Understatement of the year: I am not a theologian. So this will not even be an attempt at a theological treatise but merely a narrative account of one aspect of my own faith journey.

Back when I was being a youthful rebellious doofus, I occasionally spouted some half-baked nonsense at my father. One of those silly things was that it supposedly didn’t matter so much what we believed about Jesus, but just that we believed in Him. Apparently the Bible and the early church councils disagreed with me. As my father wryly chuckled about “no new heresies under the sun”, I had to concede that, if I believed in objective truth, I couldn’t just make up my own ideas about Jesus.

If we are truly Christians, what we believe about Jesus Christ is essential.

Fast forward a number of years. I was no longer a youthful rebel, and not quite as much of a doofus. But I was confused about some sermon I’d heard, so I asked my father about it.

“That sounds an awful lot like the heresy of modalism,” my father said. He went on to explain how the early Church had dealt with that heresy (as well as others) by clarifying what Christianity holds to be true about the Trinity. [A quick aside: my Baptist pastor father explained that all of Christianity, with rare exception, affirms at least the first four Ecumenical Councils. Of course there are also many individuals who consider themselves to be Christian but hold doctrines counter to historic Christianity.]

Fast forward more years, all the way to 2020, when I was being catechized by my Byzantine Catholic priest. I was growing a little bit impatient that he kept emphasizing what I viewed as ultra-basic stuff about the Trinity. Suddenly it dawned on me: had I learned nothing in my years as a Christian about the importance of these doctrines? Isn’t this “basic stuff” the very foundation of our faith and practice?

Even the way I form my hand in making the sign of the Cross is a theological lesson and reminder.

One of many things I appreciate about our liturgy is that it is so explicitly Trinitarian. How we pray and worship truly does help form and reinforce our beliefs, which is why I find the depth of meaning in our prayers, symbols, and traditions to be so rich, so beautiful, and so powerful.

In 2020, Byzantine Catholicism was new to me, but the basic historical doctrines of Christianity weren’t. For example, one of my former pastors from yesteryear (a learned Reformed pastor) often emphasized the dual natures of Christ, and taught why it was so important to our faith — to our very salvation — that Jesus Christ is fully God and fully man, and that His divine and human natures cannot be separated. So, when I was learning about Catholicism, the hypostatic union was a familiar concept but, at the same time, it was not one that I’d given much thought.

And then I encountered the word “Theotokos”.

I was only slightly less uncomfortable with the idea of Mary being called the “God-bearer” as I was with her being called the “Mother of God”. Of course I knew that no one was claiming that she was the mother of the Trinity, or that she existed before all else. And I’d always believed that Jesus is God, as well as always believing in the virgin birth. So why was I squirming in my seat? Was I secretly an adoptionist, believing that Jesus did not receive His divine nature until later, perhaps at His baptism? Did the doctrine of the hypostatic union have to mean that Mary bore God in her womb?

One of the smartest people that I know almost gave me an out during a discussion of abortion. She presented a brilliant and Biblical case, from a Jewish perspective, for life beginning with one’s first breath and ending with one’s last. Only, as compelling and thorough as her argument was, I couldn’t agree. [Luke 1:39-44 obviously was more significant to me than to her.]

Years before that, a pro-abortion pastor had refused to say whether the fetus I was carrying was an actual person or not. I didn’t think he was saying anything about me as a mother — I was upset that he dared call into question the humanity of the child in my womb.

So I had to admit that my issue with the concept of the “Theotokos” wasn’t really about Mary after all. It came down to the very basics of Christianity. I wasn’t foolish or arrogant enough to claim that I knew better than the most learned and godly Christians throughout history, so I had no choice but to face what it was that was making me so uncomfortable. Did I really believe that the great, glorious, and almighty God, Creator of the universe, took on human form, not just that of a man but of a child, even of an infant? Did I really believe that He chose to identify so completely with us, with our human condition, that He — our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, fully man and fully God — began His earthly life as humbly as we do?

What can I say? It boggles my puny little mind.

Jesus was human in the womb of Mary. He was also God in the womb of Mary. She didn’t just carry a human being in her womb; she carried the second Person of the Trinity — God incarnate. In other words, I needed to stop squirming about the word “Theotokos”. Either that, or admit that I didn’t really believe what I claimed to believe about Jesus and about the Trinity.

Ah, I ruefully had to admit to myself. This is why my priest keeps going over these “basics”. And Daddy was right — what I believe about Jesus is important!