Kenosis and the Christian Life (Sarah Coakley): Part III

Sarah Coakley’s Contemplative Solution

British theologian, Sarah Coakley, gives a feminist critique of how Kenosis has been translated and applied to the Christian life. For her, Kenosis is about ‘power-in-vulnerability’. [1] In her analysis she simultaneously critiques and corrects, taking the tradition very seriously. Coakley gives us a good view of how constructive theology is done well. In her chapter, “Kenosis and Subversion,” (from her book Powers and Submissions) she explores 6 primary ways in which Kenosis has been understood throughout the tradition.  

1)  Cosmic Redeemer: Jesus temporarily relinquishes his divine powers which are Christ’s by right 

2)  Gnostic Redeemer: Jesus pretends to relinquish divine powers whilst actually retaining them (Cyril of Alexandria) 

3)  Jesus chooses never to have certain (false and worldly) forms of power—forms sometimes wrongly construed as ‘divine’ 

4)  Jesus reveals ‘divine power’ to be intrinsically ‘humble’ rather than ‘grasping’ 

5)  Divine Logos: The divine Logos’s taking on of human flesh in the incarnation, but without loss, impairment, or restriction of divine powers (14) 

6)  Retracting: Jesus’ life is a temporary retracting (or withdrawing into ‘potency’) of certain characteristics of divinity during the incarnate life. (19)

Coakley’s Definition
Coakley argues that in order to understand Kenosis, we must begin with the narrative of Jesus Christ, with a narrative commitment. In looking at the story of Jesus Christ, Coakley contends that Kenosis is about the humanity of Jesus not about the emptying out of pre-existent ‘divine stuff’. In other words, it is about how he lived not what he gave up to become human. This combines this presupposition with the third definition, that Jesus chose never to have or grasp at certain forms of power, and so we have Coakley coming to a similar definition of Kenosis as Fee.
Primary here is the holding together of the vulnerability of human life with the power of divinity, and this is the point for Coakley, that in Christ we have a category in which to talk about the shape of the relationship between humanity and divinity. Thus, Jesus reveals a God of vulnerability and risk who establishes and maintains power through vulnerability. When I say that God is vulnerable I mean that God, in the very act of creation, does not impose a coercive and absolute power over the creation. Instead there is space for the created order to rebel against and reject God. God is not some monolithic tyrant who demands our love and loyalty but a God who draws near and provides what is necessary for relationship and reconciliation.
Hence, the kenotic movement of Jesus reveals something of who God is for us. For this reason, Coakley asserts that Kenosis is not just “a philosophical embarrassment to explain away” (25) instead it is inherent in the narrative of Jesus. In this way, she argues that Jesus redefines ‘vulnerability’. It is not a feminine weakness but a human strength (25) and she holds (along with Radford Ruether) that Jesus’ way of vulnerability also empties ‘patriarchal’ power (25). Thus, this is why Coakley defines Kenosis as ‘power-in-vulnerability’. And here is the key point: in the life of Jesus a ‘space’ is created in which “non-coercive divine power manifests itself.” (5) Jesus’ life showed that there was space for God to be God and humanity to be humanity—this is the manifestation of reconciliation.

Our Response
Coakley turns to contemplative prayer in order to nuance her understanding of Kenosis, because it is through contemplative prayer that we practice making space for God to be God. Her assertion is that Jesus, in the incarnation, made space for humanity to be itself through his reconciling and redemptive work for the whole of the created order while simultaneously making space for God to be God in his life. It was this practice of ‘making space’ that enabled reconciliation to happen through a vulnerable life; which included death and resurrection. And it is through this vulnerability that Jesus is Lord (“divine power ‘made perfect through weakness’”)—not because he seized power but because he created space for life to happen in the midst of death.
Coakley argues that Jesus shows us a different way of living with power. The problem that she points out is that we all have power on some level and we all have the potential to abuse the power given to us. If this is true, then we have to find ways and practices that shape in us Jesus’ way of vulnerability in power.[2] Coakley believes that if we allow God to be God in our lives, then we will be empowered to live into the way of Jesus. We will give up abusive and coercive power and make space for others to be healed and reconciled.[3]
By choosing to ‘make space’ in this way, one ‘practices’ the ‘presence of God’—the subtle but enabling presence of a God who neither shouts nor forces, let alone ‘obliterates’. (35)
Further on she stresses that this way of making space for God and practicing self-emptying “is not a negation of the self, but the place of the self’s transformation and expansion into God.” (36) Coakley pairs this with the necessity of self-disclosure in our lives, that in this process of contemplative prayer we are actually known in a deep way (double knowledge). Thus, contemplative prayer holds in tension our vulnerability with personal empowerment. We lose our lives in order to find ourselves before God and others.[4]
Ultimately, Coakley calls us to live into the narrative gap and live in expectant waiting. New life and healing takes time and struggle to be brought forth. And this wait and struggle is the shape of the Christian life.

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[1] Sarah Coakley, “Kenosis and Subversion,” in Powers and Submissions, Wiley-Blackwell, 2002. See the bottom of 31 for her summary and cursory analysis of these categories of Kenosis.
[2] “If ‘abusive’ human power is thus always potentially within our grasp, how can we best approach the healing resources of a non-abusive divine power? How can we hope to invite and channel it, if not by a patient opening of the self to its transformation?” (34)
[3] “What I have elsewhere called the ‘paradox of power and vulnerability’ is I believe uniquely focused in this act of silent waiting on the divine in prayer. This is because we can only be properly ‘empowered’ here if we cease to set the agenda, if we ‘make space’ for God to be God.” (34)
[4] “what Christ on this view instantiates is the very ‘mind’ that we ourselves enact, or enter into, in prayer: the unique intersection of vulnerable, ‘non-grasping’ humanity and authentic divine power, itself ‘made perfect in weakness’.” (38)

Kenosis and the Christian Life (Gordon Fee): Part II

Gordon Fee: Translating the Term 'Kenosis'

Biblical theologian, Gordon Fee, can help us establish a different understanding of Kenosis.[1] In his commentary on Philippians, Fee points out that the phrases ‘did not consider equality with God something to be grasped’ and ‘made himself nothing’ function together in the poetic form of the hymn. These two ideas play off each other, saying something similar.

Unfortunately, this pairing of phrases has often been translated or understood to mean that Jesus gave up or emptied out his divinity or something vital to his being. As if Jesus, in the incarnation, was like a bag that could only carry so much stuff and had to be emptied out in order to enable the incarnation. All the God-stuff had to be taken out of the bag.[2] Fee argues that the first phrase ‘did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,’ points to the reality of Jesus, that he truly was God. This identity as God was not something that he desired; it was always his from eternity.[3] He also notes that some commentators translate ‘to grasp’ [harpagmos] in a manner more unto being. That being God, Jesus did not grasp or seize, because that is not the way God is. Power, leadership, kingship is about service not about the grasping of power.[4] Fee seems to agree with this idea that the life of Christ reveals what God-likeness is. “Rather, his ‘equality with God’ found its truest expression when ‘he emptied himself’.”[5

Fee asserts that the primary theological mistake in this passage has hinged on the assumption that if Jesus emptied himself [ekenosen] he emptied himself of something, rather than it being a statement of identity. This person, Jesus Christ, did not grasp at equality with God (he was God) and the one who didn’t grasp poured himself out by taking the form of a slave.[6] “God is not an acquisitive being, grasping and seizing, but self-giving for the sake of other.”[7] Thus this passage is talking more about the nature of who Jesus is rather than what was given up.[8]

Fee’s argument reminds me of the concept of perichoresis, as a gifting and giving of being from the Father, Son and the Spirit. This self-giving is the way of God. Thus, Christ’s self-giving and emptying in a continuous way of being. This is not given up in the incarnation—this can be seen in how he relates to the Father and the Spirit throughout his ministry. Jesus is given from the Father the renewed gift of the Holy Spirit at his baptism. This is the inauguration of his ministry. It is interested that in the synoptic Gospels, immediately after his baptism Jesus is lead by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by Satan. It is here that he truly does not grasp after power and authority. He takes no privileges—because the rule of the world was his by right—and remains a servant. And, as the Christ hymns proclaims, it is in this way of not grasping and of pouring himself out as a servant for the sake of others that Jesus is exalted as Lord.

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[1] Gordon Fee, Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, 191-214, esp. 210-214.
[2] Though this is not really Kathryn Tanner’s articulation, I got this idea from her. Check out her discussion of the Chalcedonian definition in Tanner, Jesus, Humanity and the Trinity.
[3] Fee, 208.
[4] Cf. Fee, 206 for the discussion of harpagmos, which seems even more difficult to translate than kenosis.
[5] Fee, 208.
[6] Fee, 210.
[7] Fee, 211.
[8] Here is how Fee sums up his argument: “In Christ Jesus God has thus shown his true nature; this is what it means for Christ to be ‘equal with God’—to pour himself out for the sake of others and to do so by taking the role of a slave. Hereby he not only reveals the character of God, but from the perspective of the present context also reveals what it means for us to be created in God’s image, to bear his likeness and have his ‘mindset.’ It means taking the role of the slave for the sake of others…” (Fee, 214.)

Kenosis and the Christian Life: Part I

There is an old Christmas hymn that I love:

Lord, you were rich beyond all splendor,Yet, for love’s sake, became so poor; Leaving your throne in glad surrender,Sapphire-paved courts for stable floor: Lord, you were rich beyond all splendor,Yet, for love’s sake, became so poor.[1]

This hymn captures the heart of kenotic Christology, that Jesus became human and set aside the power and privilege of divinity. Within the Christian tradition, this concept is understood in different ways, and however we think about Kenosis is often how we think about the shape of the Christian life.


Kenosis is one of those theological words that come from the Bible, but then does a lot of work outside of that context. It is very similar to the concept of the imago Dei because it occurs rarely in scripture yet has a very broad and varied theological history. Kenosis, throughout the centuries, has captured the imagination of many theologians and pastors.

The word, Kenosis, comes from the Christ hymn in the second chapter of Philippians. Kenosis comes from verse 7: “but made himself nothing.” It can also be translated as “he emptied himself.” The King James translates it as “made himself of no reputation.” Kenosis, in this passage, talks about Jesus' move from divinity to humanity. Jesus becomes one of us, to the point of death on the cross. It is the wonder of this mystery that has lead to the development of a theology of Kenosis. Moreover, it is also about what it means to be humanity in the light of the God who became human.

Thus, how we understand Kenosis shapes our theology of discipleship—the ‘how’ and ‘what’ of being the people of God. Often the language used around Kenosis is joined with Christ’s command to pick up your cross and follow him. Narrative theologian, Michael Gorman, refers to this as the ‘cruciform’ life: our lives should have a cruciform shape.[2] In other words, to be true Christ followers, we must sacrifice ourselves. In this context, Kenosis is often translated ‘to empty out’. Thus, Christ empties himself out for us, and, as Paul says at the beginning of the Christ hymn, we must be of the same mind as Christ. In this way, we too must empty out ourselves or make ourselves nothing or of no reputation. We must die on our own cross.

But there has been some critique in the last 20 years with regard to the translation of Phil 2:7. Feminists, in particular, have wondered if a discipleship model based upon the sacrifice or the death of the self can ever be a positive model for women or marginalized peoples. Some feminist theologians (e.g., Radford Ruether, Bondi, and Coakley) point out that this understanding of Kenosis can perpetuate cycles of abuse and violence in the name of Christ. Those who are powerless are told that they must give up what little power that they have in order to follow in the way of Jesus. As Robert Bondi articulates this problem:

The difficulty comes at the point where we are tempted to think that real Christian love is of such a self-sacrificial nature that Christians ought not to have a self at all. Instead they must give themselves away extravagantly for the ones they love, pouring themselves out like water into sand for the sake of those they love and serve. This does not work.[3]

We might say that this pattern of discipleship as self-abnegation can be thought to be a path to salvation. But feminist point out that this model for discipleship actually reinforces negative patterns of living for some people and as Bondi so boldly puts it, “This does not work.” In the fall we talked about different models of sin that focus on pride, with a solution found in humility. To apply this to a model of atonement we can say that if sin is pride, then we must live into a place of humility in order to be saved. But if, for some people, sin is defined more as negation or the disappearance of the self (what some feminists talk about as ‘sloth’), then a discipleship model of humility would actually reinforce one’s sin, resulting in self-destruction.[4]


Hence, a discipleship model that focuses solely on the necessity of the death of the self will result in the harmful patterns for certain people. If you come from a place of power, perhaps discipleship models that are solely shaped by concepts of cruciformity and the death of the self can be empowering. However, discipleship models should be empowering for all people, in one way or another, because it is about how we are as the people of God in the world. If you do not come from a place of power then this kind of model could actually burn you out or even tear you down to the point of self-destruction or self-annihilation. As Roberta Bondi argues, “there cannot be love of others, much less love of God, where there is no self to do the loving.” [5]

The core of this kind of sin is really the underdevelopment of the self. And, if a self is required for the Christian life then in order to die to the self or to empty yourself out you must first have a self to give. I would also argue that no matter your definition of Kenosis, the self always remains intact. You must be you in order to be a disciple of Christ. Self-negation or self-dissolution is not the model that is consistent with scripture. If we really are to put on the mind of Jesus Christ, then we need to know something of the God who comes to us in the incarnation.


(Part II: Gordon Fee’s definition of Kenosis; Part III: Sarah Coakley’s contemplative solution.)

[1] Tune: French Traditional; Words: F. Houghton (1894-1972).

[2] See Michael Gorman, Cruciformity: Paul’s Narrative Spirituality of the Cross; idem, Inhabiting the Cruciform God.

[3] Roberta Bondi, To Pray and To Love, 76.

[4] “The temptations of woman as woman are not the same as the temptations of man as man, and the specifically feminine forms of sin – ‘feminine’ not because they are confined to women or because women are incapable of sinning in other ways but because they are outgrowths of the basic feminine character structure – have a quality which can never be encompassed by such terms as “pride” and “will-to-power”. They are better suggested by such items as triviality, distractability, and diffuseness; lack of an organizing center or focus; dependence on others for one’s own self-definition… – in short, underdevelopment or negation of the self…[T]he specifically feminine dilemma is, in fact, precisely the opposite of the masculine” (Saiving Goldstein, ‘The Human Situation’, p#?).

[5] Roberta Bondi, To Pray and To Love, 77.

Troy Terpstra's Mural

I promised that I would put up some information about Troy Terpstra's mural that is at the offices of Tierra Nueva up in the Skagit Valley.

Here is Troy's description of the mural. I found this on his blog about a year or so ago, but it seems that the blog has been deleted. I'm glad to be able to pass his description on to you:

"At the center of the mural is Christ. He will be tattooed, appearing to be an ex-con. Jesus is an ex-con of sorts, but the idea is inspired by drawings done by prisoners and given to the staff here at Tierra Nueva. Many prisoners feel a deep sense of shame and inadequacy when invited to know a God they have always perceived as judgmental and harsh. This portrayal of Christ as a modern day convict aims to contextualize the Gospel into our present culture. Jesus of the ghetto, Jesus of the barrio, is the Jesus of Nazareth. We want the men in the Skagit Valley Jail to know the Jesus who rolled with his society's misfits and outcasts, and who longs to be with them today. On the left, the character of Jesus embraces a young prisoner in a county jail uniform. The jail chaplaincy has been an amazingly fruitful ministry, and I am continually amazed at the stories of healing and renewal that come out of the jail every week.

On the right, Jesus has his arm around a campesina (female farm worker) who stands in the strawberry fields. She is weary and a palette of harvested fruit rests on her hips. Much of Tierra Nueva's ministry is to farm workers, who continuously move to follow the seasonal work, uprooting their families and working sun-up to sun-down for less than minimum wage. Our Family Support Center assists these people in finding housing, obtaining legal help, and in many other basic needs. I want to honestly portray the labor endured by migrant farm workers, as well as the closeness to the heart of Christ they have.

At the top of the wall, the Hands of our Abba pour out the baptism of the Holy Spirit, which is made of water and takes the shape of a dove. The waters pass through a gaping wound in the torso of the living Christ, the self-giving sacrifice of love which conquers death. Many characters, addicted, accused and accusing, rich and poor, liberated and bound up, undergo the baptismal outpouring. Chains, addiction, resentment, guilt, and death itself drown under the waters.

Coming up from the waters (the wings of the dove) two joyful worshippers emerge, a woman pounding the drums of mercy and a man blowing the horn of justice, crashing through the oppressive orderliness of the vertical prison bars and the horizontal field rows. I love the idea of the Holy Spirit breaking into prison. The prison cells sit under the night sky of a city contrasted with the field under the full sun of a summer day.

I have taken over a year to settle on the design, and I don't think I quite understood the process of mural making when I began this project, so the slowness has been very educational. I have drawn and redrawn this design several times, and God willing I am nearing the day when I will begin to paint it.

Bruce Cockburn has a line in his song 'Mystery' that goes "come all you stumblers who believe love rules – stand up and let shine." I like to think that this e-testimony is addressed to the 'stumblers who believe love rules.' Come by and check out the mural if you are in the neighborhood."