of loss and discovery

a sort of kenosis

“5 Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, 6 who, though he existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped, 7 but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, assuming human likeness. And being found in appearance as a human, 8 he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death — even death on a cross.”

This quote from Philippians 2 contains a concept that most of us fail to grasp, or perhaps we don’t want to. It is in verse 7: “emptied.” The Greek term is kenosis. It comes from the word κενοω (kenoō), which means “to empty,” “to make void,” “to make of no reputation.”

I am reminded of Barbara Brown Taylor who in her book, Leaving Church, speaks of leaving the parish pastorate. She reflects, “I hardly know what to call this loss. Like the loss of my job, it involved the loss of identity. I no longer had a prime place to sit or a big role to play.”*

That was her sort of kenosis.

She speaks of loss, but also of discovery. She discovered a new place in the world. She discovered a place for faith that didn’t require wearing the clerical collar. She speaks of remembering “what I had known all along, which is that church is not a stopping place but a starting place for discerning God’s presence in this world… Although I never found a church where I felt completely at home again, I made a new home in the world. I renewed my membership in the priesthood of all believers.”**

I think I can resonate with her sort of kenosis, since I also am no longer a parish pastor. (I mentioned this in my previous post.) There is a loss of identity, one I have claimed since the late 90s. When asked who I am, I would almost reflexively respond, “pastor.” That identity has been eliminated — or has it been transformed?

My wife Banu has spoken of energetically breaking the bonds. It is “energetic” work, since what we put out into the world is what we attract. It’s more than simply saying, “Okay, I’m no longer doing that. It’s in my rearview mirror.” But if we are in fact dwelling on it (or dwelling in it), then the bonds remain.

Reviewing the definition of kenosis as emptying or as removing reputation, I can see a little bit of that in myself. There has been a reputation lost. Not a bad reputation, I trust! Rather, it has been a description of being a parish pastor and all that comes with it. Having said that, my experience of kenosis and that of Jesus’ can hardly be compared!

I’ve spoken of loss, but what of discovery? It might seem counterintuitive, but loss is often necessary for there to be discovery. Loss can clear out the debris; it can make more room.

There is a story about a master who welcomed a visitor in search of wisdom. But instead of listening, the visitor kept talking about his own concerns and giving his own thoughts on the matter.

After a while, the master served tea. He poured the steaming liquid into his visitor’s cup until it was full, and then he kept on pouring. Finally, the visitor could bear it no longer. “Don’t you see that my cup is full?” he exclaimed. “It’s not possible to get anymore in.”

“That is true,” the master said, stopping at last. “And like this cup, you are filled with your own ideas. How can you expect me to give you wisdom unless you first empty your cup?”

Do we need to empty our cup? Does our cup need to undergo kenosis? What would that look like for each of us?

* Barbara Brown Taylor, Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith (New York: HarperCollins, 2006), Kindle edition, Chapter 13, section 1, paragraph 13.

** Taylor, 13.1.29–30