Week 2: Emptying
When he was five years old, our son Josh really loved bugs. So when we learned that there was an exhibit of giant bug sculptures at our local arboretum it seemed seemed natural to take him.
We arrived and were given a map to find the sculptures hidden throughout, a fun scavenger hunt for enormous bugs carved out of beautifully polished wood.
We quickly found our first bug, a giant bumblebee, where it was displayed with a circle of rope around it and a sign that said, “Don’t Touch.” As we admired the artwork, a man in a baseball cap came up, ducked under the rope, and began touching and poking the sculpture.
We moved on to our second bug– a gorgeous dragonfly with a six foot wingspan, perched by a lake. It had the same rope circle, the same sign that read, “Don’t Touch.” As we were admiring it, the same man joined us, again ignoring the sign to poke the piece.
This scene played out again and again as the same man with the baseball cap kept showing up to push and prod the sculptures. We were too timid to confront him directly, but we would remind our son, “Josh, the sign says ‘Don’t touch.’” Josh would reply loudly, “I’m not touching—he's touching!” But it made no difference.
Finally we arrived at the last sculpture—a grasshopper at the top of a small waterfall. And again, the same man came up, ducked under the rope, and began poking. In fact, he pulled on the grasshopper’s wing so hard that it came right off!
This took things to a new level. Now that he’s actually damaging the artwork it seemed imperative that someone throw this guy out. But there were no security guards to alert, so our only choice was to return to the volunteers at the entrance and let them know of the problem.
But at this point we had crisscrossed the 127 acres, ending up on the far end of the arboretum. Our kids were tired, so we stopped to rest. We noticed a bulletin board with photos showing the creation of the artwork. We enjoyed seeing the evolution of the sculptures as they grew out of solid blocks of wood.
Then we came to the final photo, of the artist in his studio.
It was the man in the baseball cap.
The man’s identity had been hidden from me by my expectations and assumptions.
Answering the “Why” Questions
Just as knowing the artist's identity changed the way I interpreted his actions, so also the expectations and assumptions we have about Jesus filter the way we read and understand the New Testament. This week we look at some of those assumptions we have about Jesus, in order to gain a clearer picture of who Jesus is, particularly the meaning of the incarnation—that Jesus is God in human form—God with us. In this first week of a new presidency, we saw two distinctly images for Jesus, in the contrasting messages of Franklin Graham and Bishop Budde.
But first, let’s remember why we’re here. We’re exploring the question of theodicy: If God is all-good and all-powerful, why is there evil and suffering? Over the centuries Christians have tried out various answers to this question. One of those proposed is what’s called the prosperity gospel– the idea that blessings are a reward for obedience, and suffering is a punishment for sin or disbelief. It’s an appealing answer because it offers a formula, the idea that we have control over our destiny. In world that often seems chaotic and unpredictable it suggests we can control the future by doing or believing the right things. That’s a very appealing idea—until it doesn’t work. Until we notice, like the prophet Habakkuk, that often it is the unrighteous who prosper while the faithful suffer. Often this view ends up blaming the victims, suggesting that they caused their pain and are being justifiably punished. One of our wise participants, who works with traumatized clients, pointed out how that aspect allows those believers to distance themselves from others’ suffering, numb to their pain
We see this viewpoint explicitly refuted in the story of Job, whose three friends insist there must be some hidden sin to explain his deep suffering. But the text is clear that Job was righteous and had done nothing to deserve his pain.
Augustine answers the question of God’s apparent silence in the face of evil with mystery. He suggests that the world with all of its suffering is like a painted mosaic where you can’t see the whole picture, only the little bits of paint.
There’s an appealing humility to this answer, recognizing the limits of our human perspective. But as discussed last week, the problem with the “mystery” answer is what it does to our view of God. It tends to leave us with a very distant, aloof God. A God who doesn’t care about the petty little details of our lives. Which is why Open theologian Greg Boyd responds to Augustine’s analogy by saying: “humans beings are not just chips of paint.”
We need the humility to say what we do not know. To understand that God is bigger and more mysterious than we can ever imagine. Yet it’s also wrong to shrink back from speaking into the void. We worship a God who wants to be known, who is revealed in Scripture and in Jesus.
Open theism is one of several philosophies or theologies that attempt to speak into the void. To turn toward suffering when others would turn away. It’s an imperfect answer—but an intriguing one. This week we lay the foundation by looking at how Open Theists understand Jesus—our picture of who he is.
Emptying
A key text for Open Theists is Phil. 2:5-11. In these verses, Paul is quoting an ancient hymn that brings us to the very center of our faith: the person and nature of Jesus Christ. Looking first at the NIV translation:
Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death— even death on a cross!
Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. –Phil. 2:5-11 NIV
What is being celebrated and honored in Phil. 2 is Jesus’ incarnation—the notion that in Jesus, God takes on human flesh. The hymn parallels an event, recorded in John 13, when Jesus and his disciples gathered in an upper room. Jesus unexpectedly takes on the role of a servant to wash their feet.
Paul describes this act of incarnation as Jesus “emptying himself,” using the Greek word kenosis. This is the same word found in John 13 when Jesus pours out water on the disciples’ feet. But here it is Jesus himself who is poured out. What’s happening is something that goes to the core of who Jesus is. It changes not only the way we understand Jesus, but even more so the way we understand the very nature of God.
Why does Jesus do this?
The first question we might want to ask about this emptying is: Why does Jesus do this? Returning to our text– this time in the NRSV translation.
Phil. 2:5-7: Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.
The two translations are very similar, with one key difference. There are several ways to translate verse 6, all viable in the Greek. One way is how the NRSV has translated it: “though he was in the form of God… Jesus emptied himself.” This is the way most of us tend to think of the incarnation—as something Jesus did “though,” or “even though,” he was God. We tend to think of the incarnation as a momentary pause in Jesus’ divinity. Something later resumed in the second half of the hymn when Jesus is exalted and given the name above all names.
But notice again how the NIV translates it—“being God… Jesus emptied himself.” This is an equally valid translation. Gerald Hawthorne goes even further in the Word commentary, translating it “precisely because he was God… Jesus emptied himself.”
What Hawthorne and the NIV are highlighting is the belief that the incarnation is not a momentary exception to Jesus’ divinity. Rather, they are suggesting that the incarnation is the precise fulfillment— the ultimate expression—of what it means to be God.
Jesus doesn’t empty himself in spite of being God. Jesus empties himself precisely because he is God.
In John 14:9 Jesus says that If you see him, you’ve seen God. Jesus is the clearest picture we have of God. If Hawthrone and the NIV are correct, then Phil. 2 changes not only the way we understand Jesus and his incarnation. It changes our whole understanding of divinity—of what it means to be God.
What is Jesus emptying himself of?
Next we ask: What exactly is Jesus emptying himself of? Some commentators see Jesus’ emptying himself of divine glory, the indignity of becoming human.
But I think there’s a better answer. Building on themes found in Eastern Christianity, Open theologians associate this emptying with setting aside the “omnis”– omniscience and omnipotence— or God as all-knowing and all-powerful.
That might seem odd to us at first. We have been trained to think of the “omnis” as the very definition of divinity. However, that notion comes from Greco-Roman philosophy more than biblical revelation.
And in fact, the notion that the “emptying” of Phil. 2 is about Jesus setting aside the “omnis” makes sense. It is consistent with what we see in the Gospels, where Jesus usually appears to be bound by space and time, often not knowing some aspect of the future. Even the miracles of Jesus are usually portrayed as Jesus drawing not on his own power, but on the Holy Spirit.
But we believe that Jesus is fully God and fully human. While the picture of Jesus as bound by space and time, with limited power and imperfect knowledge sounds fully human, does it endanger the fully God part of the equation?
One way to look at the question is to differentiate between relative attributes and essential attributes.
Our family loves to play telephone Pictionary. We’ve come up with some shorthand ways to represent each family member. If we draw someone with a beard that’s our son, Josh. Someone with a manbun is my son-in-law Matt. My husband Rory is always represented with a pocket tee.
Those are all distinctive qualities—things that set them apart. Yet—are they defining qualities? Would Matt still be Matt without his manbun? Would Rory still be Rory without his pocket tee?
Of course they would. So we see all sorts of attributes that may at first seem defining— someone with a beard or pocket tee—that are in fact, not defining. They can divest themselves of these attributes without losing their essence. Their essential nature—their “Roryness”– is something much deeper and more essential.
I believe that at the incarnation Christ divested himself of the relative attributes of omniscience and omnipotence, but retained the things essential to divinity.
So what are these “essential attributes”?
It’s challenging to describe God, so most statements about God are metaphorical. The Bible describes God as a rock, a parent, a midwife, and a mother hen. But one of the few non-metaphorical declarative sentences about God is 1 John 4:8: God is love.
Not God is loving, or has love or does love—but God is love. Emil Brunner says that “God is love” is the most daring statement ever made in the human language. Love is God’s defining characteristic.
Coupled with the earlier thoughts about why Jesus empties himself, we can see that Phil. 2 is making a radical, audacious statement, not just about Jesus and the incarnation, but about the nature of divinity itself.
In Phil. 2, Jesus shows us that the essence—the defining, core attribute of God-- is not the relative assets of omnipotence or omniscience. Being God is not about being the biggest dog on the block, ruling over all by virtue of strength and might. Rather, Jesus shows us that the defining, essential characteristic of God is radical, sacrificial, incarnational love.
This is why Jesus is exalted and honored in vs. 9-11, why “every knee should bow.” Not as a reversal of the emptying that came before, but as a celebration of it. Every knee bows because in Jesus, we can look beyond our faulty assumptions and see God as God truly is—defined by sacrificial, self-giving love.
And that changes everything.
Key points of Open Theism
Last week we looked at these two key points about Open Theism:
1. Not everything that happens in the world was chosen or directed by God. The future is open to many possibilities.
2. God can make promises about the future because they know what they intend to do.
Now we can add a couple more:
3. The central, defining characteristic of God is love. We were created in love, for love. But love must be chosen. So God chose to create humans uniquely free, able to choose—or not—love.
4. In order to make room for human freedom, God’s omnipotence and omniscience must be limited. If God overrides our free choices, then we were never really free. So God chose to create a world where there is room for human freedom.
5. God is not controlling—God does not coerce or impose their will on the world. God influences but does not force. God takes risks on human freedom.
What does this mean for us?
So what does this mean for us today? What changes for us as go forward?
Theologian Greg Boyd has said, “the most powerful predictor of the quality of your life is your picture of God. Allow your picture of God to be shaped by Jesus.”
If our picture of God is shaped by power and control, then that’s what will take shape in our lives. As we go out into the world, we will see our job as taking charge, being in control. Arguably, I would suggest that is directly related to the rise of authoritarianism, in our politics but also in our ecclesiology and family structures.
But the picture of Jesus found in Phil. 2 is one not defined by control, but rather by service and sacrificial love. Boyd describes this as “power under” rather than “power over.” As we live out our life in Christ, may we be shaped by this picture of Jesus, defined not by control, but by incarnational, self-giving love.
Come, Lord Jesus come. Come into our hearts today. Help us to see you ever before us—in the face of every person we meet, created in your image. Help us to draw near to you and set aside our desire for control or power over and embrace instead your calling to power under. Help us to live that out in a beautiful and broken world. Amen.