Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, assuming human likeness. And being found in appearance as a human, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross.
— Philippians 2:5-8
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.
— John 10:10
Lent is the bread and butter of liturgical expressions of Christianity. As the Book of Common Prayer says in the opening invitation to the Ash Wednesday service, we are invited to “self-examination and repentance; … prayer, fasting, and self-denial.” Many of us thrive in the season of Lent. We find solace and peace in its disciplines. This is not surprising. Life is hard. Lent lines up very nicely with our lived experience. We know ourselves to be broken, and we find great release in Lent as we openly admit it.
The common theme of kenosis on Covenant is a natural result of our “Lenten proclivities.” In shorthand, that God’s Son is to “empty himself” and eschew power meets us at a deep level. As we spend time walking on paths that are filled with sorrow and darkness, it is beyond comforting to know that God meets us precisely in those places of weakness, doubt, and despair. Further, it makes us ready to minister to the people we meet who likewise walk in the shadows.
This is all as it should be. The cross of Jesus stands at the center of the Christian proclamation. It stands at the center of the Christian’s life. It stands at the center of the history of what God was doing in the redemption of the cosmos. The cross is the objective sign that God was working kenotically — not from a use of power to overwhelm, but to become empty. Just as the ring in The Lord of the Rings could not be used, only destroyed, so God in Christ choose to take the path to death.
We walk with Jesus during Holy Week to Golgotha and the shame and suffering found there. We live in the sheer silence of Holy Saturday as we hide in fear. Nothing about this, however, is out of the ordinary. This is the world exactly as we know it and experience it. Truly Easter comes out of left field for us. Or, more to the point, it used to come out of left field. Now we don’t really pay it any attention, with its angels and races to the tomb, misidentified gardeners, and unbelievable women. No, the world is like Lent, and Easter morning really doesn’t mean anything.
We are not paying attention, and we didn’t pay any attention to Jesus as he walked the shores of lakes, crossed rivers, visited synagogues, spoke on hillsides, and went into the homes of centurions and tax collectors. He taught with authority. He healed the sick. He raised the lame. He restored sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, and speech to those who could not talk. He fed the thousands, walked on water, raised the dead. He drove out demons from those oppressed by darkness.
By all appearances, Christians who have no issue with a kenotic understanding of God’s work have a very hard time with a Jesus who walked in Palestine in what can only be described as power. The idea that Christians should in some way walk in this kind of power is very hard to accept. If you speak about living in power or “doing greater things” (John 14:12), you will be lectured about a “theology of glory” or an “over-realized eschatology.” Or you might be told that those miracles were originally to establish the Bible, but such things have come to an end.
Like so much in the Christian faith, we are ultimately asked to hold things — which to our minds seem incomparable — together. We must affirm that Jesus emptied himself as the ultimate act in the history of redemption. In the wonder of salvation, the only way to our renewal was through the ultimate emptying of death.
We must affirm that Jesus came in power to heal and deliver the sick, oppressed, and dead, and that we his disciples have been sent out in that same power. No doubt we can get this very wrong. First and foremost, we forget this is not our power. We are prone to use the gifts we have been given for our own benefit. And if we treat this power as “magic,” we will have no way to understand when things don’t go as we demand they go. We are not in control.
There are many direct implications to rethinking our position vis-à-vis this power. First, Jesus speaks of power that is given to those who believe to become children of God (John 1:12). This speaks of the path of discipleship. It will be a lifeline task of the disciple to enter into this sonship (and it is worth noting that this sonship will by necessity have a kenotic element). The power that raised Jesus from the dead is working in us to conform us to the image of Jesus.
Second, we must consider the relationship of this power to our prayers. Again, we are not working magic, and the power is in no way controlled by us. In the economy of God, he has allowed our prayer to be a part of working in the world. As James has it, “The effectual, fervent prayer of the righteous availeth much.” What do our prayers look like if we believe that God’s power is in the mix?
Finally, the role of power in evangelism must be considered. It is God’s power at work when those who do not believe come to believe through the preaching of the gospel. God’s power can change the lives of people who turn to him. Addictions are broken, relationships restored, sins forgiven. The power that seems to be released when forgiveness is given is one of the most compelling aspects of the gospel.
We stand on the doorstep of another Lent. We need it! We live in a broken world and we are broken. Lent is the season when we admit that brokenness. But it is also the season when the power of God flows in and through us, to mend us and to mend the broken world. This Lent, surrender yourself to this power. Let Jesus give you his abundant life.
