it was broken. He sanctified not only the righteous, but the fallen; not only the strong, but the weak. In this, Abelard saw the greatest proof of love—that God deemed humanity worthy of redemption, not through power, but through presence. And if God could so love mankind, then mankind must learn to love itself again—not with pride, but with reverence for what God has joined to His own being.

So, dear listener, the lesson is this: true love is not spoken—it is embodied. To live rightly is to follow the path of Christ: to teach not only with our lips, but with our lives; to love not only in comfort, but in sacrifice. The divine does not ask us to ascend beyond our humanity, but to sanctify it—to make of every act, every word, every kindness, a reflection of the eternal Love that once walked among us. If we do this, then we, too, will be bound to God, not by fear of death, but by the power of love stronger than death.

Thus, as Peter Abelard teaches, the Incarnation is the marriage of heaven and earth, sealed in compassion and fulfilled in sacrifice. The Son of God did not come to command us from afar, but to walk beside us, to share our burdens, and to show us the way home. Through His word, His example, and His death, He drew humanity to Himself in an embrace that even eternity cannot loosen. And so we are called to remember: the path to divine union lies not in escaping the world, but in loving it as He did—wholly, deeply, and without end.