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.

---

[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."

Beauty and Who We Are Becoming

When thinking about what it means to be human, it seems like a lot of theologians begin with the doctrine of the imago Dei (that we are made in the image of God).  In contrast, biblical theologian, Walter Brueggemann, does not start his theological anthropology with the imago Dei. Instead, it is the kiss of the Holy Spirit that brings Adam and Eve to life that is the foundational relationship between humanity and God. We are literally kissed by God into life, thus, Brueggeman contends, we should begin our theological anthropology with intimacy and relationship rather than with our "likeness" to God.  


I think that Brueggemann's model goes well with the idea that the doctrine of the imago Dei is much more about beauty and resonance than about whether or not we are inherently good or inherently bad. We are already in the image of God, but we need to play and practice into the fullness of that image. As my priest, Mother Melissa, preached this Sunday, the banquet is set but we are starving. The invitations were sent out, but we refuse to come to the wedding feast for one reason or another. What keeps us away? Shame, forgetfulness, busyness, indifference? 


One reason we avoid the feast is that beauty requires something of us. Many forms of beauty are not immediate to our senses. The deepest forms of beauty "pull us in" but are sometimes initially repulsive or strange. To know beauty we need learn its language and be transformed by its 'otherness'. Just like with a foreign language, we can never really know the meaning of even the simplest words until we are fluent. Here is Annie Dillard's take,

“Beauty itself is the language to which we have no key; it is the mute cipher, the cryptogram, the uncracked, unbroken code. And it could be that for beauty, as it turned out for French, that there is no key, that ‘oui’ will never make sense in our language but only in its own, and that we need to start all over again on a new continent, learning the strange syllables one by one." (Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, 107)

Beauty, in a spiritual sense, requires us to learn its "strange syllables one by one." We are transformed in the process but it is a long road to travel. If we go back to the metaphor of the feast, perhaps we need to learn to savor the good food offered to us rather than the junk food we may crave. We need to grow into the nourishment of this spiritual food, and to crave that which will make us flourish: body and soul. 

I am reminded here of the ending lines of George Herbert's poem, "Love": " 'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat,' so I did sit and eat."

'Spem in Alium' by Thomas Tallis

For all of you who are more visually driven, here is the song I played at the end of class this week. It shows all 8 of the choirs and all 40 parts. Thanks to the King Singers, we can get an idea of how complex this amazing piece is. Click on the link below to get to the video...

Spem in Alium, sung by the King Singers