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AT THE DOORS OF CHRISTMAS IT IS RIGHT TO SAY: JESUS ​​WAS NEVER BORN

We must start again from the mystery of the Word who became flesh, animated by that spark that made Saint Augustine say it first, then in St. Anselmo d'Aosta, with different words but with the same substance: «I think to understand, I understand to believe ». Only then will we truly understand the meaning of the decisive sentence: "And the Word became flesh", so why Jesus, in truth, was never born.

— Theologica —

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that way, the phrase sounds like a gratuitous provocation, a scandalous statement, if not downright heretical. However, if taken seriously and placed in its correct theological horizon, not only is it legitimate, but profoundly compliant with the faith of the Church. Indeed, I know the parola be born we mean the beginning of existence, then it is necessary to say it without hesitation: Jesus was never born. The Son does not begin to be in Bethlehem. He is "before all ages", because «God from God, Light from Light, True God from true God ". Christmas is not the birth of God, but the Incarnation of the eternal Son «begotten, not created, of the same substance as the Father". This is where the language of faith demands precision, because a distorted faith can arise from a poorly placed word. And today we no longer even live in pietism, nor in those forms of fideism that have nothing to do with the popular faith of the simple: rather, we live immersed in a returning neo-paganism.

This clarification it is not an exercise in terminological finesse, nor a dispute reserved for specialists in dogmatic theology. It is a theological and pastoral necessity. Because the way we talk about the mystery of Christ inevitably determines the way we think about it; Consequently, the way we think it ends up shaping the way we believe it. When language becomes approximate, even faith weakens; when words are used without discernment, the mystery is reduced to an edifying tale or, worse, to religious folklore. It is precisely to avoid this drift that the Church, over the centuries, he watched rigorously over the words of faith.

It is in this horizon that it must be proclaimed, but first listened to it, the Prologue of the Gospel of John. A work of such theological density that it is reread more and more over the years, the more one has the impression that the man, in those words, put his hand there, but not the origin: because the true Author is God. The Evangelist does not introduce Christmas with a birth story, but with a statement about being: «In the beginning was the Word». Does not say became, he doesn't say he began, ma era. The Logos he does not enter the scene in Bethlehem, it does not emerge from the womb of time, it does not appear as a novelty among others. He already is, before every principle, before every story, before every creation, as the Apostle Paul also teaches when he states:

«For us there is only one God, the father, from which everything comes and towards which we are, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things, and we through Him" (1 Color 8,6).

All that exists comes into being through Him, nothing that exists comes into being without Him. It is the same faith that Saint Paul forcefully expresses in the Letter to the Colossians, when he proclaims the Son as

«image of the invisible God, firstborn of all creation, because in Him all things were created, those in heaven and on Earth […] all were created through Him and for Him. He is before all things and all things exist in Him." (With the 1,15-17).

Only after having clearly established this absolute priority of being on time, Giovanni dares to pronounce the decisive sentence, which breaks into the text like thunder: "And the Word became flesh".

He was not born in the sense in which a creature is born that did not exist before; he became flesh, that is, he fully assumed the human condition, entering time without ceasing to be eternal. It is the same truth that Paul sings in the Christological hymn to the Philippians, when it states

«Christ despite being in the condition of God, he did not consider it a privilege to be like God, but he emptied himself, assuming the condition of a servant, becoming similar to men" (Fil 2,6-7).

This is the heart of Christmas: not the beginning of God, but the entry of God into history; not the birth of the Son, but the Incarnation of the eternal Son consubstantial with the Father. And this is why it is theologically legitimate — and even reasonable, if we accept the paradoxical language typical of Scripture - affirm, in a deliberately provocative way, resorting to those hyperboles that Jesus himself uses in the parables and that St. Paul, a great rhetorician even before being a theologian, use it wisely, that Jesus, in truth, he was never born.

While in our Italy — Catholic for centuries more out of social habit than out of thought and matured faith — the number of children whose parents choose not to have baptized is growing; while many young people are unaware not only of what happened in Bethlehem, but above all the meaning of the Paschal mystery, without which Christmas itself remains meaningless; the religious debate sometimes seems to move onto a paradoxical level, with not indifferent hints of ridiculousness. And so, in this dramatic context of increasingly widespread doctrinal illiteracy, there is no shortage of voices vehemently calling for the proclamation of new dogmatic titles, like that of «Mary co-redemptrix», often raised more as an identity slogan by marginal and ideological groups than as an issue truly founded in the living Tradition of the Church.

The cyclical insistence on the title of "Mary co-redemptrix" it seems to grow in inverse proportion to the knowledge of dogmatic theology and the authentic Magisterium. The church, who has always spoken about Mary with veneration and moderation, he consistently avoided this expression, not out of doctrinal timidity but out of elementary theological hygiene. Defending Mary by obscuring the uniqueness of the Redemption brought about by Christ is not a sign of Marian ardor, but of conceptual confusion. This is the spirit that has animated the recent interventions of the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith regarding the inappropriateness of attributing certain titles to the Blessed Virgin (cf.. The faithful mother of the people). However, when dogmatics is treated like a fizzy devotional drink - to be shaken and consumed emotionally -, when some militant voices even take care to "correct" the Magisterium of the Church (cf.. WHO), the risk is no longer formal heresy, which also requires intelligent speculative minds, but something more subtle: the fall into pseudo-theological ridicule.

This is where one of the great contradictions manifests itself of our ecclesial time: while the essential content of faith - the Incarnation - is lost, the cross, the Resurrection - there is a fuss over formulas that claim to "defend" Mary, but which in reality risk taking away the centrality of the mystery of Christ.

It is worth remembering that believing does not mean multiplying words, but to understand them and then use them appropriately, for what they really mean. This is the conviction that also guided my recent theological work dedicated to the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Symbol of Faith, the Creed that we recite every Sunday. The title of the work — I think to understand — is not a slogan, but a method. Only a faith that accepts being thought about can avoid being reduced to devout superstition; only a thought born from faith can safeguard the mystery without deforming it and making it grotesque.

We need to start again from here: from the mystery of the Word who became flesh, animated by that spark that made Saint Augustine say it first, then in St. Anselmo d'Aosta, with different words but with the same substance: «I think to understand, I understand to believe ». Only then will we truly understand the meaning of the decisive sentence: "And the Word became flesh", so why Jesus, in truth, was never born.

the Island of Patmos, 21 December 2025

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ON THE THRESHOLD OF CHRISTMAS, IT MUST BE SAID: JESUS WAS NEVER BORN

We must begin again from the mystery of the Word who became flesh, animated by that spark which led first Saint Augustine, and then Saint Anselm of Aosta, to say — using different words but with identical substance: «I believe in order to understand; I understand in order to believe». Only then shall we truly grasp the meaning of the decisive sentence: «And the Word became flesh», and thus why Jesus, in truth, was never born.

-Theological-

Author
Ariel S. Levi di Gualdo.

.

Stated in this way, the sentence sounds like a gratuitous provocation, a scandalous claim, if not downright heretical. And yet, if taken seriously and situated within its proper theological horizon, it proves to be not only legitimate, but profoundly consonant with the faith of the Church. Indeed, if by the word to be born we mean the beginning of existence, then it must be said without hesitation: Jesus was never born. The Son does not begin to be at Bethlehem. He is «before all ages», because He is «God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God». Christmas is not the birth of God, but the Incarnation of the eternal Son, «begotten, not made, consubstantial with the Father». Here the language of faith demands precision, for from a poorly placed word a distorted faith may arise. And today we no longer even live within pietism, nor within those forms of fideism that have nothing to do with the popular faith of the simple; we live immersed in a resurgent neopaganism.

This clarification is not an exercise in terminological subtlety, nor a dispute reserved to specialists in dogmatic theology. It is a theological and pastoral necessity. For the way in which we speak about the mystery of Christ inevitably determines the way in which we think about it, and the way in which we think about it ends up shaping the way in which we believe it. When language becomes approximate, faith too is weakened; when words are used without discernment, the mystery is reduced to an edifying tale or, worse, to religious folklore. It is precisely to avoid this drift that the Church, throughout the centuries, has kept vigilant watch over the words of faith.

It is within this horizon that the Prologue of the Gospel according to John must be proclaimed — and, before that, listened to. A work of such theological density that, the more one rereads it over the years, the more one has the impression that a human hand has contributed to those words, but not their origin: for the true Author is God. The Evangelist does not introduce Christmas with a birth narrative, but with a statement about being: «In the beginning was the Word». He does not say became, he does not say began, but was. The Logos does not enter the scene at Bethlehem, does not emerge from the womb of time, does not appear as one novelty among others. He already is — before every beginning, before every history, before every creation — as the Apostle Paul also teaches when he affirms:

«For us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist» (1 Color 8:6).

All that exists comes into being through Him, and nothing that exists comes into being without Him. This is the same faith that Saint Paul expresses with force in the Letter to the Colossians, when he proclaims that the Son is

«the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in Him all things were created, in heaven and on earth […] all things were created through Him and for Him. He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together» (With the 1:15–17).

Only after having clearly established this absolute priority of being over time does John dare to pronounce the decisive sentence, which bursts into the text like a thunderclap: «And the Word became flesh».

He was not born in the sense in which a creature is born that previously did not exist; He became flesh — that is, He fully assumed the human condition, entering time without ceasing to be eternal. This is the same truth that Paul sings in the Christological hymn to the Philippians, when he affirms that Christ Jesus

«though He was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant, being made in human likeness» (Phil 2:6–7).

Here lies the heart of Christmas: not the beginning of God, but the entry of God into history; not the birth of the Son, but the Incarnation of the eternal Son. And it is for this reason that it is theologically legitimate — and even reasonable, if one accepts the paradoxical language characteristic of Scripture — to affirm, in a deliberately provocative form, making use of those hyperboles that Jesus Himself employs in the parables and that Saint Paul, a great rhetorician before being a theologian, uses with wisdom, that Jesus, in truth, was never born.

While in our Italy — Catholic for centuries more by social habit than by a faith that is thought through and mature — the number of children whom parents choose not to have baptised continues to grow; while many young people are ignorant not only of what happened at Bethlehem, but above all of the meaning of the Paschal Mystery, without which Christmas itself remains devoid of meaning; religious debate at times seems to shift onto a paradoxical plane, with by no means negligible touches of the ridiculous.

In this dramatic context of increasingly widespread doctrinal illiteracy, there is no shortage of voices that vehemently call for the proclamation of new dogmatic titles, such as that of «Mary Co-Redemptrix», often brandished more as an identity slogan by marginal and ideologised groups than as a question genuinely grounded in the living Tradition of the Church. The recurring insistence on the title «Mary Co-Redemptrix» seems to grow in inverse proportion to the knowledge of dogmatic theology and of the authentic Magisterium. The Church, which has always spoken of Mary with veneration and measure, has consistently avoided this expression — not out of doctrinal timidity, but out of elementary theological hygiene. To defend Mary by obscuring the uniqueness of the Redemption accomplished by Christ is not a sign of Marian ardour, but of conceptual confusion. This is the spirit that has inspired the recent interventions of the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith regarding the inappropriateness of attributing certain titles to the Blessed Virgin (cf. The faithful mother of the people). When, however, dogmatics is treated like a fizzy devotional beverage — to be shaken and consumed emotionally — when certain militant voices even presume to “correct” the Magisterium of the Church, the risk is no longer formal heresy, which in any case requires intelligent speculative minds, but something more insidious: pseudo-theological ridicule.

Here one of the great contradictions of our ecclesial time becomes manifest: while the essential content of the faith — the Incarnation, the Cross, the Resurrection — is being lost, there is a frantic insistence on formulas that claim to “defend” Mary, but in reality risk subtracting centrality from the mystery of Christ. It is worth recalling that to believe does not mean to multiply words, but to understand them and then to use them appropriately, according to what they truly signify. This conviction has also guided a recent theological work of mine devoted to the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Symbol of Faith, the Creed that we recite every Sunday. The title of the work — Credo to Understand — is not a slogan, but a method. Only a faith that accepts being thought through can avoid being reduced to devout superstition; only a thought that is born from faith can safeguard the mystery without deforming it and rendering it grotesque.

From here we must begin again: from the mystery of the Word who became flesh, animated by that spark which led first Saint Augustine, and then Saint Anselm of Aosta, to say — using different words but with identical substance: «I believe in order to understand; I understand in order to believe». Only then shall we truly grasp the meaning of the decisive sentence: «And the Word became flesh», and thus why Jesus, in truth, was never born.

From The Island of Patmos, 21 December 2025

.

.

AT THE DOORS OF CHRISTMAS IT MUST BE SAY: JESUS ​​WAS NEVER BORN

From here we have to start again: of the mystery of the Word that became flesh, animated by that spark that led first Saint Augustine and then Saint Anselm of Aosta to say, with different words but with the same substance: «I believe to understand, "I understand to believe". Only then will we truly understand the meaning of the decisive phrase: "And the Word became flesh", and, therefore, why Jesus, actually, was never born.

- Theological -

Author
Ariel S. Levi di Gualdo.

.

Said like this, the phrase sounds like a gratuitous provocation, a scandalous statement, if not openly heretical. However, if taken seriously and situated in its correct theological horizon, It is not only legitimate, but deeply in accordance with the faith of the Church. Indeed, yes for the word be born we understand the beginning of existence, so it is necessary to say it without hesitation: Jesus was never born. The Son does not begin to exist in Bethlehem. He is "before all ages", because he is "God of God", Light of Light, True God of true God. Christmas is not the birth of God, but the Incarnation of the eternal Son, «begotten, not created, of the same nature of the Father". Here the language of faith demands precision, because from a poorly placed word a deformed faith can be born. And today we no longer live even in pietism, nor in those forms of fideism that have nothing to do with the popular faith of the simple: We live immersed in a neo-paganism of return.

This precision It is not an exercise in terminological subtlety, nor a dispute reserved for specialists in dogmatic theology. It is a theological and pastoral necessity. Because the way we talk about the mystery of Christ inevitably determines the way we think about it and, consequently, the way we think about it ends up shaping the way we believe it. When language becomes approximate, faith also weakens; when words are used without discernment, the mystery is reduced to an edifying story or, even worse, to religious folklore. Precisely to avoid this drift the Church, throughout the centuries, has rigorously guarded the words of faith.

It is in this horizon where it must be proclaimed —and even before, heard — the Prologue of the Gospel according to Saint John. A work of such theological density that, the more you reread it over the years, the more one has the impression that the man, in those words, has put his hand, but not the origin: because the true Author is God. The evangelist does not introduce Christmas with a birth story, but with a statement about being: "In the beginning there was the Word". Doesn't say became, does not say began, sino existed. The Logos does not enter the scene in Bethlehem, does not emerge from the bosom of time, does not appear as a novelty among others. He is already, before all beginning, before all history, before all creation, as the apostle Paul also teaches when he states:

«For us there is only one God, the father, from whom everything comes and to whom we are going, and one Lord, Christ, through whom everything exists and we through Him" (1 Co 8,6).

Everything that exists comes into being through Him, and nothing that exists comes into being without Him. It is the same faith that Paul expresses strongly in the Letter to the Colossians., when he proclaims that the Son is "image of the invisible God, firstborn of all creation, because in Him all things were created, those of heaven and those of earth […] everything was created through Him and for Him. "He is before all things and all things subsist in Him." (With the 1,15-17). Only after having clearly established this absolute priority of being over time, Juan dares to pronounce the decisive phrase, that bursts into the text like thunder: "And the Word became flesh".

He was not born in the sense in which a creature is born that did not exist before.; became flesh, that is to say, fully assumed the human condition, entering time without ceasing to be eternal. It is the same truth that Paul sings in the Christological hymn to the Philippians, when he affirms that Christ Jesus, "being of divine condition, He did not consider being equal to God a prey, but emptied himself, taking status as a servant, becoming like men" (Flp 2,6-7).

Here is the heart of Christmas: not the beginning of God, but the entry of God into history; not the birth of the Son, but the Incarnation of the eternal Son. And that is why it is theologically legitimate—and even reasonable., if the paradoxical language of Scripture is accepted—affirm, deliberately provocative, resorting to those hyperboles that Jesus himself uses in parables and that Saint Paul, great rhetorician even before theologian, use wisely, that Jesus, actually, was never born.

While in our Italy — Catholic for centuries more out of social habit than out of a thought-out and matured faith — the number of children whose parents decide not to baptize is growing; while many young people ignore not only what happened in Bethlehem, but above all the meaning of the paschal mystery, without which Christmas itself is deprived of meaning; The religious debate sometimes seems to move to a paradoxical level., with many traits of ridicule.

In this dramatic context of doctrinal illiteracy increasingly widespread, There is no shortage of voices that vehemently invoke the proclamation of new dogmatic titles, like that of "Co-redemptrix Mary", often agitated more as an identity slogan by marginal and ideological groups than as an issue truly founded on the living Tradition of the Church. The cyclical insistence on the title of "Mary co-redemptrix" seems to grow in inverse proportion to the knowledge of dogmatic theology and the authentic Magisterium. The Church, who has always spoken of Mary with veneration and measure, has constantly avoided this expression, not because of doctrinal timidity, but for an elementary theological hygiene. Defending Mary by obscuring the uniqueness of the Redemption accomplished by Christ is not a sign of Marian ardor., but of conceptual confusion. This is the spirit that has animated the recent interventions of the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith regarding the inappropriateness of attributing certain titles to the Blessed Virgin. (cf. The faithful mother of the people). When dogmatics is treated as a fizzy devotional beverage—to be stirred and consumed emotionally—, when some militant voices even go so far as to “correct” the Magisterium of the Church, risk is no longer formal heresy, which otherwise requires intelligent speculative minds, but something more subtle: the pseudo-theological ridicule.

Here one of the great contradictions manifests itself of our ecclesial time: while the essential content of faith is lost — the Incarnation, the cross, the Resurrection—, There is frantic insistence on formulas that would attempt to “defend” Mary., but that in reality they run the risk of subtracting centrality from the mystery of Christ. It is worth remembering that believing does not mean multiplying words, but to understand them and then use them appropriately, according to what they really mean. This is the conviction that has also guided a recent theological work of mine dedicated to the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Symbol of Faith, the Creed we recite every Sunday. The title of the work — I believe to understand — is not a slogan, but a method. Only a faith that accepts being thought about can avoid being reduced to devout superstition.; Only a thought that is born of faith can guard the mystery without deforming it and turning it grotesque..

From here we have to start again: of the mystery of the Word that became flesh, animated by that spark that led first Saint Augustine and then Saint Anselm of Aosta to say, with different words but with the same substance: «I believe to understand, "I understand to believe". Only then will we truly understand the meaning of the decisive phrase: "And the Word became flesh", and, therefore, why Jesus, actually, was never born.

Desde The Island of Patmos, 21 December 2025

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