Have this mind. 2007 - David T Williams

Have This Mind

Have This Mind
✦
following the example of Christ
David T. Williams
iUniverse, Inc.
New York Lincoln Shanghai

Have This Mind
following the example of Christ
Copyright © 2007 by David T. Williams
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Contents
Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii
Chapter 1 “Have this mind among yourselves” (Phil 2:5). . . . . . 1
Chapter 2 Kenotic ethics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
Chapter 3 Kenōsis and human rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Chapter 4 A kenotic response to secularity. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
Chapter 5 Sexual kenōsis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Chapter 6 Kenotic ministry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
Chapter 7 Praying in kenōsis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
Chapter 8 Charismata and sanctification by kenōsis . . . . . . . . 111
Chapter 9 Self-limiting in possessions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
Chapter 10 Kenōsis for the poor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
Chapter 11 Kenotic stewardship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Chapter 12 Kenotic warfare: Christian action against
aggression . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204
Chapter 13 Concluding with worship: acknowledging
kenōsis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 220
Chapter 14 A sermon: kenotic marriage. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229
Sources cited . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
v

Preface
The starting point for this book is the justifiably well known and well used passage
in Paul’s epistle to the Philippians, which has these profound statements in the
second chapter:
Have this mind among yourselves, which you have in Christ Jesus, who,
though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing
to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born
in the likeness of men. And being found in human form he humbled himself
and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has
highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which 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).
An enormous quantity of effort and ink has been expended in discussion of
these verses, one of the most discussed in the Bible, mainly because of what they
say about Jesus and the nature of the incarnation. Chafer has suggested that it
has received more exegetical attention than almost any other passage (Thomas
1970:142). In particular, the word here translated “emptied”, ekenōsen, from
which is derived the noun form kenōsis, has engendered a great deal of debate.
Fascinating; theology always is! But although I am addicted to theology, I
always find that my focus is on the practical effect a belief has on Christian life
and practice. In my earlier books, dealing with such esoteric matters as the Trinity
and the “office” of Christ as prophet, priest and king, I was not content simply
to explain the meaning of the doctrines, but I sought in the bulk of the books to
draw out the applications for life.
The same is true here. Although it is interesting, indeed vital for Christians to
understand what kenōsis means, I have done that elsewhere. This book was originally
the second part of a single work, but like many books, it got unmanageably long.
The first part, which concentrates on what kenōsis is, and how it is part of the
nature of all three Persons of the Trinity, can be expected to appear very shortly.
Here I will be particularly concerned to observe its implications for the Christian,
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viii Have This Mind
which is its original context. The “hymn” of Philippians 2:5-11 is set in a passage
in which Paul is encouraging his readers to live the sort of life that is appropriate
for their profession, which means one in obedience to, and in imitation of, their
Lord. The passage is in the context of an ethical appeal; it supplies the objective
facts on which this is made (Martin 1983:153). In fact, this is the intention of the
passage. This is perhaps obvious; the hymn itself starts with an encouragement,
even a command, which provides the title for this book, “Have this mind among
yourselves” (Phil 2:5). There is a motivation to imitate the mind and therefore the
attitude of Jesus.
At the same time, even if there is a temptation to see the intention of the writer,
especially in the heart of the passage, the reference to kenōsis, as primarily to inform
of the nature of Christ, there are many who would link this passage to others in
the New Testament, which are clearly connected with action. Perhaps particularly
noteworthy are John 13:1f, the story of the footwashing, and 2 Corinthians 8:9,
where the apostle uses the example of Jesus to motivate the concern and sharing
of the Corinthian Christians with their poor fellow believers in Judaea. Not that
the idea is limited to these passages; some particularly see the gospel of Mark as a
description of Jesus’ life as via crucis (eg Schillebeeckx, in Richard 1982:107); and
there are several other passages that may be cited. In the Old Testament, Isaiah
53 is very relevant; Richard (1997:69) sees this passage as fundamental to Mark’s
presentation of Jesus. It is one that strongly influenced the author to Christian
commitment.
The understanding of kenōsis is of course very important for theology as of
great significance for the key concept of the incarnation; Luther wrote that “the
gospel is nothing but the story of God’s little son, and of his humbling” (Hall
1986:115). Then significantly, the attitude of Christians should also be kenotic,
in particular rejecting the attitude of domination that has often characterized
the Church; Blumenberg (1983:7) specifically refers to “the biblical figure of the
kenosis”. But it must not be overlooked that it affects other doctrines as well as
having a number of practical implications. Without going into great detail, an
example of the first, the doctrinal application, is that the act of kenōsis demands
human free will, but at the same time the absolute necessity of grace. A Christian
world-view, which seeks to conform itself to the nature of God, in imago Dei,
includes kenōsis, which manifests, for example in depending on God’s grace not
human works for salvation.
This latter point derives from the observation that Jesus limited himself, but
that his exaltation was an act of God. This would indeed be the normal human
experience, and reflected by Jesus himself in the parable of the wedding guest (Lk

Preface
14:7f). Immediately, this reinforces the point that the purpose of the passage is
to motivate Christian action, for such a motive is meaningless unless the readers
have a real choice as to whether they obey or not. At the same time, such a radical
lifestyle as that of kenōsis is totally impossible outside of the workings of God and
his gift of grace. Human nature, especially in its fallen state, just naturally takes
the opposite view of seeking the benefit of oneself. The apostle is very aware of
this, but just as the kenōsis of Jesus was done through the power of the Spirit, so
is the kenōsis of the believer. The introduction to the hymn itself starts with the
phrase “if there is any encouragement in Christ” (Phil 2:1), where the command
to imitate Christ is explicit, but where the word “encouragement” is the Greek
paraklēsis, which must surely remind his readers of Jesus’ own title for the Spirit,
paraklētos, used repeatedly in Jesus’ farewell discourse to his disciples (Jn 14-16).
If there is any doubt, within a couple of words it is even more explicit, “any
participation in the Spirit”, where the key work is koinōnia, familiar to every
Christian from its use in the “grace” taken from 2 Corinthians 13:14. There it is
often rendered “fellowship” or “communion” and highlights the point that what
the Spirit does is to unite the believer with Christ himself; as Christ is kenotic,
so the believer as well becomes kenotic. In any case, that is also the nature of the
Spirit himself.
It is my main concern here to suggest how this attitude of kenōsis manifests in
the Christian life, so how the imitation of Jesus influences lifestyle; I have sought
in the following pages to look at a number of areas in which a kenotic attitude
can be revolutionary. And it should be! Any appreciation of God is humbling, and
gives awareness of limitation and failings; perhaps a classic example is the reaction
of Isaiah to his vision of God (Is 6:5). Not that people accept this gladly, as it seems
to be a common human desire to push against, and seek to overcome, inherent
limitation, and people often do achieve at least a measure of success. Indeed, it has
been suggested that it is in reaction to this experience, which can be so galling,
that the nature of God has often been understood as not subject to limitation,
that in contrast to the world, and specifically to humanity, he is limitless, infinite.
Perhaps a greater willingness to accept limitation could contribute to an acceptance
of God as self-limiting?
But I also want to suggest, from the very beginning, that adoption of kenōsis
in imitation of Jesus is not so much a burden, but is the path to full humanity.
Christianity is liberative, and this is seen in kenōsis. After all, to use one obvious
example, a kenotic attitude to possessions frees from a great deal of concern.
Richard (1997:3) cites the statement made by Vatican II that in the understanding
of the nature of Christ comes the revelation of what it is to be human. Indeed, this
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x Have This Mind
is how the hymn itself starts, “have this mind …”. What the apostle is asking is
that the Christian life, as that of Christ himself, is a deliberate choice of the kenotic
path. The passage does not limit the principle of kenōsis to the act by which the
second Person became incarnate by the self-limitation of his divinity, but goes on
to describe the attitude of Jesus in his human life, one of humility and obedience,
a self-limitation of his humanity. It is this latter which is particularly applicable
to Christians; even if kenōsis in the full sense that it is applied to Jesus cannot be
applicable to us, the kenotic attitude that Jesus displayed in his humanity most
certainly is.
It is here that the topic of this book becomes so crucial in the modern era.
Especially since the emergence of a capitalist world-view, and then reinforced by
the collapse of its socialist counterpart, the prevalent attitude of most people,
particularly in the West, is that of self-interest. People act to benefit themselves, an
attitude perhaps partially justified by the belief, popularised by the “patron saint”
of capitalism, Adam Smith, that if all do this, then everybody ultimately benefits.
An adoption of kenōsis goes against this tide, but if this is indeed the will of God,
must be adopted by his people.
What has happened in Western society is that instead of the Church continuing
to influence the world, the opposite has happened, and society has become
secularized. This cannot be seen as inevitable, as for example most strikingly in
the expansion of the early Church in the midst of a pagan society, as it did in the
Middle Ages, or again, at the time of Wesley. Is this not the intention of Jesus
(Matt 5:14f), or of Paul (Phil 2:15, a verse following quickly after the kenōsis
passage)?
It is however significant that Weber, in his “Protestant work ethic”, suggested
that Protestantism encouraged the attitudes conducive to the success of early
capitalism. Part of this was frugality, self-limitation. The result of Christian
belief was a personal kenōsis. Although a person became wealthy, that wealth
was not used for personal benefit; Norris and Inglehart (2004:160) point out
that this frugality was done in order to be involved in the world; it was not a
selfish asceticism. This is exactly the case with Christ, who although having the
attributes of deity, chose not to use them; but at the same time he limited himself
just so that he could benefit people. God showed his love in his kenōsis (Jn 3:16);
it was the demonstration of grace that was determinative for the ethic appearing
in Protestant and not Catholic societies. Then just as with Christ’s kenōsis, the
result was ultimate benefit; for him, glorification, for the capitalist, prosperity. It
is then most significant that in the process of secularization, the loss of faith and

Preface
its values, the work ethic is now weak in historically Protestant societies compared
to others worldwide (Norris & Inglehart 2004:178).
It would seem that human nature, since its beginnings has been to exalt itself;
indeed the account of the Fall in Genesis 3 records this as the root of the first sin.
Yet Christians, at least up to the modern era, have often thought differently. Many
in the early Church adopted the practice of self-limitation, even to the extent of
asceticism. Perhaps they were right, as long as this was not just due to a dualistic
rejection of the material, but is more definitely fundamental to the faith, which
is indeed the premise of this book. The essential idea therefore comes frequently
in Christian devotion; to give one example, taken from a medieval hymn, “Come
down O love divine”, significantly invoking the Holy Spirit as the only one who
can enable such a revolutionary attitude:
Let holy charity
Mine outward vesture be
And lowliness become mine inner clothing;
True lowliness of heart,
Which takes the humbler part,
And o’er its own shortcomings weeps with loathing.
Bianco da Sienna (died 1434)
Such a conclusion would have far-reaching consequences, but if it is a valid
part of the imitation of Christ, must be taken seriously. If so it is indeed necessary
to continue to consider in all seriousness what the emptying of Christ was all
about.
It must just be observed that even if kenōsis is fundamental to the nature of
God, this does not automatically make his action kenotic. He has to choose, by his
free will, to act in this way. Even if creation was an act of kenōsis, and so according
to his nature, he still chose to create. Even if kenōsis was fundamental to the nature
of the second Person, he still chose to become incarnate. And this means that even
if we share in the kenotic nature of God by virtue of our salvation uniting us to
God and imparting something of his nature to us, it is still necessary for us to act
in that way. It is for that very reason that Paul makes his appeal in Philippians 2,
and why, at the conclusion of the hymn, he says, “work out your own salvation
with fear and trembling”, but with the encouragement that “God is at work in
you” (Phil 2:12,13). It is my prayer that in this book, God will do exactly that,
that in an increased understanding of kenōsis, the nature of God may become
more evident in the lives of Christians in their walk in imitation of Christ.
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xii Have This Mind
I hope that there are enough references in the text to enable anybody interested
to follow up material quoted or alluded to. I would hope that this book not only
stimulates action, but also further thought, and especially that further aspects of
the idea of kenōsis will be uncovered. The author would love to hear suggestions;
maybe one day the book might be developed further in a more even and satisfactory
way.
I need to acknowledge therefore especially the comments of editors and
referees. These were always appreciated, even if they were not always agreed with.
They often stimulated new lines of thought. My thanks therefore to South African
Baptist Journal of Theology, Old Testament Essays, Koers, Theologia Viatorum, Acta
Theologica, Theology Today, Journal for Theology in Southern Africa and Evangel for
their exposure to, and publication of, various articles reflected in the book. All
previously published material has however been extensively revised both to avoid
the inevitable duplication between chapters and to attempt some continuity of
thought in the book. A few sections are reworkings of parts of my earlier books,
and are included here for completeness as they are relevant to the theme of kenōsis.
Most of my previous books are referred to in the bibliography. A number of
colleagues read the entire book before publication, and I am especially grateful
both for their patience and comments. Professor George Ellis of the Department
of Mathematics at the University of Cape Town has had a long interest in the
subject of kenōsis; he is the co-author of On the moral nature of the universe. He
writes, “This is an impressive in-depth study of the concept of kenosis and its
relation to Christian Theology. That concept (‘self-emptying’) is central to a deep
ethically-related approach to understanding foundational religious themes, so this
volume is a very welcome contribution to the understanding of theology.”
Dr. Lubunga w’Ehusha, of the Evangelical Seminary of Southern Africa, writes
of the book, “It is a challenge to the reader who struggles with striking the balance
between the worldly appeal to grandeur, affluence and prosperity on the one side,
and servant hood, self-emptying and humility that Jesus portrayed in His earthly
life. Kenosis should engage Christian in practical works towards relieving the
misery of the poor and powerless. Kenosis should lead any Christian follower
to be active in limiting his own possessions on behalf of the needy. The mind of
Jesus among us is to be willing to empty and limit ourselves so that others may
be happy. Through a deep and sound exegesis of the passage, the writer takes
the reader through several aspects of our daily life that has to be affected by the
kenosis. Seen through the lens of kenosis, human rights, ethics, ministry towards
the poor and all the social struggles of our time are brought to light and given a
new and constructive dimension”.

Preface
Professor Kőnig, formerly head of Systematic Theology at the University of
South Africa, wrote that the book is “well informed, broadly based, strongly
argued, responsible in terms of conclusions—an overall laudable piece of
research. I highly appreciate both the exegetical and the systematic aspects of the
presentation. You have a definite ability to draw lines together into an overall view.
That is Systematic Theology at its best.” I would particularly acknowledge Deon
Thom, professor emeritus in Theology, retired from the University of Fort Hare,
who has been a constant encouragement to me in my career there. In his response
to the draft of this book, he wrote that “I would agree wholeheartedly with you
when you point out that His kenosis should be the model and the motivation for
Christian ethics. The importance of this practical result of the kenosis can hardly
be over-emphasized, especially in ‘Christian’ South Africa”.
I must add, in conclusion to my introducing this theme, that Thielicke
(1966:489) observes that any book is a compromise, that between the desire to
develop an exact and exhaustive treatment of the subject, and the constraints of
time, marketability, and even the demands of prospective readers. He could then
have noted that what is necessary for the author is a form of kenōsis, seeing that
a book is subject to such limitations! The desire is always to continue to develop,
read and add, but I have learnt that there must come a day when the line is drawn,
and completion is enacted. Always of course a sadness, and regret, for there must
remain gems that have escaped the process of mining!
xiii

1
“Have this mind among yourselves”
(Phil 2:5)
Such has been the controversy over kenōsis, and the strength of its rejection, at
least in its original form, that it has been easy, particularly for theologians, to
overlook the second area in which the passage has proved invaluable, that of
devotion. An examination of the context in which the passage lies immediately
reveals that although the passage has obvious value as a source of Christological
information, its purpose is primarily and immensely practical. Richard (1997:58)
asserts that whatever the original purpose of the piece was, Paul uses it for his
appeal. He either wrote the hymn to Christ, or uses an already existing piece, to
support his encouragement of the Philippian Christians. The passage is then not
primarily to give us information about Christ, but to use our knowledge about
Christ to inform us what the Church should be like. Indeed, if the intention of
the hymn was to provide Christology, it would surely have been more explicit
both as regards the full deity and full humanity of Christ. That may possibly
have been its original intention, but it is certainly not so in its present form and
location. Even if there is nothing in the hymn which contradicts a statement such
as that of Chalcedon, the affirmations of the latter are just not to be found there.
Thus V Taylor finds that he must seek Paul’s unequivocal affirmation of the full
humanity of Christ elsewhere than in this passage (Martin 1983:204). The same
could be said of an affirmation of full deity. For example, although the idea of
Christ’s pre-existence is indicated in other Biblical texts (cf Macleod 1998:45f),
this passage does not demand it; Warfield holds that “being in the form of God” is
a description of his present nature, not what he was (Best 1985:56).
In fact, if its purpose was primarily Christological, it is a failure, as it seems to
produce more questions than answers! Indeed it could well be said that the focus
is on the enabling Spirit; right at the start of the chapter comes the significant
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2 Have This Mind
phrase “any participation in the Spirit” (Phil 2:1), which makes this possible.
Having Christ’s mind is only possible by the empowering of the same Spirit who
enabled him (Pinnock 1996:88). Eller (1973:34f) remarks cynically that very few
will voluntarily limit themselves for others, in particular for those unborn, and
especially seeing it as stupid to act alone.
But this is the mind of Christ. The first phrase of the hymn aptly summarizes
its purpose. Here is the paradigm for the Christian. Jesus himself put it: “if any
man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow
me” (Matt 16:24). This depends upon the mind; Tawney wrote that “as their
minds are, so in the long run, and with exceptions, their practical activity will
be.” The meaning of Christ’s passion for us is to be with him in his humiliation
(Bonhoeffer 1967:12). On another occasion, the sons of Zebedee wanted positions
on eminence in the Kingdom, but Jesus had to rebuke them: “whoever would be
great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you
must be slave (doulos) of all” (Mk 10:43-4); he continued with a prediction of his
sacrificial death “as a ransom for many”. Likewise James 4:10, which comes with
a promise in keeping with the end of the Philippian hymn: “humble yourselves
before the Lord and he will exalt you.” Peter, in contrast to his earlier attitude,
speaks of the need for leaders to set a good example (1 Pet 5:3). Particularly
for Mark, the Kingdom does not, as would be thought, consist of power, but
powerlessness (Lee-Pollard 1987:173). As conforming to the mind of Christ in his
kenōsis, the Christian becomes more in imago Dei, and so increasingly sanctified
(Fitch 1974:242). Significantly only humans have the ability to be kenotic
(Rolston 2001:63); this would be because they are in God’s image. We naturally
seek to imitate the features of a person we love (Barry 1987:72). The attitude of
John in Mark 10 contrasts with the humility exhibited later in his life, after the
coming of the Spirit, and after time for his sanctification.
A kenotic Christology is necessarily transformative (Richard 1982:12). As the
hymn writer of an earlier generation so aptly put it:
May the mind of Christ my saviour
Live in me from day to day,
By his love and power controlling
All I do and say
Kate B Wilkinson (1859-1928)
Nevertheless, even if its purpose is not primarily to tell us of the mind of Christ,
there are a number of observations that must be made.

He had a mind
“Have this mind among yourselves” (Phil 2:5)
This may be thought of as obvious, but in fact it has been doubted. The Church
had a long struggle against the Arian heresy, which put forward the belief that
Jesus was essentially less than fully God. Although it is indeed the case that in his
incarnation he did limit the exercise of his divine attributes, so was effectively less
in his kenōsis, this is not a belief that he was in any way actually less than God.
The final defeat of Arianism took place with the Council of Constantinople in
381 AD, when the Nicene creed, which is still regularly used in many churches,
was accepted.
However, with the affirmation of his full deity came another problem, for it is
clear that in his incarnation he appeared as a human being. It is in fact much easier
to see from the Biblical record that he was fully human than that he is divine; such
aspects as his normal growth, his eating and getting tired support this belief. Even
though from the early days of Christianity there have been some who believed
that Jesus only seemed to be human, and in particular that he only appeared to
suffer on the cross, such docetism (Greek dokeō) has always been rejected. Even if
it may seem impossible for divinity to live within a human frame, and even if it
seems impossible for God to suffer, a belief known as “impassibility”, Christians
have always felt that the heart of Christian belief is a real incarnation, and that
God would in any case not deceive us by appearing to do what was actually not
the case.
But there has been a recurring temptation to docetism, which was particularly
seen the parts of the early Church under the influence of a Greek world-view;
Richard (1997:80) refers particularly to the view of Hilary that Christ could not
suffer. This view, by no means absent in the modern Church, is an indication
that it is often felt to be impossible for Jesus to act as a human being while
being true God. It was in response to this dilemma that Apollinarius, soon after
the resolution of the Arian controversy, made his suggestion. From the highest
motives of a defence of Jesus’ full deity, he said that what the second Person of
the Godhead, the logos, actually did was just to take human flesh. There was no
human mind in Jesus.
Of course, from a modern perspective, it is unlikely that such a suggestion
would have been made. The mind was thought of as a spiritual thing, very distinct
from the body; it was for that reason that Augustine sought the image of God in
the mind, for God could not be in the least corporeal. Today, however, the mind
is linked with the workings of the brain, which is most definitely material. If Jesus
had a complete human body, he then had a human brain, and therefore a human
3

4 Have This Mind
mind. At least potentially; the workings of the mind are to date beyond full
human comprehension, and it would be presumption to limit the mind simply to
the activity of the brain. But is would be hard for a modern person to conceive of
a working human brain without a human mind!
In any case, even if the idea of Apollinarius was of a mind that was “spiritual”, the
underlying idea, which also lay behind much of the Trinitarian and Christological
controversies of the early centuries, was of an entity. The conception was effectively
material; the mind is a “thing”. However, Philippians 2:5 actually reads “think in
you what is also in Christ Jesus”; despite the common translations, the emphasis
is not on the possession of a mind, but on its thoughts. What the text is saying is
that Christians should think in the same way that Christ did. The stress falls on
the dynamic, the action, and not the substance.
Theologically more significant is that compared with the Arian controversy,
which was a protracted and bitter affair, the condemnation of Apollinarius was very
quick. Part of the reason for this could well have been that the same motivation
that prompted such as Athanasius to resist Arianism so steadfastly applied also to
the later struggle. Athanasius realised that unless Jesus was totally and fully divine,
he was not able to save us. Then in the case of Apollinarius, an ancient slogan was
most apposite; “what is not assumed is not saved”. The significance of this was
that unless Jesus was also totally human, he could not save us. How could Jesus
die to redeem our fallen human minds if he himself did not have a human mind?
He could not act as a substitute, or representative for us, so could not die in our
place. Thus both the full divinity and the full humanity of Christ were affirmed
and the stage was set for what would be another bitterly fought controversy, again
laden with political factors, over the relationship of those two natures. That one
was only officially resolved at the Council of Chalcedon in 451 AD, although like
the earlier one, the official end was not really the final act in the drama.
In a sense, the realisation of Jesus’ full humanity is right there in the Christmas
story, when it may be understood that while the full divinity came from his
Father, the full humanity of Christ came from Mary. There is however just one
qualification that must be made, that the humanity was without sin. This is clearly
affirmed in Hebrews 4:15 and 1 Peter 2:22, and certainly implied in several other
places. This is hardly surprising as his Father was God, but totally essential if he
was to maintain the relationship with him that characterised his earthly ministry. It
must immediately be said that this sinlessness does not detract from his humanity
(Dawe 1963:137), as some have suggested (Pannenberg 1968:358), believing
that the very nature of humanity is sinful. It also need not follow that Mary was
sinless herself in order to conceive a sinless child. Nevertheless, it is perhaps for

“Have this mind among yourselves” (Phil 2:5)
this reason that Philippians 2 indicates that Jesus was “born in the likeness of
men”, and was “found in human form” (Phil 2:7,8) and does not directly ascribe
humanity to him.
But the affirmation of a real human mind in Christ is of immediate significance
for us, as it says that he experienced exactly what we do. He was subject to the full
range of human desires, the full extent of emotions. It is not in itself remarkable
that “Jesus wept” (Jn 11:35). He was subject to temptation; the encounter with
the devil that followed hard on the heels of his baptism and the inauguration into
his ministry strikes a chord in the experiences of most of us. And so this must
result in real joy, as we do not “have a high priest who is unable to sympathize
with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are”
(Heb 4:15). The only difference is the next few words, which have already been
noted, “yet without sinning”.
… which is attainable
The joy of a sympathetic Christ must immediately be tempered by the realisation
that if his mind is like ours, it can then really be imitated. Again the context is of
real humanity, so of a real incarnation. The command is not to think the thoughts
of God, of divinity, but of Christ. This is important, because obviously the
thoughts of God are not attainable by mere people; very explicitly, “my thoughts
are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the
heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my
thoughts than your thoughts” (Is 55:8-9).
However, this does not mean that the mind of God is totally incomprehensible,
as it can be related to. Even though Christ was, and is, human, he could be
aware of the will of God. Perhaps a pertinent parallel is that of a person using a
computer, where the two “minds” are very different, and there is no question of
the person identifying with the thoughts of the machine. However, its conclusions
are available by the relationship between the two, whether by monitor or printer.
There is no identification or absorption; distinction is maintained, and yet there
is a valid relationship. It is this which pertains to us as well by our relationship
to God. Through our redemption, we can relate to the mind of God, and more
closely as sanctification proceeds. Calvin pointed out that two capacities most
characteristic of humanity are rationality and will; both have to be conformed
to God if disaster is to be avoided. Hall (1986:103) adds that so many evil deeds
can well make rational sense, such as the Holocaust; the epitome of rationality,
5

6 Have This Mind
modern science, is at the root of so many modern problems. Cochrane (1984:42)
observes that in itself, eating fruit is innocent; it was just that God had forbidden
it! The mind of Christ is of course in total harmony with his Father, which would
be the ultimate goal for us. Paul elsewhere explains, “For now we see in a mirror
dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part: then I shall understand fully,
even as I have been fully understood (1 Cor 13:12). But we do have the mind of
Christ, at least “in part”!
Philippians 2 says that Jesus was “in the likeness of men, being found in human
form” (Phil 2:7-8). Martin (1983:211) thus suggests that while Jesus is affirmed as
human, the point is that he acts distinctly differently from the rest of humanity; he
points out that this distinction particularly follows if Philippians 2 relates to Isaiah
53 (1983:190). This will then mean that although unquestionably human, the
Church must not act in the same way as the world. While being “in human form”
it should inevitably contrast in the way in which it lives. Even if sin is still a reality,
the process of sanctification should be such as to demonstrate a real difference.
Indeed, it seems to be completely unnatural for people to humble themselves in
the same way that Jesus did. Particularly in the modern world, self-promotion and
striving for self-betterment is regarded as normal human behaviour. Jesus’ attitude
of humble service was striking enough to occasion comment at his time, surely
today a life lived in conscious imitation of Jesus’ should also be noteworthy. Ellis
(2001:118) however has to comment sadly that while kenōsis is a feature of many
religions, and most deeply in Christianity, it is rarely seen in practice.
Thus the goal that Philippians 2:5 sets before us, “have this mind among
yourselves, which you have in Christ Jesus”, is not an unreachable achievement,
not an impossible ideal. Rather it is the working out of what is actually possessed
(Bockmuehl 1997:122). It is the same thought which occurs in Romans 12:2,
where Paul urges his readers to “be transformed by the renewal of your mind”.
Here, incidentally, the word “mind” is substantative. Paul is aware that Christian
lifestyle is totally dependent upon correct thinking, so correct will and attitudes.
This is of course a process; the tense of the Greek does not imply an instantaneous
total change, but gradual transformation. God does not desire to destroy the will,
but change it (Foster 2000:58). It may also be observed that the other key word
here is “renewal”; when a person becomes a Christian, he or she becomes a “new
creation” (2 Cor 5:17). This obviously does not mean a return to babyhood, or, of
course to sinless innocence, but nevertheless the idea of “renewal” does carry with
it an idea that in the natural course of events there is deterioration, as indeed is the
case for everything in the increase of entropy. In the case of the mind there is also
a natural slide into what is wrong, and so a need for renewal.

“Have this mind among yourselves” (Phil 2:5)
In contrast to earlier centuries, modern theology, while finding the humanity
of Jesus obvious, has much more difficulty with accepting his divinity. The same
is true of the nature of the Church, which the modern world has little problem
in identifying as just another human institution, while having great difficulty in
even perceiving any trace of divinity. Would that the Church lived in such a way
that the opposite were true, that the world would find it hard, as with its Lord, to
accept that in fact those who followed him were really and truly actually human!
Such would be the case if kenōsis was really followed.
Both in Romans and in Philippians, it is presented as a command, which
presumes that it can be obeyed. This point is far from obvious, and in fact also
generated considerable controversy in the early Church. At about the same time as
the eastern part of the Roman empire of the fifth century was being convulsed by
the controversy over the relationship of the two natures in Christ, the western side
was experiencing a different problem, one which is still prevalent today, mainly
because it had a resurgence in the sixteenth century, where most of the modern
mainline denominations had their genesis. Not that it was totally unrelated to
the one in the east, which was in fact influenced by the arrival from the west
of one of the main protagonists, a refugee not only from the political upheavals
accompanying the fall of Rome to the Goths, but also from his theological
opponents.
Pelagius, concerned over the low moral stand which he observed in the churches
of the West, had stressed that the moral imperatives of the Bible were not there
as unattainable ideals, but were expressed in all sincerity as real possibilities of
conduct. He argued that as God had made human nature, he only demands of
it what is possible; “be perfect, even as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matt
5:48). In this case, “since perfection is possible for humanity, it is obligatory”
(McGrath 1997:428). In contrast, Augustine, his main opponent, who had
experienced rather more of the depths of sin and the power of temptation,
stressed the depravity of human nature, and therefore that perfection was a totally
impossible dream. Certainly, for Augustine, salvation could only be as the result of
the divine initiative and enabling, because all people had inherited sin from their
ancestors. Salvation can only be by grace, a truth emphasised in the Reformation
over a millennium later. One of his favourite texts was John 15:5: “apart from
me you can do nothing”. There was no possibility of living a perfect and sinless
life. For Pelagius, such a belief was depressing, and worse, was the cause of the
moral degeneration that he observed, for if perfection was impossible, why even
try to achieve it? Surely God would not command anything that was impossible
to actually do? His reaction was repeated by Wesley, more than a millennium
7

8 Have This Mind
later, who opposed the teaching of predestination as it undercut practical holiness
(Pinnock 2001:168).
One thing that is clear is that moral uprightness is a definite impossibility unless
a person has been converted, has been regenerated, has been born again. Even
then the “old man” still exerts an ongoing influence. Paul has to urge the Roman
Christians to be transformed “by the renewal of your minds” (Rom 12:2). But
without the essential prerequisite of conversion, the “mind that is set on the flesh
is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, indeed it cannot” (Rom 8:7).
But that same chapter indicates the way by which the necessary transformation
can be made, the way by which the defeat to sin which is characteristic of Romans
7 is turned into the victory which is characteristic of Romans 8. Humility is an
act of God: “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble” (Jas 4:6, 1
Pet 5:5, referring to Prov 3:34). The secret is the enabling of the Spirit, who is not
mentioned at all in Romans 7, but who fills the following chapter. It is notable
that at the start of the few verses of admonition to a Christian lifestyle which are
reinforced by the Philippian hymn (Phil 2:5-11) comes the reference to the Spirit
who makes such a goal possible to emulate. It may be noted that every aspect of
Jesus’ kenōsis was enabled by the Spirit, from the incarnation (Matt 1:20), through
his temptations and service, and especially in his sacrificial death “who through
the eternal Spirit offered himself” (Heb 9:14).
What Paul is trying to achieve is unity and harmony in the Philippian
community, and this is one of the main actions of the Spirit, the vinculum amoris,
the bond of love. Practically, such harmony is a result of people being in agreement,
so of the same mind. This presumes that at least to some extent, their minds have
indeed been altered. This is of course not in an arbitrary way, but into increasing
conformity to the mind of Christ. Immediately after Paul’s injunction to Christians
to “be transformed by the renewal of your mind” (Rom 12:2), comes a reference
to the similarity of the Church to a body, with its parts complementing each other
(also 1 Cor 12:4f). Christians are “individually members one of another” (Rom
12:4). In this perichōrēsis they reflect the nature of Christ which they share also by
perichōrēsis; Moltmann (2001:144) sees this reflected in 1 John 4:16. Just as they
are saved by sharing in Christ, they are also transformed. Thus they become like
him in kenōsis.
It is never possible to get into the mind of somebody else. In any case it is a
natural human trait to hide what is really going on inside, so much that we can
even deceive ourselves. Nevertheless it is surely possible to make a few observations
about the mind of Jesus, which Paul is holding up for our imitation. For example,
his was naturally a praying mind, continually open to God. Because of this, his

“Have this mind among yourselves” (Phil 2:5)
was a peaceful mind. The impression gained was of an essential calm in the midst
of the demands of a busy ministry. One place where this does not seem to have
been the case is in the Garden of Gethsemane, where he seemed to be overcome
with anguish at the experiences that would overwhelm him in the succeeding
few hours. Perhaps it may well be suggested that already in the garden he was
experiencing that separation from his Father that would culminate in the cry of
dereliction from the cross, “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me (Matt
27:46 = Ps 22:1)?” Certainly it would not be right to restrict the atonement to
the few hours of suffering actually on the cross, but it must be affirmed that
atonement is achieved by the whole of his life; after all, the whole life was one of
increasing kenōsis, and this included a diminishing awareness of his Father. It was
for that reason that his miracles were not in fact his acts, but done by the Spirit
through him (Bulgakov, in Gavrilyuk 2005:263).
What it is possible to do is to look at the characteristics of his mind as portrayed
in the Philippian hymn, for it is those that are specifically held up for Christian
imitation. What is immediately notable is that all of these are contrary to the
natural characteristics found in people. This is exactly what Augustine was saying,
that there is in the human mind a natural antagonism to God, that in itself it is
not able to please him.
Perhaps significantly for the modern westerner, nothing is said in this hymn
about his intellectual ability, nothing about his knowledge. When we think of the
mind, we immediately think of acquiring a volume of knowledge, of understanding
it, and using it for our benefit, and hopefully for the benefit of those round about.
Our entire educational system is focussed on that aspect, even if there has been a
welcome shift in recent years away from the idea that a mind is a vessel that just
needs to be filled with knowledge towards the development of reasoning ability.
How much did Jesus know? There is a little comment at the end of Luke’s
narrative of his birth and early years, before the start of his ministry in his baptism
by John: “and Jesus increased in wisdom and in stature” (Lk 2:52). He did acquire
knowledge, so was not at that point at least, omniscient, for God never acquires
knowledge, as he already knows all that can be known. Even if there are later
indications that he had knowledge of other people that a person would not
generally have access to, such as what he knew of the Samaritan woman that he
met at the well at Sychar (Jn 4:17f), this does not have to be omniscience. Indeed,
the reaction of the woman was that he was a prophet, which would mean not that
he himself had such knowledge, but that God revealed it to him. Even if Jesus, as
God, does know all, it would seem that in his kenōsis, he no longer did, but that
his knowledge was most definitely limited.
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10 Have This Mind
But the Philippian hymn does not even hint at this aspect of limitation. There
is no mandate here for the deliberate restriction of knowledge just because Jesus
had voluntarily restricted his. On the contrary, if Jesus did increase in wisdom,
it is that which should be our aim. It is a tragedy when Christians are afraid of
acquiring knowledge; there is a group of people who are most definitely afraid of
exposing themselves to modern ideas, especially in theology, out of a belief that it
may well result in harm to their faith. Certainly “a little knowledge is a dangerous
thing”, but the thing to do is not to reject that knowledge but to acquire more so
that the danger is removed. Knowledge of theology can and should be a benefit
to faith. The history of the Church demonstrates that even heretical ideas have a
positive value in the deeper understanding that results from dealing with them.
The other aspect of mind that is so precious to modern people is the ability to
reason, and again this is not at all mentioned in the Philippian hymn. We do not
see him reasoning, and acting as a result of what he decided. Was this also subject
to kenōsis? Again, we may well ask whether this is indeed as important as the
modern world makes out. Intellectual ability is not a prerequisite for saintliness. A
person does not have to be bright to be a shining light to the world! Nevertheless,
once again, there is no mandate here to be either deliberately naive or stupid, but
rather to develop the reasoning ability of the mind as much as possible.
These aspects of the mind are not the focus of the Philippian hymn, which
rather concentrates on the relationships that Jesus had to himself, to God, and to
those round about. These are arguably the important things, and the growth of
knowledge and reasoning ability should be the tools that enable those goals
His mind was humble
The most obvious characteristic of the mind of Christ is that he did not assert
himself. He did not appeal to his status, no matter how justifiable such an appeal
could be. Even though he was equal with God, he did not appeal on that basis.
Indeed, rather than seek to raise his status, which was in fact impossible for him
anyway, since he was the Son of God already, and there was no further elevation
possible, he seemed intent on lowering it, appearing not as God, but as a man, and
not even just as a man, but as a slave, the most humble status that was possible.
A graphic example of this is the incident in the Supper, where Jesus performed
the menial duty of washing his disciples’ feet (Jn 13:2f), an incident which is
often seen as relating to the attitude expressed in Philippians 2. Commentators
since Chrysostom have made this link (Bockmuehl 1997:137). He does not deny

“Have this mind among yourselves” (Phil 2:5)
that he actually is the master of the disciples, indeed he stresses it, but at the same
time he does not presume to act in terms of that status.
This contrasts dramatically with the normal human attitude where a person
is rarely content to accept the situation that he or she is in but seeks to act as if
the reality was a notch further up. Foster (2000:31) even speaks of honouring
our creatureliness. From the time in the Garden of Eden, when the successful
temptation was a promise to be like God (Gen 3:5), people have longed for
increased status. Rather than a sense of shame at not owning the most expensive
car, how many can feel a sense of shame when riding in situations where walking is
quite feasible? Or a sense of guilt when looking from its windows at the less welloff?
Blamires (1978:3) laments the loss of the “Christian mind”, even if he sees
some survival of a Christian ethic, practice and spirituality. Niebuhr here remarked
that sin is occasioned by the refusal to admit to being a creature, so a rejection of
humility (Hall 1986:10). For Barth, a Christian is not only a creature, but admits
it (Hall 1986:146); humanity in general wants more. Roman society at the time of
Jesus rejected an attitude of humility, even if Stoics like Seneca said that political
leadership is for service (Bockmuehl 1997:144). Perhaps this is even more true in
the modern West, with its emphasis on power and freedom. The modern world
even thinks that godlikeness is getting one’s own way (Richard 1997:60). There is
a natural resistance to the attitude of Christ; slavery can result in either rebellion
or obedience, where Christ chose the latter, but people naturally the former. There
is a sense in which such pride is the root of much of sin; for Blamires (1978:89),
the key sin is pride, and the key virtue obedience, which again highlights the
attitude of Christ. It has been pointed out that in English the central letters, both
of “pride” and of “sin” are the same, and appropriately so, as the heart of each of
them is the elevation of the “I”. Ironically, it is sin that disempowers, the Spirit
that really empowers in yielding to Christ (Fitch 1974:89). Trueman (2007:3)
here comments that the essence of pride is foolishness; in this case the solution is
wisdom, a relation to Christ, the sophia (wisdom) of God (1 Cor 1:24).
This implies that the problems of the world are within us (Hall 1986:5), and
so cannot be solved without an inner change. Hall believes this is more believed
today; at the height of Victorian optimism such an attitude was unthinkable.
Nevertheless, an attitude of humility is far from popular; Foster (2000:155) rather
sees the norm as “winning by intimidation”!
This is a deliberate act; “humbled” (Phil 2:8) is an action. Chrysostom wrote
that “he is lowly minded who humbles himself, not he who is lowly by necessity”
(Bockmuehl 1997:138). But this is the example of Christ, and of Paul, who sought
to appear as a weak person (1 Cor 2), abased himself (2 Cor 11:7), and says that
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12 Have This Mind
God has chosen the weak (1 Cor 1:27). Indeed, he insists, “when I am weak, then
am I strong” (2 Cor 12:10, also 13:4).
Ironically, the experience of everybody is of increasing limitation as old age
approaches. We are forced to surrender control, to accept limits in preparation
for the ultimate limitation in death (Peck 1997:182). We naturally resist this; is
this why death is such a taboo subject today? In adopting kenōsis we are actually
accepting the inevitable, obviously a more healthy attitude, but also transcending
it in the identification with the life of Christ, who replaces our increasing weakness
with his strength and wholeness.
His mind was obedient
Part of the logic behind the ideas of Apollinarius, and in the later Monothelite (one
will) controversy was that if Jesus had a normal human mind it could have been in
disagreement with the divine mind, which must have been impossible. However,
once it was appreciated that Jesus did have a regular human mind, then it was also
realised that it was always in total agreement with God. Essentially, he was always
obedient to the Father. This was not an indication of essential subordination, as
Arius had believed, but rather of full conformity to God.
Even though he did have an ordinary human will, he did not obey it if it was in
any way contrary to the divine. This does not mean that he did not have freedom
of action, but that he always chose to be in subjection to God. What this does not
mean is that his human will was inoperative, because there were a lot of instances
where the actual choice was immaterial, and in those cases he had the ability and
right to choose. The same is true for us; for many, even the majority of decisions
that we make, it is just not the case that one is right and the other wrong. Surely
God is not concerned whether we start to eat from the left or the right side of the
plate? He is however more concerned, in the light of both our own health and the
needs of the world, about the contents of that plate! Just as with the human will of
Christ, we do have freedom of action; our choice is not predetermined. God does
not seek, or even desire, to control our every action.
Nevertheless, in the case of Jesus, and what should be the case for us, where
there is any hint of a choice that would be in conflict with the will of God, then
his will is obeyed. The suffering that almost certainly follows in a fallen world is
accepted, although he would be untouched by much of human suffering, caused
by such things as ambition (Soelle 1975:42). Anything else than the acceptance of
God’s will would be the elevation of the human over the divine, which is idolatry

“Have this mind among yourselves” (Phil 2:5)
and pride. It is that which is the source of sin, and from which the mind of Christ
was free. One example of this, which has had great repercussions, is that some
have interpreted Romans 13 as requiring unquestioning obedience to the state.
Thus in South Africa, before the demise of apartheid, the government attempted
to suppress any thought of insurrection by appeal to this chapter, an impressive
motive as the vast majority of South Africans claim to be Christian. However,
when Peter and John were in a comparable situation and were forbidden by the
government of the day to preach Jesus, they replied, “we must obey God rather
than men” (Acts 5:29). The call to follow Jesus can well be a call to share in his
sufferings (Moltmann 2001a:50), as indeed Paul says just before the Philippian
hymn (Phil 1:29).
Of course, we do know full well that his will is not only right, but is the best
for us, but even then, so often we disobey. There is a deep-seated rebellious streak
within us, as any parent knows well. We are so often quite content until we are
told something is forbidden, and then we have an overwhelming desire to do
just that thing. It was just this that Paul battled with in Romans 7; the law, the
indication of the will of God so often does not prompt us to do the right thing,
but entirely the opposite, it awakens a desire to do something that was not even
present! Is this not what theologians from Augustine onwards have called “original
sin”, the bias that is within each of us towards what is wrong?
An attitude of kenōsis may well then to be refrain from actions that might
well be seen to be rational from another perspective. A lifestyle of sacrifice seems
contrary to the normal human way of doing things, contrary to common sense.
The Christian ethos is constantly subject to the accusation of impracticability.
Certainly it can only make sense in the context of the security of the future. It is
illogical to follow Christian sexual morality; after all it would benefit humanity
to spread good quality genes as widely as possible! It is illogical to refrain from
work on the Sabbath. Examples can be multiplied. Yet this is not followed simply
in obedience to God’s arbitrary will, but because it is for our good. Sexual purity
is for the sake of enhancing the relation to one partner, observing the Sabbath
is good for our health, so that we relate to others, and to the environment. As
in other aspects, kenōsis is to enhance relationship. There is a rejection here of
dominance, but an affirmation of harmony.
Often the desire is for self-sufficiency in imitation of God who is self-sufficient
(Hengel 1974:56). This often seen as a Greek ideal, but may be reflected in Paul’s
idea of contentment. However this latter is not, as the Greek tended to be, a selfnegation,
but acceptance of circumstances without trying to alter them, whether
of riches or of poverty.
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14 Have This Mind
Jesus was not exempt from temptation. Right at the start of his ministry, he was
presented with exceedingly subtle options, but which he rejected. Right at the end
of his ministry, in the Garden of Gethsemane, he was presented with the option
of escape. In both cases, and right the way between, his will was to do the will of
him who sent him (Jn 5:30). It could not have been easy, and for us likewise, it
is not an easy matter to accept the Lordship of God, but it is what is right, and is
what the Spirit will help us to do. Niebuhr (1952:226) here comments that Jesus
did what he was uniquely able to do; the same is true for us in our diverse gifts
and capabilities.
A concern for others
It would have been so easy, and very understandable, if Jesus had rejected the
last step of obedience, and not gone to the cross. It was of course necessary for
him to remain consistent; if he had opted out at any stage, it would have been an
indication that he had been wrong in doing what he had which had prompted his
arrest and eventual condemnation.
What this does indicate is that what he was doing on the cross was of far
more value to others than he could have achieved if he had opted to stay alive
even for a while longer. The achievement of salvation was the most caring thing
that he could have done. Why did he not wait a while and do both? Again, it
might have seemed that the material provision was more important, and that the
dying was an afterthought. Perhaps at an earlier stage he would have modified
his action? If would have been easy to justify this as he could have done far more
good in healing, teaching and even feeding the hungry. He had lived long enough
to show the disciples conclusively who he was, and so why his death was so vital.
Comprehending this, seeing God’s priorities, is also a function of the Spirit; Kűng
writes, “The Spirit cannot give new revelation, but through the preaching of
witnesses can cause everything that Jesus said and did to be revealed in a new
light” (in Pinnock 1996:221).
By dying, he was also saying that what he was doing in his life was inadequate
for the real issues of humanity, and so surrendered it in sacrifice. We too declare
our inadequacy, and in imitation present our bodies as living sacrifices (Rom
12:2). We may not be called to die, and indeed our dying can never achieve what
his did, but we too are called to imitate his kenōsis. Vitally, he had lived long
enough to demonstrate the sort of life that was demanded by those who seek to
follow him in his kenōsis.

“Have this mind among yourselves” (Phil 2:5)
When he set his face to go to Jerusalem and to the cross, his concern was dying
and so the enabling of salvation, but this was far from a rejection of the needs
of others. It is striking that even in his agony on the cross, when it might well
have been expected that he would be entirely taken up with his own situation,
he was able to minister to the dying thief, and to provide for the future needs
of his mother, and even to seek forgiveness for the soldiers who did the actual
crucifixion. This is the depth of kenōsis, where the self is emptied for others. There
must just be a small qualification here, as a person can never be so emptied as to
be used; this is one of the horrors of rape. It is not surprising that feminists have
had a certain reticence about the idea of kenōsis, as it can so easily be used to
justify submission (Barbour 2001:10). However, anything, no matter how good
and right, is open to abuse; religion should never become a tool for one’s own
benefit.
Such a concern must be typical of Christ, and indeed underlies the entire
action of his kenōsis. Self-emptying is not withdrawing from the other, but giving
oneself up to the other (Richard 1982:40). Ultimately the only reason for his
action was for others, although it has well been pointed out that God did gain
insofar as he gained many into his family, and an entire nexus of new relationships.
Nevertheless, a concern for others at his own expense was typical. He did not turn
away the children, even if his disciples, perceiving his weariness, wanted to even
for his sake. He did not send away the five thousand hungry, although nobody
would have thought less of him if he had. His was the action of love; Vanstone
(1977:50) aptly describes its nature as unlimited (no kenōsis of this attribute!),
not seeking to control (so limiting his own desire) and self-giving (the heart of
kenōsis).
Vanstone (1977:77) continues, “where an activity is known to be the work of
love, it is scarcely possible to be indifferent to its issue”. An appreciation of what
compelled the kenōsis of Jesus must surely result in a desire indeed to imitate his
attitude, to share the mind of Christ in a lifestyle of kenōsis. Bonhoeffer (1967:198)
puts it like this: Christians “stand by God in his hour of grieving”; that is what
distinguishes them from the pagans, as it is the reverse of what the world expects
from God.
By nature, Christians are often superior in possession, in intellectual ability,
and in many other ways, but the admonition here is to take the form of a servant,
indeed, to those who, humanly speaking, are not worthy (Rom 5:7). Such an
attitude is naturally incomprehensible to a world which calculates worth in the
sense of power (Richard 1997:184). Christians will then naturally be compassionate
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16 Have This Mind
(Richard 1997:188), identifying with the pain of a needy world, and then being
ready to suffer with it, which is the essential meaning of the term.

2
Kenotic ethics
The Philippian hymn is in the immediate context of an ethical appeal (Richard
1982:102), an encouragement to do what is right. It presumes that we have the
ability to choose. This possibility of ethical choice presumes that one action is
perceived as good when compared with another. This immediately raises a
question: on what basis is such a decision made? Why should a person choose a
particular line of action?
While in the Middle Ages the Chuch was looked upon as providing ethical
guidance for society (Niebuhr 1952:100), in modern secularism, this is not so,
even if many modern states see this as perhaps the only valid function for the
Church. White (1979:227) then helpfully summarises a number of possible
motivations from a secular perspective, citing such ideas as the pursuit of the
happiness of the greatest number (utilitarianism) and the craving for selfrealisation
(perfectionism). It is immediately obvious that what is perceived as
good from one view-point will be condemned from another; there is no possibility
here of something being unreservedly good. Goodness is reduced to what is liked,
to happiness now (Blamires 1978:73). Rain may be good for the farmer, but
bad for the holiday-maker. Even the pain of a toothache is good for the bacteria
under the tooth! Thielicke (1966:529) refers to the decision of German jurists
in 1934 to define the right as what benefits the German nation. In that context,
the German theologian Bonhoeffer judged it right to try to assassinate Hitler; his
view influenced the development of situational ethics (Gill 1991:10).
A Christian ethic must see the relationship with God as the greatest good,
and actions that enhance that as ultimately right. This immediately means that
if the relationship with God, which is what ultimately matters, is to be that, a
relationship, it is not just the imposition of God’s desires, but a two-way process
resulting in the harmony of wills. Relationship in the full sense cannot be a result
of compulsion, as it then becomes manipulation, reducing the person to a tool,
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18 Have This Mind
effectively dehumanising. The greatest good is then when a person freely chooses
to do what is good. This immediately means that there is a measure of fluidity in
ethical choice, for God’s will, so what is right, can well be different in different
situations (Davis 1993:8). There is no absolute ethic (Thielicke 1966:609). A
Biblical example of this is the “negotiation” of Abraham with God over the fate
of Sodom and Gomorrah (Gen 18:22f), where it would seem to be clear that the
intention of God was at least modified by the pleas of Abraham. After all, God
is also limiting himself, so open to change of mind. Such incidentally means that
the purpose of God in kenōsis is not simply the establishment of relationship, so
justification, but also the progressive sanctification into deeper conformity with
God.
Acts, even of love, are but an outworking of the relation, or conformity to
Christ. As Paul is fond of saying, a Christian is “in Christ”. So just as Christian
life is conformity to him, so is its outworking. “It is not good works which make a
good man, but a good man who does good works” (Thielicke 1966:60). And then
“as nothing makes righteous but faith alone, so nothing commits sin but unbelief
alone” (Thielicke 1966:60); Romans 14:23 indicates that what is not of faith is
sin. And faith is not just trust or belief, but is essentially relational, the union
with Christ, conformity to him. Good deeds are in no sense the way of achieving
salvation, but the result of it. Protestantism has insisted that salvation is sola gratia,
sola fide, only by grace, only through faith. But grace should lead to gratitude.
This locates the centre of ethics not in action, but in being. The Old Testament
law is essentially based on action, which must contrast to the New Testament view
of actions which emanate from a decisive inward change. If a Christian is born
again of the Spirit (Jn 3:3), his or her spirit or motive is transformed. Justification
is on the basis of being, so on faith, not on doing. A Christian is under the
guidance of the Spirit (Rom 8:1f), so that ethics is a matter of obedience to a
transformed will. Obedience is the response of the human spirit, to the Spirit
(White 1979:230). It is this which is determinative; in practice there may actually
be no difference between the acts of a Christian and a non-Christian except as
regards motive (Thielicke 1966:20). Indeed the actions of latter may often seem
to be ethically better. What ultimately matters is not the acts, but the relationship
to God; salvation is its establishment, and condemnation is from its absence.
A Christian view will then define its idea of goodness from the perspective
of the one absolute, God. What is good is what pleases God, who does make it
known to us. This means that Christian ethics is inherently theological (Thielicke
1966:xxiv), seeking its motivation in what is understood of the nature of God.
Jones (1984:16) identifies this as the heart of the Old Testament approach. Barth

Kenotic ethics
(1957:603) wrote that “the right ethics can only be Christian ethics, and this
Christian ethics, if it would speak scientifically, cannot be distinguished from
theological ethics” (cited in Cave 1949:106). The last phrase is significant;
modern separation of ethics from a theological base is an aspect of secularization
(Thielicke 1966:28). While Paul does indicate that the essence of ethics is known
to all (Rom 2:13), ultimately Christian ethics is not that of natural knowledge
but comes from a different source. It is more than an aspect of so-called “general
revelation”. Even if there is a Biblical recognition that all do recognise what is
right, which would be why there is a basic agreement in all religions, this cannot
be adopted as the basis of Christian ethics, as has been done by such as Aquinas
(Jones 1984:10).
It is quite clear that the Bible itself cannot always provide help, at least in a
direct way, in guiding Christians as to what is right. So many modern problems
deal with issues which simply did not exist in the Biblical world. To cite just one;
the practice of nuclear warfare could not even be conceived of in the day when
the chariot was the dominant weapon. This is of course not to jettison the Bible,
but to accept it as giving principles rather than direct guidance. This is the same
as in other aspects; an example is the Trinity, which does not occur explicitly in
the Bible. The development of the doctrine was done through theology, in a way
consistent with the authority of the Bible. This is why Christian ethics is therefore
“theological”, rather than directly “Biblical”.
So even though Jesus, as a Jew, would no doubt have affirmed the keeping of
the Sabbath, he indicated that there were situations in which it was right to “break”
it, and indeed did so, such as by healing some who were sick. Quite naturally he
thereby incurred the wrath of the Jewish authorities. These saw the issue in stark
terms, and, as is well known, laid down a plethora of secondary rules intended to
prevent a contravention of the basic Sabbath rule. This procedure was followed in
other respects as well. The thought that it could be right to break the written rule
was inconceivable to them. But the example of Jesus is clear: there is no obligation
for his followers to obey the law to the letter.
Paul in particular then justifies this on the grounds that a Christian is “dead”
to the law (Rom 7:4). This is the same point that Peter was brought up against
so forcibly when the gospel was presented to Gentiles; here the decision of the
infant Church was that such are not under the law (Acts 15:19f). Indeed, the
law was given as an aspect of the covenant with Israel; it is then not applicable
to others. But even if it may be right to “break” a law, it does not mean that the
law is wrong, or even ignorable. It still serves as a guide, and a Christian will obey
it for the vast majority of the time, even if acknowledging that occasionally it is
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20 Have This Mind
right to disobey it. Such acts of “disobedience” would then have to be justifiable
(Jones 1984:222). The question then arises as to what basis such an action is to be
taken. Clearly such action should be a response to the will of God, but is there an
overall principle that may be followed and which can then guide in such ethical
decisions?
Again, several have been suggested; Schumacher (1973:249) refers to the
“four cardinal virtues” of prudentia, justitia, fortitudo and temperentia. The last
is kenotic, the knowledge of when enough is enough. It is clear that for Paul,
love is a dominant motive, appearing in many passages, including, significantly, 1
Corinthians 13 in reaction to the manifestations of the Spirit at Corinth (White
1979:158). Romans 13:8-10 indicates that the Old Testament law itself was an
expansion of the basic principle of love, a concept slightly expanded by Jesus
himself who summarised the whole law in the two-fold command to love God
and neighbour (Matt 22:37f), a command which in Luke 20:25f prompted the
parable of the Good Samaritan. In this case, it would be right to “break” the
law if so doing was an act of love. Thus Augustine could make his well-known
statement, habe caritatem, et fac quod vis, “have love, and do what you like”. He
saw other virtues, such as fortitude, temperence and justice, as forms of love (Cave
1949:103). Davis (1993:4) does however note that Jesus was not concerned just
with an inner disposition, but did give some concrete commands. Love is indeed
shown in keeping God’s commandments (Jn 14:21). As with the Old Testament
law, specific commands can be a guide, as long as they are not more than that.
The centrality of love to the Christian gospel is hardly something that needs
to be demonstrated. John’s first epistle reminds us in two places (1 Jn 4:8,16) that
“God is love”, so that love is a fundamental aspect of his character. A love-based
ethic is theological. All God does is motivated by love, from the act of creation,
through his dealings with people and nations, the sending of his Son and the
Spirit. This also of course implies that people are freely able to respond (Ward
2001:159). It is then not surprising that love, both of God and of others, is the
correct response of people to God; it is fundamental. This was specifically stated
by Jesus himself, and repeatedly identified as the heart of Christian activity.
Perhaps easy to say, but not so easy to understand. When Jesus identified love
for neighbour as the second central commandment, he was immediately asked
to explain further. The query revolved around the identity of the neighbour, but
implicit in that is the question of what that love entailed. Even though the idea
of love does provide an overall basis for action, it is often difficult to apply. Even
the most apparently loving of acts may well be done from questionable motives;
money can be given to a beggar just to get rid of the problem! Sproul (1986:41)

Kenotic ethics
discusses the attempt by such as Fletcher in his Situation Ethics to evaluate all
actions by the norm of love (also Davis 1993:6). He wanted to judge all by a
single principle; this is the same as in other systems, differing only in what the
principle is (Gill 1991:10). Although there is a recognition in such attempts that
it is impossible to act correctly and righteously in slavish obedience to a set of
written precepts, “Fletcher realized that the word ‘love’ is ‘a swampy one’” (Sproul
1986:42). It is not always clear what love is (Jones 1984:151). Jones also points
out that situation ethics does not give much guidance on the social level, but
is intensely personal. Certainly the attempt, however laudible, may be seen as
contributing and justifying what can only be an explosion of immorality. Such
as Fletcher are of course reflecting the growing change in world view towards
relativism, commonly known today as “post-modernism”.
What is clear is that acts of love are costly, indeed sacrificial. The cost to the
Samaritan of the parable (Lk 10:25f) was not only the physical ointments and
payment to the inn-keeper, but of time and of energy. Love will always cost.
Certainly, Christian love has often been described as a self-giving, sacrificial action,
and certainly this would characterise the Samaritan of the parable. Although, like
the priest and the Levite he could no doubt have justified “passing by on the
other side”, he was moved by pity, and put himself out for the one who had been
attacked, with no intention of benefiting from his actions. But of course he did
gain! He got gratitude, and probably two new friends, as the inn-keeper should
probably be included. He did gain relationships, which is what love is all about.
The imitation of Christ
The inevitable result of love is then that it prompts self-giving. Indeed, Paul’s
point in including the hymn in Philippians 2 is as a commentary on the sort of
love that should underpin a Christian attitude to one another (Phil 2:1). It is what
God did; what is possibly the best known verse of the Bible directly links the two:
“God so loved … that he gave” (Jn 3:16). Also very well-known: “Greater love
has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (Jn 15:13).
Wiersbe (1997:33) cites the well-known story of the missionary C T Studd, who,
in response to the sacrifice of Christ for him, insisted that “no sacrifice can be too
great for me to make for Him.”
Thus in the light of the difficulty of applying love as a basic principle, it may well
be suggested that there is an even more fundamental principle on which Christian
ethics may be based. Just like the idea of goodness itself must be tethered in God
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22 Have This Mind
to avoid relativisation, so for a Christian, the fundamental principle must lie in
conformity to, or imitation of, Christ. The appeal of Philippians 2 urges Christians
to have the mind of Christ, so to think as he would, to reflect his attitudes. The
“ethos” of a Christian is the imitation of Christ. Practically, that ethos manifests
as Christian ethics, which means that in the daily choices that are made, the
Christian seeks to be like Christ. It is surprising that Harnack believed that “the
imitation of Christ in the strict sense of the word did not play any noteworthy
role, either in the apostolic or in the old catholic period”, an assessment also of
Inge, who notes that Paul did not slavishly imitate Jesus, even if he felt Harnack’s
statement was extreme (White 1979:109). As White (1979:110f) points out, it is
a common Biblical motif; he gives examples from several New Testament writers,
and draws particular attention to Jesus’ initial call, “follow me” (Mk 1:17), to his
own example in obedience to the Father, and to the foot-washing incident (Mk
10:43). Richard (1982:113) adds that this is a following on the way to the cross.
It is of course far from absent in Christian history; the great book of Thomas à
Kempis comes naturally to mind.
Sproul (1986:46) thus says that for a Christian, following Christ must be the
only absolute. White (1979:109) writes that “the imitation of Christ is the nearest
principle in Christianity to a moral absolute.” This finds a common Biblical
examples; White notes that it is basic to the appeals of both Peter and John
(1979:192,202), but examples in other writers can be readily adduced. For Mark,
discipleship is Christological (Richard 1982:109). Love is then the way this works
out; Jesus is the embodiment of love.
This principle is quite in conformity with the basic premise of Christian
salvation; we are saved simply because God loved us, and so Jesus gave himself for
us. God’s love was expressed in the actions that enabled salvation. If the absolute
for decision is love, this is effectively a concentration on acts. It is a devaluation
of agapē to treat it as feelings or even attitude, but it must be expressed in selfgiving.
Bonhoeffer has characterised Jesus as the “man for others” and in this
sees his divinity (Richard 1967:123). Sproul (1986:45) notes the implications of
Ephesians 5:1, which links Christ’s love and his giving himself for us. So often love
is understood in terms of affection, philia, whereas Christian love acts irrespective
of the worth of the loved (cf Rom 5:7). Such love, which in God prompted the
act of salvation, in Christians is an effect of that salvation. The Philippian hymn
commences by an appeal to conform the mind to that of Christ, an appeal repeated
elsewhere, such as in Romans 12:2, but right at the end of the hymn comes the
exhortation to “work out your own salvation” (Phil 2:12). Such mitigates against

Kenotic ethics
the all too common misconception that love is essentially a feeling; rather it is an
action resulting from a state of mind, that of a will determined to obey God.
Kenōsis
But it is necessary to go even beyond the idea of the imitation of Christ for ethical
guidance. Cochrane (1984:41) notes that the first temptation was to become more
in God’s image; it seemed very plausible! If ethics is just the imitation of Christ,
we will find ourselves trying to live as a first century Jew, adopting unnecessary
aspects of culture as well as his ethical example. This lies behind the objection of
Harnack, but is in fact often done; perhaps a classic example is the wearing of hats
by women in obedience to Paul’s directive, where surely this was done not as right
in itself, but as the cultural manifestation of a deeper principle. Luther makes this
point when he insists that Christ is not so much the example, but the exemplar
(Thielicke 1966:186); we do not so much follow his actions, for that would be
a different form of legalism (Thielicke 1966:185), but follow the pattern of his
life, which is kenotic. The very popular WWJD, “what would Jesus do?” is a valid
guide, but must be subject to qualification. Cave (1949:153) comments that the
calling of Jesus was not the same as ours, and so his actions must naturally differ.
This suggests that in the imitation of Christ comes the adoption of kenōsis.
Implicit in the Philippian passage is not only the identity of Jesus as divine, but his
willingness to limit himself. In the so-called “economic Trinity”, he subordinates
himself, which may then be seen as the paradigm for Christian action. The
“immanent Trinity”, God in himself, has no subordination; this can provide a
paradigm for the goal of Christian action. Incidentally, because he is God, it must
be impossible for Christians to imitate him exactly; Christian perfection is by
nature impossible.
Apart from Philippians 2, Adams (1986:105) adds that the command to selfdenial
occurs explicitly six times in the gospels (eg Matt 16:24), but that the
concept is everywhere in scripture. He particularly cites 2 Corinthians 5:15 and
Romans 14:7 (1986:109f). White (1979:193) also observes how important the
idea of the meekness of Christ was to Peter. Davis (1993:201) cites 1 Peter 2:21f,
indicating that the Christian life is a voluntary submission.
The principle of kenōsis may then also be seen in the three aspects of what
is traditionally referred to as his “office”. As prophet, Jesus yielded himself in
obedience to proclaiming the message of God; perhaps the best commentary on
this is the unwillingness of such as Jeremiah to act as a prophet due to what it
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24 Have This Mind
cost him (Jer 20:7f). As priest, he had the duty of offering, in the case of Jesus
even himself. As king he took on himself the service of others; the Old Testament
ideal was service to God as anointed, but also of the people. The aspect of service
is essential; Johnson (1993:151) has felt that a kingly Christology has often been
used for oppression (cf Lk 12:37).
Indeed, the principle of humility also follows from the principle of salvation
by grace, for any idea of working for salvation is contrary to accepting salvation
as a gift of totally unmerited favour. This is not to say that there is nothing of
any value in the Christian, but that it counts for nothing to the credit of a sinner.
Indeed, any serious Christian will acknowledge that every act done is to a measure
imperfect, if only at the level of motive. As Jesus indicated in the parable (Lk
17:10), even good deeds are only what are expected. Incidentally, this indicates
the care of God even for the least, so in imitation, Christian love is also for the
weakest, for the poor. Such an attitude is contrary to any hint of self-exaltation,
which results in the pride which is at the root of so much sin. On the contrary,
love is an obvious complement of self-limitation. It must be observed that it is in
fact possible to act in a kenotic way without love; this is hardly Christian.
Thus far from the a- or even anti-nomianism which has been felt to follow
from the free gift of grace, an idea which Paul had to confront in Romans 6
and 7, obedience to Christ follows. Waldron Scott (1980:200) comments that
God’s action in making the unjust just is with a view to their practising justice.
Despite some who would argue otherwise, it is impossible to receive Christ as
saviour without also receiving him as Lord. Repentance is essential! Lordship then
demands the cost of such a practice.
It also follows from the concept of the image of God. “Be holy as I am holy”
(Lev 11:44). The very act of creation was an act of kenōsis on the part of God,
particularly when it was humanity which was created, for it was given dominion
over the rest of creation, an idea intimately linked with that of the image (Gen
1:26-8). The image of God is fulfilled in Christ himself (Thielicke 1966:171),
and therefore again in kenōsis; incarnation itself is an acceptance of limitation,
especially as it is the adoption of materiality. It follows that the fullest reflection
of the image is when people themselves reflect the nature of Christ (Thielicke
1966:177), and so practise self-emptying. Christian ethics thus demands
regeneration. Full identity is of course only eschatologically achieved.
It is often pointed out that the image, when applied to humanity, refers to
the human community, not primarily to the individual. Translating the opening
verse of the Philippian hymn “have this mind among yourselves” is probably more
accurate than the simple “in”. Perhaps this explains its appeal in Orthodox practice

Kenotic ethics
(Jones 1984:165), which more than the West, has been aware of the importance
of community. Barth (1958:181f) in particular sees this in that humanity was
created “male and female” (Gen 1:27). Indeed, much of ethics is only applicable
in community; if people are to live together harmoniously, they must limit
themselves for the sake of the others.
A number of significant implications follow immediately from the relating of
ethics to the concept of kenōsis. Firstly it identifies Christian ethics firmly as that;
Christian. They presume justification and are inherently unnatural for anybody
else. Secondly, if the heart of ethics is kenōsis, it will again immediately mean that
perfection is impossible, simply because total emptying is impossible. “Nature
abhors a vacuum!”
Self-negation is fundamental to the Christian message; perhaps the clearest
exposition of its outworking is in the Sermon on the Mount. However, many of
the ethical teachings outlined in the New Testament may be seen as applications
of this principle. As an example, hospitality is enjoined in many of the letters; as
everybody who has done this knows well, this can only be done at a cost, not only
of money and of effort, and of the curtailment of personal liberty. It is the giving
up of facilities, also, to some extent an identification with the homeless.
It must also be observed at this point that self-limitation by people would be
consistent with God’s intention in other contexts. He commands restriction of
time spent on work to six days of the seven, a restriction of personal rights of
ownership in such regulations as the Jubilee (Lev 25) and not harvesting a field
totally in order to leave food for the poor (Lev 19:9). Self-limitation would be
motivated by consistency to such paradigms, which again could be said to reflect
the very nature of God himself.
A key example of the principle is naturally in Christian marriage, where
Ephesians 5:25 urges husbands to love their wives. What is significant is the
motive of imitation, “as Christ loved the Church”, and the kenotic method, “and
gave himself up for her”. This kenōsis establishes and maintains the relationship.
Incidentally, this is not a diminishing of essence, but enhances the masculinity of
the husband. And it is done for procreation, just as Jesus embraced kenōsis for the
salvation of others.
A second example of this approach can be seen in the dispute over abortion.
Christians have become divided over this issue, which has only really become a
matter for discussion with the development of medical technology enabling safe
abortion. Traditionally, Christians, especially Roman Catholics, have tended to
treat abortion as wrong, as a type of murder. Such a “pro-life” stance has been
queried even from that perspective, due to doubts about when life could be said
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26 Have This Mind
to start. The “pro-choice” lobby, which goes along with increased sexual freedom,
has rather stressed the right of a woman to make decisions concerning her own
body.
Here a kenotic approach can perhaps look at the Christian denial of inherent
rights, of willingness to act only in the interest of the other. This would mean
that the woman’s concern would centre on the right of the unborn baby, which is
indeed often her instinctive feeling. On the other hand, the unborn baby is not in
a position to self-limit. This would mean that a kenotic ethic would tend to favour
a “pro-life” stance. Here it is interesting that law has in fact given increasing rights
to the unborn; even American law “treats the foetus consistently as a person and
hence the subject of rights” (Dunstan, cited in Jones 1984:200).
The decision whether to abort is just one of several issues to which the principle
of the imitation of Jesus’ kenōsis can well be applied. To mention just a couple
more; firstly, capital punishment may be argued as permissible as Jesus died to
atone for sin (Davis 1993:185). Overall, being guided by the principle of kenōsis
does mean that in many matters a distinctive Christian opinion can be given,
if for no other reason that self-limitation is such a distinctive idea for people.
Secondly, and related to both of these, euthanasia can be seen as a refusal to be
kenotic, to surrender control of the timing of death (Peck 1997:203); again this
gives added weight to the obvious rejection of killing.
One further example, very significant in the modern world, is that a selflimitation
in sexual matters is the traditional Christian ethic. In many ways this
seems to be irrational; is it not good to spread high quality genes as widely as
possible? And it seems unnecessary when it is technically possible to prevent most
unwanted pregnancies, and most side effects of promiscuity. The key word is of
course “most”! But a Christian ethic would then largely avoid all of the sexually
transmitted diseases that are so prevalent. The escalation of HIV and the resulting
AIDS is mainly due to sexual relationships with multiple partners; it may well
be suggested that one reason for promiscuity is the feeling of emptiness due
to inadequate relationships. However, the limitation to one for life is the most
obvious way to stop the death rate escalating further. Indeed, many agencies
are promoting the ABC method, which means a person should preferably
abstain, then be faithful, but only if those are not followed, use a condom. The
preference for the first two is obvious insofar as condom use is by no means a
totally effective method either of birth control or of the prevention of sexually
transmitted disease. It is most frustrating when so-called Christians reject, or seem
incapable of following the Christian ethic which would deal with the problem.
Most importantly, however, a Christian ethic of sexual kenōsis is essential to full

Kenotic ethics
relationships between a couple; generating full relationship is after all the reason
for kenotic action.
In fact, there is a sense in which ethics is necessarily kenotic. Simply because
ethics involves choice, it demands the limitation to one action and the rejection
of others. One is reminded of Augustine’s view that evil is privatio boni, the
restriction of good. In any case, ethics is also about the relating of one person
to others. Any community must involve a degree of self-limitation if people are
to relate adequately to their fellow human beings, and the restriction of absolute
freedom. As with a relation to God, self-elevation naturally drives a wedge between
people. It may be noted here that capitalism, the unrestrained search for personal
increase, naturally leads to loss of relationship and social problems due to the
greed and competition which must be associated with it. Western society seems to
encourage the problems of loneliness, divorce, suicide and so on, all indicative of
a loss of relationship.
“If it is your will” is not an indication of doubt as is sometimes suggested,
but a self-limitation of desire so that God is glorified. Basically, when people are
concerned with their own benefit and profit, there is a natural neglect of others,
and society as a whole suffers. Such modern phenomena as soaring crime and
violence, strikes and boycott actions, have their roots in a desire for personal
benefit, and are often done with little awareness of the overall effect on society
as a whole. On the contrary, where there is a desire for the benefit of society and
for its upliftment, there will be generated a realization of the need for curtailment
of personal ambition. Adam Smith, and his modern followers, may believe that
society as a whole benefits from personal ambition, but such is more likely to
damage society unless there is also a care for others. To give a trivial example, it
is rarely in the interests of individuals to dispose of litter other than by simply
dropping it, and hence the state of cities and towns steadily deteriorates. If however
there is an appreciation of others and of society as a whole, some effort, even cost,
is expended to deal with rubbish.
Slavery
One of the most striking features of the Philippian hymn (Phil 2:5f) is the
humiliation of Christ as a doulos, a slave. Moreover, Paul was fond of referring
to himself as the doulos of Christ (eg, perhaps significantly, Phil 1:1). Certainly
it would be consistent with the idea of the absolute ownership inherent in Paul’s
picture of redemption, of a Christian being bought by Christ (1 Cor 6:20); he also
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28 Have This Mind
uses the picture in Romans 5 and elsewhere. A slave was of course the property of
the master, required to give total obedience. The slave had no free will. Just as the
kenōsis of Christ was an act of obedience, so Christian action is that of obedience,
even if, as is sometimes the case, it seems to be illogical. From a utilitarian view, or
from that of “situation ethics” an action may well seem to be right, yet is contrary
to what God desires. Interestingly, the strongest advocates of a Christian freemarket
system, the so-called theonomists or reconstructionists, advocate as part
of their economic principles the restoration of the practice of slavery (cf Williams
2001b:340). They note that it was a common practice in Biblical days, and that
it is actually never condemned by the Biblical writers. It must be commented that
it implies the denial of free-market rights to the slave, who cannot act out of selfinterest!
What may be queried is whether private property, and so slavery, is commanded
by God, a true reflection of his will. Rather it may be seen as permitted by God
as a practical measure in the context of fallen human nature. The Christian ideal
would rather be of stewardship, of use without actual ownership. In this case
there is no fundamental right to act from self-interest, but only in the interest of
the owner. Specifically, a Christian, as steward of the life that God has given, can
consistently act out of a motive of self-negation to benefit the owner, God.
Certainly slavery, in the sense that Paul uses it, is consistent with the idea of
kenōsis; Paul voluntarily limited himself under the lordship of God. We accept
slavery to God voluntarily as a release from our slavery to sin, which was also due
to a voluntary act. Incidentally, the idea of the kingdom of God is also compatible
with the idea, in two respects. Firstly a Christian is submissive to the kingly
authority of God, and secondly, that kingship is itself limited in the present,
although complete at the eschaton. It is because of its limitation in the present
that ethics, as an aspect of voluntary submission to God, are applicable. It must
however be observed from the Philippian hymn that if there is refusal to accept
what God has done, then there would ultimately be the compulsion of obedience
in the end of God’s kenōsis.
Contrary to common sense?
A kenotic ethic is, or should be, revolutionary. It totally goes against the usual ethos
of humanity. Ever since the first temptation and sin in the garden of Eden, the
natural human desire is to seek to benefit self, to seek personal reward. Perfection
lies in domination (Richard 1997:16), not in humility. The desire for continual

Kenotic ethics
growth and expansion is an almost unquestioned part of the modern Western
world-view, expressed in technological progress and particularly in economic
policy. This is especially the case in the modern world, where the world-view of
capitalism has become increasingly dominant. Adam Smith, often regarded as
the ‘father’ of capitalism and so of the consumerism which is so much a part of
the modern Western lifestyle, in a frequently quoted passage from his influential
‘Wealth of Nations’, wrote:
A man must be perfectly crazy, who, when there is a tolerable security, does
not employ all the stock which he commands, whether it be his own, or
borrowed of other people … in procuring either present enjoyment or future
profit (Smith 1902:115).
He believed that if everybody worked for their personal benefit, in fact
everybody would ultimately benefit, from the operation of what he called the
“invisible hand”.
An attitude of humility and self-denial, even if it was influential for many
centuries, is out of fashion. Maybe it never was accepted; perhaps all Adam Smith
did was to make such attitudes respectable. And perhaps even when it was in
fashion, self-denial was prompted more by a dualism that despised the material
for the benefit of the spirit; in that case, it was hardly real humility. In addition
to this, there is today a total rejection of the idea that any situation can ever be
seen as satisfactory. The capitalist spirit demands that there be continual change
and progress, never suggesting that there is a goal which may be attained. On the
personal level, there is no hint that personal possessions and lifestyle are sufficient,
but that on the contrary, these should always be enhanced. In brief, there is a
rejection of any idea of adequacy in any situation; there is a constant demand
for more. The basic point here is the modern attitude which refuses to suffer
limitation voluntarily, and does all that it can to overcome limitation imposed
from without.
According to the Enlightenment viewpoint of Adam Smith, the worth of the
individual is so esteemed that it should not in any sense be restricted, and at
the same time there is the belief that everyone is essentially good and rational,
so therefore limitation is not necessary. Indeed, limitation would be wrong as
it would prevent further good from being done. Capitalist belief is that overall
all would benefit if each looks after his or her own interest. The Enlightenment
stressed the individual, and from an individual perspective there is no need for
self-limitation; relationships are only necessary insofar as they contribute to
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30 Have This Mind
individual progress. “‘The other’ is accounted for as a valuable investment, which
will pay off eventually in the dividend of one’s own self-realization” (Richard
1997:17). This view of the inherent good of the individual stands in contrast
to the traditional Christian understanding of basic sinfulness. Ironically, Calvin,
who stressed human depravity, is often regarded as one source of a capitalistic
attitude by contributing to a so-called Protestant Work Ethic which fostered early
capitalism (Poggi 1983). Certainly the Reformed attitude does stand in stark
contrast to the medieval world-view which valued stability and so felt that all
should be limited to the role in society that they were given by birth. In order to
maintain that stability, the limitation of the individual was essential. What is often
not appreciated however is that although the industry of the Protestant ethic led
to the prosperity of early capitalists, the ethic also included self-limitation, even a
frugality (Poggi 1983:41). The personal practice of this naturally led to more being
available for investment and thus contributed to prosperity. It is this aspect that
is so foreign to the modern capitalist attitude, which follows Adam Smith rather
than Calvin. Indeed Calvin would hardly have encouraged the former, because
ultimately this would impinge upon the sovereignty of God. For him, personal
self-limitation was an essential complement to the majesty and omnipotence of
God (Davis 1984:99). Yet it must be suggested that personal self-limitation in a
Christian is not only a complement to the majesty of God, but is also to be seen
as done in imitation of him.
It is not surprising that such a natural human desire has been “Christianized”.
There is no shortage of those who defend a free-market philosophy, even on Biblical
grounds. This is usually based on what is supposed to be God’s endorsement of
the principle of the absolute ownership of private property. Adams (1986) also
responds to the attempt of such as Robert Schuller to identify self-esteem as a
valid motive to action. He comments “Jesus sets forth self-denial rather than
self-affirmation as the way to enter into a proper relationship with God” (Adams
1986:104). However the very attempt, and its enthusiastic reception by so many,
reflects the fact that the Christian attitude seems contrary to natural human
nature. Indeed, it is opposite to what would seem to be the “law of nature” (Cave
1949:114). The Greek agapē was not a well-known word before the advent of the
gospel because it was felt that a person practising it was demeaning his humanity
(this was a specifically male issue), and that real manhood required harshness,
strength, forced removal of opposition, lack of respect for others, essentially the
exercise of power and domination. A similar reaction is found in the thought of
the philosopher Nietzsche, who rejected the characteristic expression of agapē in
Christian care for the weak and helpless in society. He felt that the weak should

Kenotic ethics
be allowed to perish, and in particular should not be allowed to procreate, for
otherwise the race would quickly be diluted, and would not evolve, indeed
deteriorate. Indeed, in total distinction to kenōsis, motivation from self-interest
seems fundamental to the world. The evolution of plant and animal species is
held to depend on the survival of those best able to look after themselves. Gill
(1991:79), while noting Nietzsche’s point, adds that even modern medicine can
be viewed as destructive for humanity as a whole!
An attitude that puts concern for oneself first can hardly be seen as consistent
with Christian love, and certainly not with the kenōsis that Jesus demonstrated
so clearly. Certainly, Christian love is never practised at the expense of a person’s
being. Care for others is prompted by ordinary human sympathy, human “nature”,
but specifically has often been established by Christian action. T H Huxley wrote
that, “the practice of that which is ethically best—what we call goodness or
virtue—involves a course of conduct which, in all respects, is opposed to that
which leads to success in the cosmic struggle for existence”, but rather that the
“conception of ‘the Survival of the Fittest’ has thus been used to degrade man to
the level of ‘the ape and the tiger’” (Cave 1949:17,18).
The aim of love is to produce and enhance relationships. It is this that demands
that in order to love fully, people must restrict themselves for the sake of the
other. Perhaps less obviously, the act of love is not necessarily done to enhance
the other, but the relationship. It is a sad comment on human nature that so
often the relationship can only develop if the other is effectively bribed! Indeed,
the act of love may well involve bringing down the other, just for the sake of
relationship, as when a child is punished, or a person is criticised. It then requires
a kenotic attitude for these actions to result in relational benefit; nobody enjoys
punishment or criticism, and the natural reaction is to withdraw from the one
perpetrating them.
At the same time, it must be recognised that the success of the human species
is due to the fact that individuals cooperate, and by this they can do far more than
would be possible by individuals acting independently. It is not just the principles
of a free market economy, but the division of labour which has been effective in
generating prosperity (as well, of course, as the giving of a lot of jobs to machines).
The same is also true to some extent in nature, where successful hunting is often
done by animals cooperating in packs. The important point here is however that
such cooperation necessitates individual self-limitation for the sake of the group
as a whole.
But paradoxically though it may seem, self-limitation does result in benefit
even to the individual following it. The ethic of Jesus is most clearly spelt out in
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32 Have This Mind
the Sermon on the Mount. This starts famously, “blessed are you poor” (Lk 6:20).
As is well-known, Matthew’s version adds the significant words “in spirit” (Matt
5:3), giving rise to an enormous amount of exegetical activity. Luke’s version
however seems unequivocal. Sproul (1986:58) comments that a special blessing is
promised by God on those who are poor by choice, so those who adopt the way of
self-negation. This does add a motive to such practice, further to the simple desire
to imitate Jesus. What is this blessing, when an attitude of self-negation seems
ridiculous, contrary to the deep-seated desire to benefit oneself?
Initially, it is certainly hard to see that Jesus benefited at all in this life from
his self-sacrifice. However, what he “gained” in the process was humanity, and
the relationships that this entailed in the acts of teaching and healing, although
these were at cost to him. An example of the latter was the woman with an issue
of blood, where in her healing by touching Jesus, he felt power go from him (Lk
8:46).
It is the same with his followers, who gain in this life as regards their humanity,
which develops in its fullness in the service to others. Care for others, refusing to
enhance oneself if it is at the expense of others, is at the heart of what it means
to be human, as the very word “humane” implies. This is done by means of the
relationships that are developed with others; full humanity is not an individual
matter, but is only in community. This latter is a particularly African insight;
quite famously, the Kenyan theologian John Mbiti said that “I am because we
are”. The reason for this is that a person is not an isolated individual, as western
thought has tended to suggest, just incidentally interacting with others. Rather
the essence of personality is found in relationships, and it is in multiplying and
enhancing them that personality and therefore humanity develops to its potential.
This is not a submerging of the individual in others, but paradoxically, in the
giving of self to others comes the enhancing of the individual. The same is true in
the Trinity, where by the interplay of the Persons, the process of perichōrēsis, comes
not only full equality, but the possibility of full distinction. It is the same in Jesus
himself, in the interplay between his divinity and humanity, the communicatio
idiomatum.
In the process of becoming holy, enabled by the Holy Spirit, the Christian
becomes more “whole”, and a better reflection of the image of God. Tertullian
saw the role of the Spirit as enabling conformity to Christ; the difference between
“spiritual and unspiritual” Christians is in their degree of sanctification (Bray
1979:108). Here it is significant that the dominant understanding of the idea of
the image of God for over a millennium was of the possession of a spiritual nature.
However, while this was interpreted as having an immaterial aspect of being, in

Kenotic ethics
fact “spirit” refers rather to will or motive, and in that sense a Christian, in the
process of sanctification, does become more spiritual, as his or her “spirit” becomes
more fully conformed to the Spirit. Luther therefore understood the image not as
a quality, but as a relationship (Thielicke 1966:162). It is then natural that a
Christian ethic, enabled by the Spirit, is kenotic, as the Spirit is self-effacing, and
relates a person to the kenotic Christ. At the same time just as the Spirit glorifies
Christ, so he inspires the Christian to do likewise.
As the Christian life is more “whole”, it may therefore be taken as better. Selflimitation
is in no sense a choice for what is worse. Although it can obviously be
distorted, and denigrate the self, in affirming the other it affirms the self (Ellis
2001:110). It must be stressed at this point that an ethic of kenōsis is very different
from the asceticism that was so popular in Christianity for many centuries, and is
a strong aspect in other religions, particularly those in the East. Cave (1949:147)
comments that much of so-called Christian asceticism actually came from the
pagan environment of early Christianity. Puritanism can well be hard and loveless
(1949:154), but on the other hand a self-denial for the sake of God’s service, which
was the goal of at least some of the early ascetics, can find a place, as long as it does
not imply the rejection of the body and the material, which was created good.
Jones (1984:31) can even say that the rejection of asceticism is one of two key
features of Jesus’ teaching (the other, the major one, is that Jesus lived a live totally
consistent with his demand for total obedience to God); Jesus accepted good food,
parties and other aspects abhorrent to the real ascetic. It may be remembered that
early capitalists prospered not only because of their free market philosophy, and
neither because of their work, but because of their frugality, enabling them to use
rather than squander what they earned.
Thus far from a Christian ethic of kenōsis being restrictive, and curbing pleasure
for its own sake, as it has often been caricatured, it is beneficial. God does not
want to punish in a vindictive way, simply to enjoy people being deprived; any
punishment that he gives is rather vindicative, because of his holiness, and because
it is for the benefit of those that he loves (Heb 12:8). On the contrary, a Christian
lifestyle is rather liberative; a Christian is no longer in slavery to sin (Rom 6:16).
“Self-emptying is neither self-effacement nor servility, but letting go” (Richard
1982:40). More than this, adherence to Christian lifestyle should have many other
benefits. For one thing, it should be healthier, as a Christian is unlikely to indulge
in harmful practices such as smoking, is likely to eat in a sensible way, especially in
the self-limitation that avoids gluttony. Alcohol, and other drugs would be taken
in moderation if at all, again practising self-limitation. Less obviously, care for the
body includes exercise, and even this may be seen as a form of limitation, but this
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34 Have This Mind
time of the pleasure of just sitting! Actually, exercise can well be a most pleasurable
activity due to the body’s release of hormones, and can even be addictive. In this
case perhaps the correct thing to do is to deny oneself excessive exercise!
It must then be noted that a kenotic attitude is not just of self-limitation simply
for its own sake. An example of this is that modern technology has enabled several
new techniques which then have pressing ethical implications. In particular,
there are new technologies which enable reproduction when the normal results
of sexual intercourse do not occur. This would apply to the various forms of
artificial insemination, and to surrogacy. Without going into the ethical details, I
would suggest that the issue is the same as using artificial limbs or even motorised
transport. There must however be added questions where insemination involves
donation by a third party, simply because this goes beyond the fundamental
monogamous relationship. The issues become more complex when such as
cloning is practised, especially if this is desired specifically to avoid the limitations
of normal marital relationships, with the implications of them. It has a certain
attraction to be able to procreate without the involvement of the other sex, and
that the offspring would not be “polluted”, so limited, by the genetic contribution
of the partner. Nevertheless there is no fundamental reason for Christians to
categorically reject these new abilities; even if there are some groups, such as
the Amish, who reject the benefits of science, most Christians would, although
usually with qualification, accept developments as good, and progress as good.
Christians have always tended to be suspicious of such developments, as with
anything connected to sex, exacerbated by a fairly common conservatism. In this
case, the argument is often presented that it is wrong to do what God would
appear to have forbidden. Indeed, as a generalisation, it may be suggested that
these enable the overcoming of limitations that are otherwise present, but are not
acts of self-limitation. However, suspicion is in order, not least because the essence
of sin is the attempt to go past God-given restrictions.
This is also not to imply that the only benefit, so the only motive for the
conduct of kenōsis, is the gaining of full humanity. Philippians 2:11 refers to the
final exaltation of Christ, the glorification that is the culmination of the process
that commenced with resurrection and proceeded through the ascension, the
reversing of the process of emptying. Then Hebrews 12:2 relates this specifically
to motive: “… who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising
the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” This provides
the motivation that has always been central to Christian hope. We act in selfnegation
now, in imitation of our exemplar, in the confidence of eternal glory
(White 1979:71).

Kenotic ethics
Seemingly paradoxically, the self-limitation of Christ actually had the result
that what he was limiting was finally enhanced. Even though Christ did not grasp
at equality with God, the eventual result was that all would acknowledge him
as Lord. It must follow that kenotic love cannot follow from a desire to grasp or
exhibit status, an action from authority, but from a consideration of the other.
In the same way, Pinnock (2001:101) has argued that the act of creation does
not diminish God, but enhanced him by giving opportunities for relationship
and therefore enrichment. Even his humanity was not ultimately diminished
by its restriction on the cross, but through the experience was completed in its
glorification. Not that the eschatological motive is distinct from the desire for
full humanity, as there must be a sense in which full humanity is only attained
eschatologically in the transcending of present limitation in the receipt of the
“spiritual body” (1 Cor 15:44).
What must also be observed is that in the attaining of glory, the reversal of
the act of kenōsis, enabling the reversal of the act of the fall, the return is not
just to the starting point, but actually there is a gain. Jesus, the eternal logos,
gained humanity and therefore became the Son, we gain the spiritual body and
completion of humanity. The whole risk of granting freewill and suffering the
effect of sin, resulted in an overall good (Rom 8:28). As Augustine sang, O felix
culpa, “O fortunate sin”. Jesus ultimately gained through his experience of kenōsis,
dreadful though that was, and we likewise gain through the experience of sin,
as long, of course, if it is dealt with in forgiveness. John 16:21 likens this to the
experience of a woman, who emerging from the pain and suffering of childbirth,
feels that the birth of a child more than compensates for the pain.
Inapplicability?
Although the ethics outlined in Jesus’ teaching, especially those in the Sermon
on the Mount, have been universally admired, they have equally been rejected as
impracticable in the real world of sinful imperfection. Bismarck famously doubted
that the world could be ruled in that way (Thielicke 1966:350). Many attempts
have been made to qualify Jesus’ words; perhaps the best known is the view that
the ethics of Jesus may be seen as the ideal, only applicable eschatologically, but
that there is a need of an interim ethic to suit the present reality. Certainly there
would be Biblical support for such a view in that quite a few policies may be seen
as permitted, even supported by God, but which clearly are not what he really
desires. The law is God’s will modified by a fallen world (Thielicke 1966:148).
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36 Have This Mind
One example of this is human government; in the appointment of the first Israelite
king, God, through Samuel, made it clear that this is a second best. Government
would indeed be unnecessary if all perfectly obeyed God, but as they do not, it is
good insofar as it restrains evil (Rom 13:1f). As such it is appointed by God and
has his authority. Similarly private property is not the ideal, but in the real world
God upholds the principle and forbids stealing. Perhaps most controversially, the
Old Testament permits divorce, but at the same time makes it very clear that this
is a concession (Thielicke 1966:571).
However, there is no indication in Jesus’ words that he saw it only as an ideal or
only for the future. Certainly there has been no shortage of Christian groups from
the very beginning who have tried to live according to the Sermon on the Mount.
The significant difference from the Old Testament is the presence of the Spirit,
who enables such radical conduct. Of course this also implies that Christian ethics
are kenotic, simply because the nature of the Spirit is self-effacing, so kenotic.
If the kenōsis of Jesus is seen as the essential paradigm for ethics, this does
locate it both in the present time, for kenōsis will cease at the eschaton, and in the
present reality, for Jesus assumed real and full humanity in the incarnation. Most
significantly, he did lead a life that was sinless (Heb 4:15), which is lifted up as an
example for us to follow. Thielicke (1966:381) comments that all ethics are in the
context of the fall.
However, several have maintained a distinction. A different view is that of
Luther, who in his “two kingdoms” doctrine taught that Christian ethics apply
only to Christians, a different standard being applicable to a Godless world. In
this he was faithful to his Augustinian roots, as his master had preached effectively
the same in his “City of God” of over a millennium earlier. Thielicke (1966:359f)
comments that if this is the case, there is no restraint from the Gospel on the
evil of the world, there is an encouragement of a dual ethic, and ultimately the
encouragement of secularization. This is essentially the same point as follows
from the fact that the Old Testament law was given to Israel only, as a result and
sign of the covenant (Thielicke 1966:276). Then just as Old Testament ethics
rests on covenant, so does New Testament ethics. In both cases it is an aspect of
salvation, belonging to the covenant community. Here it is significant that the
punishment for deliberate contravention of the ethical norm, sin, was exclusion
from that community, a principle which Paul used also in the infant Church (1
Cor 5:2,5,13).
In this regard, it may be noted that covenant itself is a result of the principle
of self-limitation, insofar as it a restriction of special relationship. God made a
covenant with Israel, and so not with any of the other possible peoples. This

Kenotic ethics
is a fundamental aspect of the Old Testament; indeed, some have seen it as its
central idea, its “centre”. It is then inevitable that the result of the covenant in the
provisions of the law are also limiting. Each of the Ten Commandments can be
seen in this light; so the first is a limitation of worship and obedience to the One
God. This is true for the others as well, such as the forbidding of murder, which
is a limitation of action. Perhaps this is clearest in the fourth, the keeping of the
Sabbath, as it is a restriction of activity on the one day of the week. In this regard, it
may be noticed that several texts promise blessing as a result of this self-limitation,
such as Isaiah 56:6f. Certainly this was even the case in the exodus, when there
was a double provision of the manna on the day preceding the Sabbath.
It must also be added here that Christian ethics is predominantly limited to
relationships with other Christians, not to the world as a whole. In particular, a
kenotic ethic can hardly be imposed on others (Ellis 2001:125); that would be
totally inconsistent! Paul says that we (Gal 6:16). Nevertheless it must be pointed
out here that a major reason for the success of the early Church was its charity to
all (Chadwick, cited by Jones 1984:40).
This limitation of Christian ethics, especially of kenōsis, to the covenant
community does mean that the Church has no right to prescribe conduct to those
outside. Its ethical duty is that of example, of demonstrating the right manner
of life to be imitated. This is of course in any case totally consistent with the fact
that Christian ethics themselves are not prescriptive, but in imitation of Christ.
However most would feel that the Church still has a right, even more a duty, to
indicate what conduct is in general conformity to the will of God. Even more of
course, as it has always done, the Church has the duty of indicating the means of
gaining a relationship with God, and so eternal life, both enjoyed eschatologically
but also in increasing conforming to God in the present.
Richard (1982:37) adds that this is not just a theoretical ideal but actually
essential; he cites E Fromm, “for the first time in history the physical survival of the
human race depends on a radical change of the human heart”, and Schumacher,
who believes that if greed and envy continue, the inevitable result is a collapse in
intelligence, not being able to see things as they really are. Humility is especially
needed in the light of human technological power, the essential nature of which
is domination (Richard 1997:11f). Heidegger feels that in order to counteract
technology, and make it possible to live in this world, there must be a gelassenheit,
a “relinquishment” (Richard 1997:25).
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38 Have This Mind
The enabling of kenōsis
Just as the kenōsis of Christ in all its facets, incarnation, service, suffering and death
is enabled by the Spirit, so it must follow that kenotic ethics likewise is by his
enabling. Specific problems are subject to the guidance of the Spirit, but what the
identification of kenōsis does is to provide an overall framework which would in
general show what is right. Ethical decisions cannot be reliably made on the basis
of rules. It of course the link with the Spirit which again renders Christian ethics
specifically Christian. Even here, the Spirit does not prescribe, but persuades. Free
will is never removed; how could it be when it is the underlying reason for kenōsis?
In a sense this is a form of inspiration (Matt 10:19), insofar as a decision is made
as a reply to the accusation of evil (Thielicke 1966:651). Thielicke (1966:652)
then points out, very validly, that the existence of such guidance does not negate
the need to have considered intellectually the various ethical problems that we are
faced with. It may be observed in this respect that the Spirit does not create, but
quickens and animates what has already been made. He brings to remembrance
(Jn 14:26).
At the same time, a Christian can pray for guidance. Here the prayer is for the
help of the Spirit, but such praying is in the power of the Spirit (Rom 8:26-7)
(Thielicke 1966:660). (There is a parallel here to Christ being both the offering
priest and the sacrifice itself.)
Producing relationships is a particular aspect of the work of the Spirit, indeed
what may be suggested as his fundamental role (Williams 2004). He then bonds us
to Christ so that we become conformed to his nature, which includes his kenōsis.
Indeed, ethics are mainly in the context of living together without conflict, so of
the maintenance of relationships. The Spirit thus enables self-limitation, indeed,
such limitation is an aspect of his own nature. It must also be noted that the Spirit
also limits his action; this results, for example, both in the continued free will
of the Christian and in that sanctification is a process and not instantaneously
completed. We need a “growing and continuous experience” (Cave 1949:155),
a comment that is particularly applicable to some traditional theologies. Rather
than seeing a goal of perfection achievable in a sudden and complete experience, as
has been taught by some forms of Wesleyanism, and more recently in Pentecostal
theology, we need, in obedience to Ephesians 5:18, to be constantly “re-filled” by
the Spirit. After all, we “leak” (D L Moody, cited in Williams 2004:96)!

3
Kenōsis and human rights
The very first article of the constitution of the Republic of South Africa speaks of
it being founded on four basic values. The first of these is “Human dignity, the
achievement of equality and the advancement of human rights and freedoms”.
The stress on human rights is hardly surprising in the light of the history of the
country during the previous half century, when the human rights of a large part
of the population were commonly denied, and every sector of the population
suffered (Sachs 1992:vii), experiencing dehumanisation as a result. The second
chapter of the constitution is then a Bill of Rights, in which the human rights of
citizens of the country are detailed. South Africans are now increasingly aware of
their rights, and increasingly claim them from government and other members
of society. Certainly this is a lofty and commendable ideal; the challenge to the
country is then to identify these rights and seek to evolve a society truly based on
them.
The heart of human rights lies in a desire to protect the powerless (Falconer
1980:6). There is a denial of any idea of social utility, that the worth of a person
lies in what he or she can do for society. The appeal to the “common good” is
rejected (MacBride 1980:17). Interestingly, Aquinas, the originator of the idea of
the “common good”, while teaching that this takes priority over the individual,
points out that they fulfil their function as individuals, not socially (Cahill
1980:282). Rights are upheld even against the wish of the wider body (du Blois
1998:2, Harries 1991:4), such as a state, but also against the desires of other
individuals (Cronin 1992:75). Parliament does not then have the sovereign power
of its predecessors (Browde 1994:v); its powers are limited, and importantly,
effectively by its own choice.
Discussion continues as to the basis of human rights; Murray (1980:81)
recounts the story that the drafters of the United Nations declaration were
unanimous about what the rights were, provided nobody asked them why!
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40 Have This Mind
However, it bases freedom on the foundations of dignity and equality (cited in
Harrelson 1980:195f). Du Blois (1998:14) identifies the core of human rights in
terms of dignity, equality and freedom, whereas Moltmann (1984:8) sees the core
value as dignity, expressed in freedom, equality and participation; he points out
that dignity is not a right, but their source (Moltmann 1980:187). The particular
emphasis naturally depends on the context; Evans (1983:8) indicates the different
attitudes of “first”, “second” (at that time), and “third” worlds. Further discussion
rages as to which are fundamental, since they may not always be consistent,
requiring one to be upheld in a particular circumstance at the expense of another.
In particular, the affirmation of liberty and equality are almost impossible together,
requiring one to be preferred; they serve opposing interests (Currin & Kruger
1994:136). Harries (1991:11) cites opinion in favour of both. Murray (1980:86)
however believes that they can in fact only be actualised simultaneously.
It is also commonly recognised that to achieve the goal of equality, it may
well be necessary to treat people unequally (Currin & Kruger 1994:137). It must
be observed here that all societies, even if they do affirm and defend essential
equality, do nevertheless differentiate on various grounds; du Blois (1998:20)
gives the example that the vote is denied to those who are underage. This is the
foundation of the programme of affirmative action. International human rights
law does not consider this as violating the principle of non-discrimination (Sachs
1992:33).
South Africa is only an extreme case of an increasing interest in human rights.
Stott (1984:141f) outlines the historical steps of the development, going back to
the thought of Plato and Aristotle, through modern interest especially prompted
by the horrors of the second World War. In recent years it could well be seen as
an aspect of the western stress on the individual (Moltmann 1984:20); the east,
particularly before the collapse of communism, was centred on the community,
and so did not have that emphasis. The situation is now such that Cliteur can
justifiably suggest that since the second World War the human rights tradition has
become the first real world religion (du Blois 1998:29).
It may then also be suggested that a stress on human rights is a function of the
decline in religion. Where the latter is influential in society, it tends to protect the
individual (Harries 1991:1); the upholding of human rights is then part of the
process of secularization. Especially in the Enlightenment worldview, it implies
the rejection of a centring on serving God in favour of humanity. Stackhouse
(1984:6) notes that human rights concerns are generally attributed to postreligious
philosophy, and even power politics. Nevertheless, although the idea
of human rights is often assumed to be secular, both the American Declaration

Kenōsis and human rights
of Independence and the French declaration of 1789 invoked deity (Harries
1991:1); the contribution of Christian theology is clear. Indeed, although Falconer
(1980:2) feels that it was only one influence on these, and not the major one
at that, Lindqvist (1980:86) asserts that the American statement owes more to
Christianity than to the Enlightenment. Certainly the contribution of Christianity
to the emergence of human rights, both as providing a world-view and by the
activity of Christians, individually, and in churches, has been significant. The
ethic of the Old Testament, seen in law and prophet, is striking in its care for
others, especially in the context of the rest of the ancient world. Harrelson (1980:
xv) points out that the legal material of the Old Testament contains much of the
foundation for human rights. Wright (1979:11) notes that concern for the weak
was not optional, but a legal obligation. The idea of covenant, so significant in
the Bible, implies the rights of the participants (Cronin 1992:209f); in particular,
Jesus initiated the new covenant. Respect for rights is faithfulness to the covenant
(Cronin 1992:259). In contrast, the idea of rights is foreign to many other religious
groups (Stackhouse 1984:2,9).
In South Africa, the contribution of the Church to the current situation was
most significant; although the previous government claimed Christian legitimacy,
and expended a great deal of effort in supporting the Christian gospel, it experienced
increasing resistance from Christians. Without this, it is unlikely that the system
would have been defeated so rapidly. It is then also hardly surprising that the
Truth and Reconciliation Commission, set up after the end of apartheid to try to
deal with some of the abuse of human rights under that system, had a prominent
Christian, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, as its chairperson. What is perhaps more
surprising is that there were sections of the Church which had supported the
previous system, and even tried to justify it theologically. That theology proved
untenable, and many resisted the hierarchies of their denominations.
At the heart of the Christian world-view is a respect for the rights of one’s
neighbour; it is natural that Christians have been in the vanguard of moves to
enhance human rights. du Blois (1998:13) notes that the first president of the
European Court of Human Rights, Lord McNair, suggested that the very concept
of human rights was inspired by Christianity, although he is quick to point out
that it is not exclusively Christian. Examples can be multiplied, but a few are
particularly impressive. The abolition of slavery, improvement of the conditions
of prisons, establishment of institutions providing education and medical care
commonly have Christian roots. Of particular note, and most impressive when
compared to societies outside a Christian tradition, is the status of women. This
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42 Have This Mind
last claims explicit Biblical warrant, as Paul proclaims that in Christ there is no
discrimination on the grounds of wealth, race, or sex (Gal 3:28).
Indeed, from a Christian perspective, the very need for human rights has a
ready theological explanation; people are sinful by nature, and will not naturally
treat others as they should. Rights are a reaction to badness (Cronin 1992:14),
people exhibiting less than the full humanity that God intended. Similarly, it
is on theological grounds that the three core values of human rights are based.
The affirmation of human dignity, respect for the other, no matter who they are,
follows immediately from an affirmation that God created people in his own
image (Gen 1:26) (du Blois 1998:15). This is inherent in being human (Cahill
1980:279); Brunner points out that the essence of humanity lies in relationship
to God (Wright 1979:6). “He who oppresses a poor man insults his Maker” (Prov
14:31). Archbishop Temple could even insist that without faith, there are no real
rights (Stott 1984:145). Psalm 8, quoted in Hebrews 2, reflects this aspect. This
indicates that the respect for human rights is no option, but an obligation (Meeks
1984:xi); “human dignity is God’s claim on human beings, not created by human
declaration”. Despite a recognition that what is created has no inherent rights over
the creator, like a pot cannot answer back to the potter (Rom 9:21), being in the
image of God does give inherent value (Harries 1991:7). An individual has rights
simply due to being a human being (Stackhouse 1984:1), and, significantly, in
order to become more fully human (Cronin 1992:247). This is fundamental to
being human; a person acts inhumanely if he or she violates the rights of others
(Moltmann 1984:9). Then because it is a function of being human, dignity is not
something that is acquired by effort and achievement (Meeks 1984:ix); there is
then a parallel to the Christian understanding of salvation by grace. Practically, the
provision of human rights to others is an aspect of the fulfilling of the “dominion
mandate” (Gen 1:28); provision of the needs of others through the authority of a
steward over creation is a reflection of being in imago Dei.
The fact that humanity was created plural, male and female, different but
complementary, then confirms that it is in relationship that full humanity is
realised. It may be cogently argued that it is only in the situation of plurality, so
relating to the other, that a person is really human; some indeed see this as the
meaning of the “image”. In this case, rampant individualism is wrong, and the
right of the other is to be respected (Harries 1991:11). Christian theology then
understands equality within that diversity (Gal 3:28). The extension to wider
society follows, especially in the South African context, where the ideal is of the
“rainbow nation”, which honours the differences yet equality between the various
segments of the population. Perhaps a little more contentiously, the creation story

Kenōsis and human rights
also affirms at least a large measure of human freedom, seen in the granting first
of dominion over the rest of the creation (Gen 1:28), and then in the abuse of
that freedom in the fall into sin. It is also in this that humanity, as free to choose,
reflects the nature of God, who chose to create.
The three values are then reinforced in the heart of the gospel, the incarnation
and atonement through Christ. Even if there are some Christians who feel that
unredeemed humanity is so sinful that any talk of worth or rights is nonsense
(Stackhouse 1984:58), this cannot be so. Rather, God is so concerned about even
sinners that he sent his own son to die an agonizing death to redeem them (Rom
5:8); how then can Christians look down on others? And if salvation is by grace,
totally a free gift, not depending on who a person is or what he or she has done
(Eph 2:8), then all people are inherently equal. Indeed, treating people differently,
denying their essential human rights, is explicitly condemned in the Bible; the
poor person has a right to be treated in exactly the same way as the rich (Jas
2:1f).
The example of Christ
Advocacy of human rights has thus been a feature of Christianity from the
very beginning. How could it be otherwise, when its founder saw as the core
of Christian practice the dual command of loving God, and one’s neighbour as
oneself (Lk 10:27)? The parable of the good Samaritan, one of the best-known,
follows immediately, which enshrines care for the other, even if of a different race
and religion. The Samaritan was applauded for respecting the rights of the one
who had fallen among thieves. It is not hard to see the three key values of human
dignity, equality and freedom in the message and ministry of Jesus.
By the very incarnation, he gave dignity to humanity. It was an outrage to
the privileged of the day that Jesus did not follow social convention, but granted
rights to those that society ostracised. He respected children (Mk 10:14), women
(Jn 4:27), tax collectors. He was noted as having no respect for social status (Mk
12:14).
The Bill of Rights in the South African constitution then specifies a number
of specific rights, which are intended to improve the quality of life of ordinary
South Africans, especially, of course, the poor. Here it may be observed that much
of what Jesus did was to do just this. He had a period of earthly ministry which
enriched the lives of those touched by it, and to some extent still does in a variety
of ways. He did not just come to die, which would be all that was necessary if his
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concern was life after death, but also had a period of ministry. Nevertheless of
course, the fact that his earthly ministry was comparatively short indicates where
his priority lay. Nevertheless again, much of the work that he did in his life was
continued, and should still continue through the Church that he established,
empowered by the Spirit that he sent (Acts 1:4).
After the right to life, perhaps the most fundamental right is that of food,
and of course water, the basics of nutrition for adequate health. It is possible to
spiritualise this in terms of seeing Jesus as the “bread of life” (Jn 6:35), and “living
water” (Jn 7:38), and naturally a Christian will think of the Lord’s Supper, but
Jesus was concerned with the physical, as seen in the accounts of the feedings of
the five and four thousands (Mk 8:14f), from which it must be noted, he did draw
spiritual lessons. It is no accident that the Church has fairly consistently involved
itself in providing for the hungry, both by direct giving and in developmental
projects.
In the minds of most people, the right to the provision of health care must also
be a priority. It may well be possible to ignore this when one is young and healthy,
but when disease and infirmity strikes it becomes an obsession. No reader of the
New Testament can fail to notice how much attention is paid to the healing of the
body. One calculation is that of 3779 verses in the four gospels. 727 have to do
with healing (Kelsey 1973:54). Again, this emphasis continued in the life of the
early Church; it is one of the tragedies of Church history, even if readily explicable
(Kelsey 1973:200f), that the use of this gift declined during the first few centuries.
Nevertheless, the Church has not only continued to care for the sick, and even
to pray, even if without expectation, for healing, but the record of the Church in
organised health care has been exemplary. From the work of Basil the Great, who
established the first hospital (Kelsey 1973:167), through the modern missionary
movement, which often concentrated on medical work, Christians have tried to
follow the example of their founder.
The other main occupation of missionaries has been in the field of education.
In South Africa, as in many parts of the world, the current leadership looks back
in thankfulness to the diligence of many missionaries who laboured to uplift the
population by the provision of quality education. Again this goes right back to
the early Church, and to Jesus himself. Here, even if the focus was on “spiritual”
teaching, much of what Jesus taught, such as in the “sermon on the mount”, did
not have to do so much with “doctrine” but with the attainment of attitudes and a
lifestyle which if adopted would enhance the quality of life of human society.
One right which is very precious in the new South Africa is the right of
everybody who is a citizen and of age to vote. Particularly in the light of the previous

Kenōsis and human rights
dispensation, in which the franchise was limited to one race group only, the right
to elect, so to participate in government is crucial. Nobody has government
imposed on them without a measure of representation. As often said in the days
of apartheid, a system which denies democratic participation on government to a
section of the population is effectively denying their full humanity. Nevertheless,
this is qualified in that the will of a majority is not absolute over the human rights
of an individual.
The other side of dominion is freedom, as it is only a person who has authority
who is free. Freedom is therefore a recurring theme in the Bill of Rights, the word
occurring in the titles of several of the articles. Rights and liberty are virtually
interchangeable in the Magna Carta and the UN declaration (Cronin 1992:32).
In essence, freedom is the ability to choose, which is at the heart of the democratic
process. A citizen has the right to participate in the choice of which government
rules. In South Africa, of course, the word always carries the implication of freedom
from oppression; here again, Jesus positively removed oppression from several
groups of people, those oppressed by disease such as leprosy, or by demons.
Much more can be said, but it is clear that Jesus did affirm much of what
we would regard as human rights. Naturally quite a lot of what we feel to be a
right in the modern world was simply irrelevant in first century Palestine, but the
principle is clear. Most particularly, through what Jesus did, access to God is now
a basic human right, available to anybody who wants to take advantage of it. This
means that he came to give life, which is the very basic human right, the “right to
the tree of life” (Rev 22:14). But this is not just a spiritual endowment, or merely
eschatological, “pie in the sky when you die”, as the offer of the gospel is often
caricatured, but has to do with what the issue of human rights is fundamentally all
about, life in the present. Indeed, the gospels even record him as instrumental in
two raisings from dead. But human rights is more than just living, mere existence,
but are the right to quality of life; Jesus affirmed that he came to give life, and to
give it abundantly (Jn 10:10). The gift is of “wholeness” of life, not accidentally
related to holiness, and to the work of the Holy Spirit.
By his death, he facilitated liberty, the right of forgiveness of sins and eternal
life to any who would accept it. He gave equality, insofar as all are saved by exactly
the same method, and fraternity (and sorority!), as by what he did came the
adoption as children of God (Rom 8:15). These were not imposed, but he gave
the right to choose. Because the offer of salvation means that all are saved on
exactly the same basis, irrespective of past sin, then all are essentially equal. It is
this that underpins Paul’s great affirmations of human equality in Galatians 3:28
and Colossians 3:11, providing a second reason for it after the idea of creation in
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46 Have This Mind
imago Dei. At the same time, affirming equality need not detract from respecting
difference. It is, incidentally, overlooking this point which caused the first serious
Christian heresy, as Arius, correctly observing the subordination of the incarnate
Son to the Father, failed to realise that the two Persons could still be essentially
equal. The great challenge to society, especially the South African, is to do just
this, respecting diversity while affirming equality.
It may just be noted that there is a parallel between the Biblical history and the
South African experience. In the Old Testament there was a preferential covenant
with the Jews. Such need not be seen as unjust, but was for the benefit of all (Gen
12:3). In Christ, all are now totally equal, although God’s dealing with the Jews
and Gentiles does involve a form of affirmative action (Rom 11:25). It is of course
obvious that the entire South African population does currently benefit from
what was done previously, even while action is taken to reduce the inequalities
that were produced in that period.
The appeal to imitate Christ
Perhaps the heart of the matter of human rights is that of attitude. If people
treated each other in a “Christian” way, the issue of human rights would actually
be irrelevant. If people did in fact love their neighbour as they love themselves, the
neighbour would not need to claim his or her rights. However, even if Christian
belief, as any conviction, does lead to a transformation of way of life, this is rarely
instantaneous but a gradual modification of behaviour. If for no other reason, the
implication of belief for lifestyle is rarely understood immediately, and even if it
were, there is always a natural resistance to change. Adoption of Christian belief
has never led to total sanctification. People are such that even Christians need to
be constantly reminded that they need to respect each other. The pages of the
New Testament are full of appeals to a better lifestyle and attitude towards each
other. An appeal, or an explanation, can well speed up the change, even if it is
unlikely to result in instantaneous results. Even in such a “spiritual” community
as was apparently present in first century Corinth, Paul had to appeal that the
rights of all be respected even at the height of celebration in the Lord’s Supper (1
Cor 11:21). The basic right of some, to food, was being denied.
One such appeal is to be found in Philippians 2. Again the very fact of an
appeal demonstrates the apostle’s awareness of the need that the rights of others
be acknowledged. What the apostle is doing here is to make his appeal not just by
reasoned argument, but on the basis of example. Elsewhere in the New Testament

Kenōsis and human rights
he does urge Christians to follow his example, and also therefore urges Christian
leaders to be good examples themselves. Here he is going to the example of Jesus
himself, which should on the one hand be most persuasive to people who call
themselves Christians, or disciples of Christ, but on the other hand should well be
the ideal. Paul, as any other Christian, was very aware that he was far from perfect,
and that he was always in danger of leading people into wrong ways.
In the incarnation, Jesus was affirming the dignity of being human, and insofar
as it was a voluntary act, the importance of freedom. Paul then uses this example
to urge the Philippian Christians in their mutual relationships, implying concern
for others, so essential equality, and also participation in their needs. Significantly
he sees this as not just motivated by the example of Christ, but enabled by their
communion, or participation in the Spirit (Phil 2:1).
It has been objected, such as by Pannenberg, that the traditional Christian
belief about Jesus in fact goes against using him as an example, for if he is indeed
divine, and if he is sinless, how can ordinary mortals possibly hope to emulate
him? The New Testament is however at pains to argue that Jesus was in fact
subject to the same temptations as we are, “yet without sinning” (Heb 4:15, 1
Pet 2:22). In any case, everybody’s situation will be distinct; what matters is that
the Christian emulates the essential principles of life which were followed by their
leader, and it is these which the Philippian hymn puts forward. It is here that there
is a contrast with the way human rights in South Africa are often applied, for the
hymn concentrates on two related actions, the kenōsis, or emptying of his divinity,
and his adoption of humility as a human being.
The idea of the kenōsis of Jesus’ divinity has been contentious as to its meaning,
but at the heart of the idea is that Jesus did not “grasp” (harpagmon) at the rights
that he had as divine. In his incarnation, and especially in his dying, he rejected
his dignity, dying a humiliating death; he did not appeal to his equality (Cronin
1992:176), taking the form of a servant, in fact a slave, and certainly the very act
of crucifixion is the antithesis of freedom. He experienced firsthand deprivation
of much that are commonly accepted as rights, from being a refugee to enduring a
dubious trial. There was no greater violation of human rights than at the cross, for
it is to Christ that we have the greatest responsibility (Wright 1979:20).
This must be seen in the context that nobody has a greater claim on human
rights than Jesus. This is because Christianity basically derives its idea of human
rights from the concept of the creation of humanity in imago Dei (Cronin
1992:257), and the New Testament sees Jesus as the fundamental image, while
other human beings are only as becoming conformed to that image (Rom 8:29).
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The fullness of the image which should be seen in every human being was marred
by sin.
Despite having rights, Jesus limited himself, refusing to claim them. This
may seem to be a strange attitude, but it is consistent with the concept of rights.
In fact, the existence of human rights is a limitation of the sovereignty of the
community, and the concept includes the idea of the limitation of rights, which
are never absolute (Currin & Kruger 1994:135, referring to article 33 of the South
African Bill of Rights); it follows that the individual can also limit those rights.
Indeed this is essential for the rights of others (Cronin 1992:36). The denial of
one’s own rights is in itself a right, that of freedom, the ability to choose. Many
commentators on the Philippian hymn stress that what Jesus did was an act of his
own choice, not compelled by anybody. Indeed, this is what God did in creation,
curtailing his own freedom to give freedom to his creation.
Imitation of Jesus, the refusal to claim rights, has been the attitude of many of
Jesus’ followers. Paul renounced much of what he was entitled to (1 Cor 9:15).
In disputes he even suggested that it is better to be wronged than to stand up
for rights (1 Cor 6:7). Those respected as “saints” have often been those who
have abandoned their rights, such as Francis of Assisi (Cronin 1992:104). In fact
there have been a couple of books written with the provocative title “Have we no
right?” (eg Williamson 1958). These have the specific intention of stating that the
Christian attitude, if in imitation of Jesus, is not to claim rights.
It is for this reason that Christians, while generally in favour of the concept of
rights (Cronin 1992:57), have a measure of caution about it. Emphasising them
tends to lead to an attitude of what can be received rather than what can be
given. They encourage individualism and adversarialism (Cronin 1992:81). The
individual is put above society (Lindqvist 1980:88), even above God. There is
increasing awareness that other species also have rights (Vanstone 1977:82). The
self-assertion involved in the claiming of rights is very similar to that of the first sin
(Henley 1986:369). They smack of arrogance, even rebellion: sinners do not have
rights (Wright 1979:3)! Then the emphasis on human rights can well imply that
they override duty to God, an attitude which actually could claim some Biblical
support (Mk 7:11). The ethos of rights tends to imply that suffering is always
wrong and can have no benefit (Cronin 1992:103). In any case, Christian morals
are more comprehensive than rights; so although respect for rights is helpful and
valid, they are not essential to them (Cronin 1992:xiv).
It must immediately be emphasised that this is not a denial of the concept
of rights; Harries (1991:7) stresses that there is a world of difference between
choosing to waive one’s own rights and urging others to do so. There is even more

Kenōsis and human rights
of a difference from denying rights to others. Stott (1984:149) therefore argues
that the Bible speaks much of defending the rights of others, but little about
defending our own; he feels that the Christian attitude is rather an acceptance
of responsibility. This is not limited to the Church, even if it does have priority
(Gal 6:10). Rights are a function of being human, not of being Christian (Cronin
1992:167). I think that it was bishop Stephen Neill who once commented that
the Church is the only society that exists for the benefit of non-members. In this
case, the Church is the only group that would really be concerned for human
rights.
But it is this that leads to an attitude of kenōsis. “What is Christian is the
championing of the neighbor’s right, the defense of the other, thus the renouncing
of one’s own rights” (Moltmann 1984:10; my emphasis). In fact it could well be
suggested, as by Jenkins (1975:99), that the struggle for human rights is more
than a response to Jesus’ example, but an actual participation in it; Paul speaks of
sharing his suffering (Phil 3:10). In this case Christians share in Christ’s kenōsis.
The two are held without inconsistency (Wright 1979:22). 2 Corinthians 8:9
speaks of Jesus’ accepting poverty, just so that we might be rich; this verse is
generally seen as an example of kenōsis. “Self-liberation is meaningless without
self-limitation” (Lindqvist 1980:88). It might be added that the right of freedom
means that nobody is forced to give up rights; as with Jesus, it is entirely voluntary.
It is just because of this that the New Testament contains several appeals. It must
also be observed that civilisation depends on the idea of everybody giving up
something of personal freedom, and so rights, for the sake of the community; if
all served their own interest, society would collapse. “The basic fact of our human
condition is that we are servants of one another” (Richard 1997:171). This is an
affirmation of the rights of others at the expense of one’s own. And, it should be
added, a particularly Christian attitude is the concern not only for the rights of
the oppressed, but also for the rights of the oppressors (Haughton 1980:226); this
reflects the attitude of the one who at the depths of his kenōsis prayed “Father,
forgive them … (Lk 23:34), an example duly followed by the first martyr, Stephen
(Acts 7:60).
It must also be stressed that such self-limitation is not asceticism, the
denigration of self. Moltmann (1984:10) emphasises that the love of neighbour as
oneself demands the love of self as well. On the contrary, the Christian imperative
is the care for oneself, which includes the body that God has made; this is part of
being imago Dei. What is accepted here is the possibility of sacrifice as Jesus did,
not pushing for one’s own benefit where others would be deprived. As example
of the difference would be if a good meal was provided, a Christian can accept
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it with gratitude and enjoyment, while an ascetic would refuse it. This must just
be qualified insofar as if this happened often, perhaps the Christian should also
refuse, but also for the sake of the body if there was a danger of getting overweight!
Limitation is not in itself good, but is done for the sake of a better result. The
limitation that results in rights, and then the limitation of those rights are not
actions done with no purpose. In South Africa, the establishment of rights, and
the limitation of them, as in programmes of affirmative action, are done from
the belief that a better society will emerge as a result. Theologically, God’s selflimitation
in creation was for the greater good of the possibility of relating to
free creatures. Jesus’ kenōsis resulted in his exaltation (Phil 2:10). Then the selflimitation
of Christians, whereas it has been done for the sake of others, has been
seen as enabling greater holiness and so a closer relationship with God.
Thus the attitude of kenōsis, the refusal to insist on one’s own rights, results
ultimately not in loss, but in gain. The affirmation of what contributes to the
humanisation of others ultimately results in the humanisation of oneself. As
Murray (1980:88) observes, by denying freedom to others, we restrict our own.
Did not Jesus himself say that those who seek their own lives would lose them
(Mk 8:35)?

4
A kenotic response to secularity
In recent years the western world has been going through a process of secularization;
Berger (1969:107) defines this as “the process by which sectors of society and
culture are removed from the domination of religious institutions and symbols”.
It is therefore the decreasing influence of religion upon society, the decline of
the faith that has been dominant there for, in many cases, over a millennium.
Whereas in the Middle Ages the whole of society operated with reference to the
Church, which exerted considerable influence on how it functioned and upon
the lifestyles of everybody, today the Church is regarded as simply yet another
organization, competing with many others to have its voice heard. It has become
irrelevant to many and is often ignored. Churches have lost membership, and for
even for many of those who remain, their faith affects just a part of their lives, and
has to compete with other demands.
It must be immediately said that this is a particular issue in the modern West.
In many other parts of the world belief remains strong and religious organizations
are thriving. As a generalization, these are those which are usually referred to as
the “third world”, in a situation of poverty, and religion has always thrived where
people are insecure (Norris & Inglehart 2004:5); it is the prosperous West which
has experienced a decline, where people do not feel a need for God. However,
at the same time, also due to economic insecurity, people have tended to have
large families; whereas the population in the developed world is declining, it is
still rapidly growing in the less developed. It must also be said that in contrast
with other religions, it is Christianity that has been particularly affected by
secularization, as it has largely been the traditionally Christian world which has
developed; that is of course not an accident. However, in large areas of the world,
such as Latin America, Christianity is thriving in a situation of poverty, and in
sub-Saharan Africa, Christianity is growing rapidly. Indeed, overall, the world is
becoming more religious (Norris & Inglehart 2004:124).
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Unlike non-Western societies, the situation of secularization is particularly
serious for the West, simply because its culture is so integral with Christianity.
The modern age is unthinkable without Christianity (Blumenberg 1983:30);
Troeltsch still went further, believing that the two are totally intertwined, and
that people outside of the West cannot see Christ without the other (Niebuhr
1952:44). Certainly it is true that many Africans perceive Christianity simply as
a “white” religion.
It is also often noted that the situation seems to be very different in the United
States, where in contrast to Europe, churches are thriving, albeit with some slow
decline, more marked, as in Europe, in the traditional denominations. Growth
in the newer churches, notably the ones with a charismatic emphasis, has nearly
balanced loss in the others; indeed, the situation is that this is where most of the
lost members have gone. However, it has been suggested that the situation in
America is actually not so different from that in Europe, in that the nature of
the churches themselves has been affected, so that in practice they are more like
secular organizations, with people belonging to them not so much for religious
reasons, but for social contacts and even business benefits. Luckmann has
described the situation as “internal secularization” as distinct from the “external”
found in Europe (Berger 1970:17). Nevertheless, there are several other factors
which may well mean that religion in America has been able to survive better
than in Europe. For one thing the constitutional separation of church and state
has meant that a person belonging to the church has made a deliberate choice
to do so; the situation is a little similar to that in the pre-Constantinian church,
where persecution dissuaded all but the most committed from open expression of
faith, but where after acceptance by the Roman Empire it was both fashionable
and expedient to belong to a church, and so nominalism flourished. Secondly
the American ethos of competition means that churches openly compete, and
deliberately provide attractive programmes; here again this may well produce
adherents but not those who are really concerned to worship; however, while
noting this, Norris & Inglehart (2004:96,100) feel that the evidence suggests that
pluralism has not increased participation. Thirdly, it is probably still relevant that
many of the original settlers arrived in America for religious reasons (Norris &
Inglehart 2004:225).
Secularization in the developed West possibly reflects more disenchantment
with the church than with the faith that it represents; Dekker, Luidens and
Rice (1997:280) have found that individual faith has proved to be much more
resilient. Nevertheless, this is also declining, and without the support of a vigorous
community, it is not likely that the faith of most individuals would do well;

A kenotic response to secularity
this then also becomes secularized. At the same time, even without widespread
personal faith and in the weakness of the churches, Christian values have also not
decayed as rapidly; there is still a Christian ethos in Europe, such as the upholding
of the ideal of honesty. However, secularization in time naturally affects all these,
the churches as organizations, individual faith and Christian values; they may not
be the same, but they are related. Dobbelaere (2002:24f) distinguishes individual
secularization, the lack of individual practice, societal secularization, the loss of
influence on society, and organisational secularization, the effect on religious
organisations by changes in society.
Insofar as it represents a decline in Christianity and its influence, secularization
must strike Christians as tragic and demand a response from them. Berger
(1969:156) naturally indicates that there are essentially two possible things that
the Church and individual Christians can do, and indeed have done. On the one
hand they can accommodate themselves to what has happened around them, and
on the other they can withdraw to preserve their distinctive beliefs and practices.
Within that framework there are a number of possibilities; in particular he subdivides
each major option into two (Dekker 1997:14). In his later book he points
out that this is not a particular feature of religion, but occurs wherever people find
themselves holding minority views or practices; they either withdraw to prevent
attack on them, aggressively propagate them, or try to justify them in a rational
way (Berger 1970:20); this is well-known as “culture shock”.
Webber (1981) has described three basic approaches of Christians to society,
those of separation, of identification and of transformation. It is the second
which has been most characteristic of the Church for most of its history, since it
became the norm when the Roman emperor Constantine accepted Christianity
as the religion of the Empire in the early fourth century. He believes that there
was mutual interaction and support between the two, resulting in popular
Christianity becoming “somewhat nominal” (Webber 1981:113). Even today, the
state acknowledges the value of religion, as in providing moral guidance (Niebuhr
1952:94f). Likewise the church also gained several advantages, such as the freedom
to grow and investigate the beliefs of the Church. Right throughout that period,
however, there were repeated realisations that the Church was not as it should be,
and both attempts to reform it and the establishment of groups within it which
were intended to be purer expressions of the faith, such as in monasticism.
It had been natural for the Churches of the Reformation to continue the essence
of the tradition that they inherited from the Catholic church. It is these that are
seen in modern society as the so-called “mainline” churches. The assumption that
was basically made was of Christendom, so with the Church a fundamental part
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54 Have This Mind
of society, influencing it as the spirit of a person drives and motivates his or her
actions. All the major reformed churches set up facsimilies of this in their own
territories (Berger 1969:157). A good example of this is Calvin’s Geneva, where
the whole society continued to be dominated by the Church, in essentially the
same way as previously with the Catholic Church. The Church may have been
reformed, but the interplay with society had not. And it had been an interplay,
not simply the action of the Church on society, but also of society on the Church.
Part of the story of the Middle Ages was of the Church adopting the methods
of political and social society. Then when society changed in the developments
known as the Renaissance and the Enlightenment, the church again adapted. In
particular, it accepted the authority of modern thought and accommodated to
it. Berger (1970:22) sees this as early as 1799 when Schleiermacher’s Addresses on
religion to its cultured despisers was published. In a later work, Berger refers to this
as the “reductive option” (Dekker 1997:14). Of course the Church may well not
simply accommodate to the patterns around it, but try to negotiate, to “bargain”,
an option which he calls “inductive”. It may for example give up belief in miracles
while trying to retain the ethics of Jesus (Berger 1969:159). Berger (1970:37) does
however feel that the attempt to translate the tradition of the Church into the
modern world generally leads to disaster for the Church (cf Dekker 1997:14). It is
hardly surprising that it is exactly those “mainline” churches which are declining
under the pressures of secularity. Berger’s conclusion is supported by empirical
research; Veeren (1997:169) has investigated the attitudes towards society in
adherents to Reformed churches in The Netherlands, and concluded that those
who did not belong to pietistic groups were indistinguishable from the average
Dutch.
Luther’s own attempt to reform the Church led to schism from it, yet he
continued the essential idea of the relationship with the State that pertained
previously. This was perhaps hardly surprising, as his success, indeed his very
survival, depended upon the patronage of the political authorities. Yet again he
was most aware of the distinction between the Church and the rest of society;
after all, his new church could hardly be viewed as coextensive with all of human
society. He solved his problem by advocacy of the “Two Kingdoms” idea, whereby
a Christian lives in two spheres simultaneously (Webber 1978:113f), and in which
there are different practices. In the state there is the normal rule of law, but in the
church the teachings of Jesus; this latter would be impracticable in the world as a
whole. Emphatically, God is sovereign over both, but in different ways. Webber
(1981:133) comments that although a Christian is committed to both spheres,
there is great difficulty in determining the balance between the two. As part of the

A kenotic response to secularity
world, Christians “live according to a law that appears contradictory to Christian
persuasion” (Webber 1978:120).
But this became even more difficult when the ethos of the world shifted. In
Luther’s time, his world still basically accepted the Christian faith; it needed
reforming, but had not, at least formally, rejected it. However, after the period of
the Reformation came the major change of thought known as the Enlightenment.
There had been some changes before the Reformation in the Renaissance, which
had contributed to secularization in a re-affirmation of the world and of humanity,
but it was the Enlightenment that really altered the world. Essentially, as its name
suggests, people claimed to be “enlightened”, able to reason in a new way, and
no longer needing to rely on the authority of the Church for what they believed.
It was felt that a human being was capable of sensible decisions, and could be
autonomous. Results were far-reaching in industrialisation, urbanisation, scientific
development, and so on, but the impact on Christianity was that it made a major
contribution to the process of secularization in that it was no longer enough to
be told what to believe, but people wanted to know the reasons for belief. It was
no longer enough to rely on the authority of the Bible, but the Bible itself was
brought under the spotlight of reason. Many aspects, such as the miracles, were
doubted as contrary to reason, and even more fundamental teachings such as
the virgin birth, the atonement, the resurrection, and even the deity of Christ.
Anything that seemed contrary to reason came under suspicion. And at the same
time, science developed an understanding of the world that differed from that
of the Bible, putting forward ideas of evolution instead of a six day creation,
and much else. What was important was that reasonable evidence was available,
while traditional Christian teachings often could only rest on an untestable claim
of revelation. For many, the belief of the Church seemed to be impossible, and
therefore it should be rejected. There was no need to relate to God, and in any
case his very existence was unprovable. The world became more secular. Blamires
(1978:79) has aptly described the secular view of Christianity:
… your central teachings are wholly incredible, your theology a tangle of
outmoded obscurantist metaphysics, your basic doctrines utterly discredited,
your view of man’s situation and destiny totally incompatible with modern
knowledge.
It was this that sharpened the dichotomy that Luther had given. Not only was
a Christian called to live in both the world and the Church, trying to balance
their claims, but now it was necessary to try to hold in tension two apparently
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contradictory systems. As Webber (1981:133) points out, this proved a difficult
situation, and so it was here that accommodation of the church to the thought
of society, the start of secularization, occurred. Niebuhr (1952:146) hints that a
synthesis of Christianity with culture, as occurred in the Middle Ages, is no longer
possible.
Once the authority of the Church was lost, which was natural once it had become
divided in the Reformation, and once the authority of the Bible was questioned in
the rationalist assaults on it from the assertions of the Enlightenment world-view,
the belief of the Church, especially in the Protestant sections, naturally shifted. The
foundations had weakened. Once it was accepted that belief had to be rational,
and empirically justifiable, many of the traditional assertions proved untenable
by many. There was progressive dismantling of the supernatural scaffolding of
Christianity (Berger 1970:23). Even such a fundamental tenet of the faith as the
incarnation was disputed. Naturally the essential message of the Church became
in line with Enlightenment thought; liberal Christianity advocated little more
than the love of people one to another. Only the goodness of God and his love
for the world, seen very indirectly, could be tolerated of the supernatural. It paid
lipservice to the transcendent, whereas for most this must have seemed to be a
sham. The tendency was for religion to be reduced to a form of psychology; in
this case, Christianity can then readily be viewed as simply subjective (Berger
1969:168). Most recently, the Enlightenment rejection of authority has been
further enhanced by the rejection and defeat of totalitarianism, and the realisation
of what could be the result of such forms of authoritarian government (Blamires
1978:133). This would partly account for the acceleration of secularization
after the second world war, although it is far from the only factor; perhaps more
significant are greatly increased prosperity and the development of social security.
At the same time, the Church itself shared in the secularization of society and
has tended to become simply a human organisation, with social and political aims.
Dekker (1997:17f) catalogues a number of changes in the Reformed churches of
The Netherlands, which would not be unique to that country. He lists as the
principle ones changes in ecclesiastical organization, in the view of the Bible, in
the content of doctrine and its significance, in the relationship between religiosity
and other aspects of life, and in the attitude towards nonchurch members and to
other churches. Shiner here comments that this sort of accommodation is itself a
secularization (Lyon 1985:119).
More recently, there have arisen those who openly advocate a Christianity
without the transcendent. Bonhoeffer, notably, called for a religionless Christianity,
removing the other-worldly (Richard 1967:11); in a secular society, “honesty

A kenotic response to secularity
demands that we recognise that we must live in the world as if there were no God.
And this is just what we do recognize—before God” (cited in Richard 1967:24).
He did however see this as consistent with Christianity’s distinction between the
sacred and the secular (Berger 1969:106). Bultmann advocated demythologisation
of elements in the Bible, such as the stories of miracle, which he felt were incredible
to modern people (Mascall 1965:8), and on a more popular level, the bishop
of Woolwich notoriously published Honest to God. Arguably, the motives of the
latter were to preserve the “essence” of Christianity in a way acceptable to the
modern worldview. Significantly, both Robinson and Cox still accepted the reality
of the incarnation and the formula of Chalcedon (Richard 1967:33). For these the
essence of Jesus is the “man for others” (Richard 1967:44), or his perfect response
(van Buren, in Mascall 1965:51), which is close to the reason for Christ’s kenōsis; a
link that Bonhoeffer did make (Richard 1967:122). Van Buren went still further,
seeking to eliminate all trace of the supernatural (Mascall 1965:7). However,
without the reality of the spiritual, the Church surely has no distinct role in
society; it might as well cease to exist as what it does can be more adequately done
by other bodies. Barth commented on Bultmann that he effectively evacuated the
gospel in his attempt to make it acceptable (Mascall 1965:46). Likewise Mascall
(1965:105) says that Robinson despaired of converting the world to Christianity,
so attempts to convert Christianity to the world. In this case, secularization is
complete. People will surely only support the Church if they can see the reality
of a relationship with God that it embodies; but if they indeed see this, it must
assuredly maintain a role, indeed a growing one.
What has happened is that in many cases, Christian thinking has been
transformed to that of the rest of society, a stark contrast to the call that the
Philippian hymn makes for people to conform their mind to that of Christ.
However, in distinction to the two accommodative options, Berger has described
a third, which is to resist accommodation and reassert the authority of the faith
(Dekker 1997:14). This often manifests in an attempt to preserve the faith by
withdrawing from society. This is Webber’s option of “separation” (1981:75f).
This has always been done in the Church. Niebuhr (1952:60f) traces this from
the New Testament, such as in 1 John, through the early Church, as in the
Didache and Tertullian, and then through monasticism to modern expressions
in Mennonites and Quakers; he especially mentions Tolstoy. As Gibbons said,
Christians are “animated by a contempt for present existence and by confidence
in immortality” (Niebuhr 1952:21). The reaction of the first hermits and the
monks in the face of what they saw as the loss of the purity of the Church after
its acceptance by the Roman Empire was to escape to form an alternative society.
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They rejected a church which they saw as secularized, which as how many modern
Christians view the institutionalized church of today (Webber 1978:98). At the
time of the Reformation there were also those who felt that society as a whole
was beyond hope and so the only option was to withdraw (Yoder 1997:202).
Interestingly this was not done by Calvin, despite his belief in the distinctiveness
of Christians from the world by their predestination; he tried to reform society, a
paradoxical action which could be seen as inherently doomed. Perhaps, as most
people, he found it impossible to move too far out of the worldview that he had
inherited. The action of the Anabaptists is continued today in various groups,
some of which, like the Amish, try to avoid as much of modern society as they can
to preserve their faith and culture. They desire a pure Church (Webber 1981:87),
and so separate it from culture (1981:92). Berger (in Dekker 1997:14) says that
“the deductive option is to reassert the authority of a religious tradition in the
face of modern secularity”. Even among Christians who are more accepting of
society there is often the appreciation of the need to be distinctive. This manifests
in, for example, the desire to establish Christian schools to try to maintain the
influence of the faith on the young. Quite often dissatisfaction with the church as
a whole has led to the formation of smaller groups, sometimes within the existing
congregations. This latter was a characteristic feature of the Charismatic “Renewal”
which started in the 1960s. At the same time the establishment of a Christian subculture,
with its own music, holidays and so on is a useful mechanism for survival
as it enhances the mutual support that is so helpful (Lyon 1985:124). This gives a
fresh dimension to the creedal affirmation of the “communion of saints” (Berger
1970:26)!
It would seem that if Berger is right, the only hope for the Church it to reaffirm
its traditional beliefs, insisting that they are in fact valid despite the lack of
scientific verification for them. The Catholic attitude all along had been just this;
Pius IX, in 1864, rejected any idea of reconciliation with “progress, liberalism and
civilization as lately introduced” (Berger 1970:26). This is not just a “head-in-thesand”
option; Lyon (1985:118) notes that sociologists and historians of religion
“cannot but notice the persistence, revival or resurgence of the more orthodox,
biblically-based versions of Christianity”. Perhaps however, it must be insisted
at this stage that it is not necessary to affirm with Tertullian that Christianity is
believed just because it is absurd! (Niebuhr (1952:87) explains the sense in which
he meant this, that the events of the cross and resurrection are so wonderful as
beyond understanding. Paul indicates the same in 1 Corinthians 1:18f.) Rather,
unlike many systems of belief which are just that, sets of ideas, Christianity can
claim a measure of verification, and it is impressive evidence. Lyon (1985:123)

A kenotic response to secularity
notes that one reason for the survival of conservative Protestantism in a modern
scientific world is that it can claim rationality. Indeed, Biblical Christianity can
emphasise this as Jesus is the logos, the rationality of God. It is not surprising that
the Church contains a relatively high proportion of natural scientists, doctors and
other professionals (Lyon 1985:123). 2 Peter 1:16f insists that the gospel message
is not “cleverly devised myths” but rests on eyewitness evidence. The same stress
on experience is characteristic of 1 John. Examples could be multiplied. The
obvious one is Paul’s appeal to the resurrection, underpinning his teaching (1 Cor
15:13). The danger is that retrenchment can well be a closure of the mind, whereas
Philippians 2 calls for the transformation of the mind; intellectual defense of the
faith, and of the basis for belief remains imperative. Yet, although the evidence for
the resurrection is impressive, it falls short of the sort of proof that is presented
for many scientific tenets. Likewise, although it is possible to defend and explain
Biblical assertions of miracle, the point is that it is a defense. Whereas in the past
the miracles were presented as solid evidence for Christianity, they are now often
seen as a burden. This is of course why Bultmann had proposed a programme of
“demythologization”, to remove the miraculous, interpreting the stories in a way
acceptable to modern scientific people. But again, this is a capitulation to the
ideas and system of the modern world. Hardly surprising in the complexity of
arguments, there are many who opt for Berger’s retrenchment option, affirming
the beliefs of Christianity, and implicitly questioning the secular view, which, of
course, despite the impressive amount of evidence, is not fully provable either.
Assessing two sets of evidence in order to reach a decision is actually the
method of the Enlightenment and so of secular society. It cannot be acceptable to
Christians as such; Blamires (1978:107) stresses the Christian claim to absolute
truth and decries the Enlightenment idea that it is merely necessary to adopt
a majority consensus. As he says, this means a replacement of truth by simply
what is liked (1978:112). Christians query using reason as a base for other ideas
(Niebuhr 1952:26). In contrast, Christian action and belief, which includes the
response to secularization, as any other issue, should be based on a criterion that
is itself Christian and not secular. Here Christianity has usually sought to be just
that, Christian, and so take him as the basic reason for their belief. Christianity
is in essence a relationship to Christ, using him as its paradigm. 1 John stresses
revelation by encounter This means that affirmation of traditional belief is
not just because of the time that it has been believed, or its acceptance by the
Church over centuries, but because it is Christocentric. This criterion then further
supports a reaffirmation of traditional beliefs. As Niebuhr (1952:117) points out,
accommodation had had to distort the New Testament figure of Christ.
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Christocentricity was the key concept of a major reaction to the prevalent
liberal theology in the early part of the twentieth century. Karl Barth spearheaded
the “neo-orthodox” reaffirmation of more traditional Christianity. He trumpeted
that the Christian message is to be accepted independently of human thought
and human history, insisting on its externality and non-subjectivity (Berger
1969:163). Its popularity was however a temporary reversal of the overall trend of
secularization, due to the situation of the time; Berger (1970:24) sees the influence
of the shocks to Western cultural optimism centred on the first World War.
A Christocentric approach to secularization is the one which best reflects
Christ. A questioning of the accommodative options is not just because they have
proved to be disastrous, as indeed Berger indicated, but because his third option is
more fundamentally Christian, just because it better reflects the nature of Christ
himself. This is that of kenōsis, and the essence of the retrenchment option is that
it also is kenotic. In retrenchment, a clear division is made between those who
accept the faith and those who reject it, so while relationships with the likeminded
are enhanced, they are restricted with others; there is self-limitation, while the
essential nature of the Church is re-affirmed. This is what Jesus was doing in his
kenōsis, in effect restraining the exercise of his divinity in the manifestation of
his humanity. This had to be restrained, for it is impossible for a human being
to experience the fullness of God. Yet the fullness of deity was maintained; it
was this that was not understood by the Arians or some of the early proponents
of a kenotic Christology. The divinity of the second Person was not inherently
limited, or “emptied”, but rather its manifestation was self-limited by choice. In
his incarnation, Jesus was still fully divine. In parallel to this, the churches that
followed this option affirmed their historic doctrines without compromise.
Yet the action of Christ was not done simply to preserve his nature; far from it,
as the Philippian hymn stresses that he did not grasp at deity (Phil 2:6). On the
contrary, his kenōsis was done for the benefit of the world. While it was the kenōsis
of God in creation that enabled human freedom and so the possibility of sin, it
was the kenōsis of Christ that enabled the solution to that sin. While people used
the freedom that God had given them and restricted their relationship with God,
which resulted in secularization, Jesus shared in that kenōsis, experiencing it to the
uttermost in himself. In his resurrection he enabled a restoration of life to people
in union with himself. Thus the kenōsis of Christ was done simply for the benefit
of others, to remove the effects of their kenōsis.
It is this that gives a paradigm for a Christian response to secularization. Berger
(Dekker et al p4) in fact indicates that the retrenchment option can have two
purposes; a reaffirmation of essential Christianity can lead either to the ghetto

A kenotic response to secularity
or to the crusade. Even the first, as in monasticism, can have a decided effect on
society, even if unintentionally (Niebuhr 1952:78). However, in the second case, a
re-affirmation is done simply to confront, and hopefully change, those who attack
and deny the essential nature of the Church. In the case of Barth’s affirmations,
neo-orthodoxy was a form of resistance to the state, in this case, Nazi Germany
(Berger 1969:162). In fact, insofar as culture is often a way of dominating nature,
kenōsis must always question it, bearing in mind that a questioning of culture is
often merely on the basis of a different culture (Niebuhr 1952:110)!
It is just not true that Berger’s two basic options are to be either relevant
and undistinctive or distinctive but irrelevant (Lyon 1985:119). Christian selflimitation
need not be introspective but aggressive towards a secular world-view.
This is Webber’s third option, that of “transformation” (1981:135f); significantly,
he believes that a Christian approach to society must be fundamentally
Christocentric. Niebuhr (1952:207) feels that this avoids either the rejection of
culture or simply accommodating to it. However, while Hunter observes the “inner
posture of mastery of ascetic Protestantism”, he bemoans that this “has given way
to an inner flaccidity of a largely subjectivistically-orientated [sic] evangelicalism”
(Lyon 1985:121). Blamires (1978:9) also complains that while modern society is
being critiqued, it is not by Christians.
As Yoder (1997:209) comments, on the basis of the Church in Iowa, it is
extremely difficult for a church to simultaneously maintain its purity and aim
to transform society. However, this was what was done in Christ’s kenōsis. He
did remain pure, as can be seen in his refusal to grasp, but remained obedient
to God (Phil 2:6); other New Testament witness vouches for his sinlessness (eg
Heb 4:15). Then the whole purpose of the kenōsis was ultimately transformative.
Thus Blamires (1978:190) rejects the idea of self-limitation if they are just “steps
towards a withdrawn and departmentalized Christian spirituality severed from
contemporary culture by the drugged inoperacy of the Christian mind”. As in the
case of Jesus, any withdrawal is to be better able to confront the world. Niebuhr
(1952:113) points out that an accommodating Christianity is not more effective
in making disciples than a radical one.
Of course it hardly needs to be said that this aggression is not simply polemics,
but motivated from pity, for a secular person has no hope, whether for eternity,
or even in the inevitable calamities of this life (Blamires 1978:81). The kenōsis of
Christ was done for the sake of human salvation, and any kenōsis of Christians
must have the same motive, to liberate men and women from the effects of a
secular environment. The word “liberate” is apt, for Christianity does not just
liberate from hopelessness, but from the dehumanizing that is part of modern life,
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such as in the urban environment that is one part of the cause of the secularization
process. Indeed, much of modern life can well be seen as slavery, such as to keep
up with neighbours in the consumer race, or to the machines that should help our
lives (Blamires 1978:156; Pannenberg has called this “demonic”). Schumacher
(1973:25,30) comments that it is the prevalent greed that removes a sense of
perspective and delivers people up to the power of the machine. Again both aspects
are from trends in society that have contributed to secularization, the capitalist
process and technology. A kenotic attitude immediately blunts the effects of these
in lessening the urge to acquire and in willingness to live a little less frenetically.
Schumacher (1973:124) is tempted to suggest that the amount of real leisure is
in inverse proportion to the number of labour-saving devices; the back cover of
his book speaks of slavery to capital. It is no accident that the Philippian “hymn”
describes Jesus as coming in the form of a slave; it is this that can atone for our
slavery. In union with him comes liberation and the fullness of what human life
should be.
The goal of Christianity need not be a reinstatement of integration of the state
and Church, as was the case in the Middle Ages; in fact Martin suggests that the
breakdown of this relationship is of the “essence of Christianity” (Lyon 1985:133).
Rather it seeks the presentation of the Gospel so that people have the opportunity
to accept the message of salvation and so belong to the kingdom not of this world
but of God. And if the gospel appeal is to be communicated, it is probably essential
for it to be clearly distinctive from the ethos of the world as a whole. Certainly any
kenoticism is diametrically opposed to the ethos of the modern West, where the
idea of “enough” hardly exists; in contrast, any idea of sacrifice is foreign, and even
avarice is put forward as a virtue (Schumacher 1973:18,19, particularly referring
to Keynes). Economic growth is viewed as unquestionably good, a keynote of
economics the world over (Schumacher 1973:40,200); it has become an idol. In
this case, the secularization of society is not a bad thing, but essential for the
gospel. At least for the present; current secularity is not only possible because God
allows it, as part of his kenōsis, but like that kenōsis, is an essential step towards
the establishing of the society that God does desire. This would be a truly sacral
society, God-centred in the full sense, not just superficially as was the Middle
Ages, which was far from total (Lyon 1985:18). Biblical indication is however
that this will not occur, but that society will always be divided until God finally
intervenes in Christ’s parousia, a manifestation not in kenōsis but in glory (Phil
2:10). After all, God’s kenōsis is not an inherent limitation, but by his choice;
he can intervene if and when he desires. It is only in the re-creation that a sacral
society will occur; until then the ideal is for the Church to reflect that in the

A kenotic response to secularity
midst of a secular world. Here Webber (1981:79) highlights the fact that early
Church separation was underpinned by their eschatological hope; indeed, the
kenōsis of Christ was succeeded by eschatological glorification, which adds sense
to it, and any Christian adoption of kenōsis likewise is justified by a future hope.
Interestingly, Blumenberg (1983:44) believes that it was the non-appearance of
the expected end that moved the Church towards involvement in the world for
the sake of being relevant, and so contributed to its secularization. Perhaps the
Church needs to take 2 Peter 3 to heart and remain distinctive by patience.
This confrontation must involve a measure of relationship with those
confronted, but not a full identification. A battle must involve contact! Jesus
therefore became human, but with qualifications; he was “born in the likeness of
men” and was “found in human form” (Phil 2:7-8, emphasis added). He did not
adopt human sinfulness. So whereas it can be suggested that Jesus saved people
by identifying with them, this can only be part of the option; he did not adopt
their error. On the contrary, he confronted it; while humility means restricting
desire, especially to benefit oneself, it does not include withholding an opinion
(Blamires 1978:39). Thus although accommodation to humanity may well seem
to be kenotic in the sense that Jesus limited himself to become human, this cannot
be an option in the resistance of secularization.
In fact, what Jesus was doing was identifying with humanity in a full sense,
but with humanity as it should have been. In its sin, humanity had limited itself,
specifically in its relationship with God; in essence, it had become less than human
in the sense that it had been created. What Jesus was doing in the atonement was
restoring humanity to wholeness.
At the same time, as the action of God in creation and in the atonement
was kenotic, the action of people in the image of God should also be kenotic.
Therefore the action of Christians in confronting a sinful and secularized world,
indeed its defining ethos, has to involve its own self-limitation. It cannot replicate
the attitude of selfish acquisition that is characteristic of modern Western society.
This has at least two aspects. On the one hand there will be a limitation of belief.
Just as the Israelites had to reject belief in the deities of the surrounding nations,
so Christians cannot add to their belief. This is not just a rejection of others who
are called “gods”, but also anything which would be an idol. This includes any
other value beside the claim of Christ (Niebuhr 1952:24). “Belief” in this sense is
not so much acceptance of existence, but relating to them. Syncretism, not only
in the sense of worshipping other gods as well as the Father, but also of reliance
on other things such as money or education, must be rejected. It is this rather
than the traditional idea of polytheism, which is more applicable in a European
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context. Nevertheless it is a feature of the modern world that various new forms
of spirituality have emerged, such as the “New Age” movement. As Augustine of
old realized, there is a deep need in people that cannot be satisfied simply on the
secular level; of course he also knew that only God is able to satisfy that desire in
a full way.
Actual belief is important and is an aspect of kenōsis, because it is a limitation
to some truths only. It is sometimes pointed out that modern Christians have
more affinity to other religions, particularly Judaism and Islam as rejecting
secularity, but the heart of Christianity is not being religious but a relationship
to Christ. Faith is a positive thing, even if the negative rejection of other ideas
is important. Faith is also more than a technique for life improvement, but does
include doctrinal matters. The common neglect of these in modern churches
is in fact a yielding to the ideas of secularization. For Barth, faith is based on
the acceptance of revelation; this is a therefore a form of retrenchment. Some
decades ago, developing ecumenical relations between churches was looked upon
as a bulwark against secularism, but this view is now considerably jaded (Lyon
1985:117). Any growth in numbers by mergers is likely to be temporary, and
gives the message that distinctive belief does not matter. This latter is serious if it
implies that it is simply belief without real reason or substance.
A further example of this, particularly pertinent to the African context, is the
matter of ancestors. In keeping with the Biblical injunctions, Christians have,
since the coming of the missionaries, rejected the practices of veneration of the
dead. However, this need not be seen in the sense of the denial of existence, but
a rejection of any dealings with the dead. This is, in any case, for a number of
reasons. The parable of the rich man and Lazarus (Lk 16:19f) indicates that
the dead cannot communicate with the living, and so there is likelihood that
any contact is deceptive, and if it is real could well be with demons, with all the
implications of that. There is no guarantee who is being communicated with.
More importantly, although the African custom is viewed as respecting God, so
that communication is via an intermediary, in fact, as direct communication is
possible with God in Christ, it is actually insulting to use a different method.
This point is very applicable to the modern view that all beliefs should be
accepted as valid. Pluralism is often connected to secularization, although opinion
is varied as to which is the cause of the other (Berger 1969:155). Pluralism may be
due to a belief that religious belief does not reflect reality, that the world is simply
secular, but it should not be rejected if it has psychological benefit. However, it
may also reflect a belief that all religions are real, and that a specific faith may be
only an aspect of a wider reality; in this case, adherence to one is indeed kenotic!

A kenotic response to secularity
On the other hand, the Christian ethos of kenōsis applies not only to a limitation
of belief and relationship but also to practice. There is a rejection of many things
done in society. In practice, so much of what passes for Christianity today is deeply
affected by secular ideas and values, often presented with a Christian veneer; Lyon
(1985:121) includes even the drive for slimness: “Trim for Him”! Classically, of
course, the ten commandments are almost all negative, excluding some otherwise
attractive practices, no matter how rational they would appear to be. An example
of the latter is the observance of one day in seven, which at first glance does seem
most arbitrary. However, the very survival of the Jews in repeated experiences of
persecution was dependent upon maintenance of their distinctiveness, of which
Sabbath observation was a major part. Nevertheless, the commandment was not
just arbitrary, but as any form of kenōsis, was practised for positive value; for these
two reasons it should not simply be rejected by Christians as outmoded and
irrelevant (Williams 1989).
This highlights the point that any practice of kenōsis is not arbitrary, but is
done for positive benefit. Moreover, it is not done simply for the benefit of the
one practising it, as often the case, such as with asceticism, but for the benefit of
others. God limited his relationship to Abraham for the blessing of the nations
(Gen 12:3), and the same would be true of other limitations in the Old Testament
period; several, eg Cullmann (Kőnig 1988:28) have seen the action of God as
a progressive limitation, reversing in the New Testament. Then of course, the
kenōsis of Jesus himself was essential for his becoming incarnate, but this was done
for a very positive purpose; just as the case of Abraham, it was done for the sake
of salvation.
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5
Sexual kenōsis
If kenōsis is fundamental to the nature of God, and therefore to the world that
he made, the concept of limitation applies also to that most pressing of human
experiences, that of sexuality. As in imago Dei, humanity reflects his nature and so
is then also kenotic; then as God reflects his nature by his kenotic action, correct
human action, also by will, is to act kenotically. Although it will not be such a
popular idea, I suggest that, in a reflection of God, sexual expression involves selflimitation,
or kenōsis.
Some immediate justification for the connection of ideas lies in the fact that
sexuality is at the root of what is the major relationality of human nature. If
indeed the nature of the person primarily lies in the relationships experienced
by that person, sexuality is a major component of a person’s nature. Blenkinsopp
(1970:14) adds that salvation, which was achieved through Jesus’ kenōsis, includes
the body, so its sexuality. This must be expected, for at the very heart of the
Christian understanding of God is that he is Trinity, so relational. Then sexuality
has an obvious link with the body; Paul sees sex as an act of the body, not the flesh,
which means that it involves the whole being of a person (Piper 1942:34). Then
because Jesus was totally incarnate, having a full human body, a Christian ethic
of sexuality must be based on incarnation (Williams 1996:297 following Nelson).
This also suggests that it is kenotic, as that was the nature of the incarnation. By
being a limitation, sexuality, just as the incarnation, gives opportunity to establish
relationship.
Despite the negative perception of any limitation, especially in the modern
West, it can be seen as good; this is of course especially seen in the kenōsis of Jesus,
which must be viewed as good. This then applies to sexuality. Thielicke (1964:4)
observes that whereas creation was uniformly described as good, the oneness of
the original man was not; “It is not good for the man to be alone” (Gen 2:18).
In that case the sexual differentiation that followed must be seen as better. This is
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Sexual kenōsis
because it gives the possibility of deep interpersonal relationship, and so is a better
reflection of the Trinity. But this also means limitation; the Persons of the Trinity
are inherently limited simply due to their individual nature; for example, the Father
is limited simply because he is not the Son or the Spirit. Sexual differentiation, as
a reflection of the differentiation in the Trinity also involves limitation; a woman
is not able to experience in the same way as a man, or vice versa. Thus although
this must be subject to qualification, every person is limited to one of the two
sexes. In this case, as it cannot be questioned that the nature of the Trinity is good,
even perfect, the limitation implied in sexuality is also good.
The limitation in sexuality is reflected in 1 Corinthians 12, where Paul outlines
the nature of the Church as illustrated by the human body. His choice of the
body, particularly as limited, is relevant for sexuality, for a person’s sex is probably
the first characteristic noted when a person sees somebody new; what, after all, is
the first question asked about a newborn baby? His basic point is that each person
in the Church is limited and needs to be complemented by others. This point is
immediately relevant to his succeeding discussion on the use of the charismata,
for these too are limited; both in that no person ever receives all the gifts, but
also that a person is still limited even with the enabling that the gifts provide.
Just as the gifts are given for the benefit of the Church as a whole, he urges that
a charismatic must also limit the use of the gifts for the sake of the entire body.
Rolston (2001:55) points out that sexuality bonds individuals to others and so
enhances the community; indeed, relationship is exactly what is enhanced by acts
of kenōsis.
Human sexual differentiation is intimately linked with procreation. It is through
the limitation of every human being to one sex, so through kenōsis, that normal
reproduction is possible. This of course means that there is some parallel between
the kenōsis in the act of creation and the human action of procreation. Rolston
(2001:56) here comments that most species reproduce sexually, an indication
that nature is essentially kenotic. At the very basic level, sexual intercourse is an
act of self-giving of each partner to the other; sexul reproduction is essentially
altruistic (Rolston 2001:54). Then also just as the Father limited himself and gave
the actual creation to the Son, so the actual procreation is by the female, as a result
of the gift of the male. Christian theology has then understood the act of creation
as appropriately done by the second Person, as by the Word. There is then perhaps
an indication that the nature of the second Person is then more to be seen in
terms of the female than of the male; without pressing the vagarities of language,
much early tradition referred to the second Person as sophia rather than as logos (cf
Williams 2001b:125f). Then Genesis describes the process of creation as that of
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separation, so of limitation of each from the other; the essential feature of wisdom
and of words is likewise that of delimitation. The Spirit is then the agent of lifegiving
in the initiator of the inter-relationships that are of the essence of life; such
must be exclusive, as otherwise, if relationships are too wide the life is diseased
and cancerous.
The experience of sexuality as limitation
Biologically, every human being, as other animals, actually has the characteristics of
both sexes. From birth until about six weeks there is no anatomical or physiological
difference; only thereafter sexual characteristics develop as determined in the
chromosomes (Mahoney 1983:72). Thereafter, there is difference is that each
gender has developed one set of organs only but not the other, so it is then limited.
This is of course a generalisation; there are many bearded ladies! Interestingly, the
Genesis story presents Adam, as the first human being, as effectively androgynous,
which is, incidentally, possibly an indication of the nature of the angels? Genesis
2 then describes the introduction of sexual differentiation, so the limitation of
each. Sexual identity is an absolute; the Y chromosome is either possessed or not
(Macleod 1998:162, who points out that this comes from the Father!). Cochrane
(1984:37) comments that the man was in a deep sleep; even this process, as any
creation, was kenotic! Here Blenkinsopp (1970:23) feels that the common ancient
view was that the sexual act was a means of return to primordial unity. Thus
Thielicke (1964:5) rejects Brunner’s statement that there are two types of human
beings, rather seeing a polarity within humanity. An individual is fully complete,
but there is kenōsis of one sex; it is still there, but limited in function. This parallels
the attributes of God which in kenōsis are not absent, but limited in that they are
not used as they could be. In this case it is natural that every individual is a mix of
homosexual and heterosexual inclination; it depends on the degree of kenōsis. This
also implies that a person is not incomplete while in the single state, even if he or
she may feel unfulfilled. Marriage must be an aspect of kenōsis, as it is not a part
of the divine nature as such; there is no idea of divine marriage in Christianity
(Monti 1995:198).
The limitation is not emptying. Kenōsis, despite the common translation,
means restriction, but not complete abandonment; God did not limit himself
in creation to the extent of deism, and Jesus never lost all to the extent of nonexistence!
This means that any person will still have the characteristics of the other
sex, and probably a well-rounded personality does demand this; excessive maleness

Sexual kenōsis
or femaleness is destructive of relationship. It is this balance of difference and
similarity that enables relationship, and therefore significant that Jesus became
incarnate in the “likeness” of human flesh. Sexual activity parallels the incarnation
in rejecting domination, identity, while embracing cooperation.
Incidentally, if Jesus, as the second Adam, is understood as including both
sexes in his person, there is absolutely no substance to the objection sometimes
raised by feminists that Jesus, as a male, could die only for males. In any case,
surely in his dying his sexuality became irrelevant, and he died as a human being
for human beings. Even if he was crucified naked as a further twist to the horror,
sexual matters must have been far from his mind and from the minds of those who
witnessed the events that enabled atonement. On the basis of salvation enabled by
the kenōsis of Christ, there is then a practical equality between the sexes (Gal 3:28).
Here Trible (1992:10) correctly observes that there is no inherent inferiority in
women being taken from the male; men came from the ground, yet dominate it!
She also points out that the dominion of Genesis 1:28 does not include women.
What is more significant is the implication of the limitation of each person
to one sex. Simply because of this, there has been made possible the deepest of
all inter-personal relationships, that which is expressed sexually. If people were
sexless, that depth of relationship would not be possible. Limitation therefore
enables relationship. This is a parallel to the kenōsis of Jesus in his assumption
of humanity. That limitation was an essential precursor to the act of atonement
which enabled the relationship between God and those who would accept his
salvation. Here Johnson (1997:281) suggests that a fundamental reason for gender
is that it enables the portrayal in this age of the greatest relation of all, between
Christ and his Church. He notes that this implies that Christians relate to God as
female, appropriate as recipients of grace and as obedient to him.
The limitation to one sex carries a further implication in that it usually involves
a further limitation to the roles accepted in specific cultures. Martinson (1996:111)
comments that although biologically, the differences between the sexes are actually
very small, the situation is quite different culturally, where men and women are
more different than alike. This has often been galling to women, who have found
themselves restricted, and even oppressed simply due to their gender, especially
when they are aware of being as competent, if not more so, than the men who
are doing what they would love to be engaged in. Coakley (2001:207) comments
that feminists tend to reject kenōsis as they see it as restrictive. It is interesting that
the modern world has witnessed an explosion in working women; this may be
understood not only just from a desire to earn money, but as a search for status and
for a measure of economic independence, so from a desire to overcome limitation.
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Ironically, of course, such a step results in other limitations, now effectively selfimposed.
A comment on this point is that Paul is often accused of misogyny, even
forbidding women to speak in public (1 Cor 14:34). Bruner (1970:146) however
interprets Paul as saying that with the veil, women may indeed pray or prophesy.
Thielicke (1964:149) comments that this is a contemporary social ordinance with
no kerygmatic authority; Paul would have accepted the essential equality of the
sexes (cf Gal 3:28), but respected social mores. Any hint of misogyny is rather
negated in the observation that several of his friends were women (Blenkinsopp
1970:73). The ideal, which will be eschatologically realised, is the availability of
all roles to all (Martinson 1996:114). Paul is effectively requesting self-limitation
for the sake of others, which is indeed the fundamental motive for it, as in the case
of Jesus. Perhaps a parallel is evident in his attitude to eating meat offered to idols
and to the observance of special days (Rom 14).
The practice of sexuality as kenōsis
As sexuality is such a significant aspect of being human, issues relating to it
are always important. My particular concern is to draw attention to a criterion
for evaluation which maybe should be taken more notice of. The essence of
the experience of Jesus, from the start of incarnation to his death on the cross,
was the acceptance of self-limitation, which, as described in Philippians 2,
progressively deepened. Here it may be suggested that the essence of Christian
sexual relationships is likewise an acceptance of limitation. Blenkinsopp (1970:86)
observes that Jesus did deliberately limit himself in the area of sexuality; he was
“tempted in all respects” (Heb 4:15); otherwise sex is inherently evil. Conversely,
sexual sin, from a Christian perspective, is a denial of such limitation. It must be
noted that again according to the Genesis stories, the heart of sin was the desire to
transcend limitation. While it is legitimate to seek to overcome the limitations of
a person, such as inherent in sexual identity, there is a time simply to accept them.
Thus Jesus, in accepting humanity, did not use the possibility of overcoming its
limitations, as the incident of the Temptations demonstrates. The same is true
for his Passion. Whereas on another occasion he would appear to have avoided a
problem by passing through the mob that was trying to kill him, in the Passion he
refused to do anything except take all that was flung at him.
The goodness of self-limitation lies in what it enables, primarily relationship.
It may be suggested that eros, the sexual drive, is an aspect of a desire for union
(Blenkinsopp 1970:7); this parallels Jesus’ kenōsis, which was also from a desire for

Sexual kenōsis
union with humanity, so for their salvation. This would mean that the sex act is
primarily motivated from the desire to relate fully to one’s spouse, not for children
(Piper 1942:47). Piper (1942:49) points out that even if one motive for sex is
to overcome mortality, this does not arouse sexual passion! Of course, wanting
immortality is an aspect of a desire for salvation.
Complementing this, the Christian ethic of self-limitation manifests as
exclusivity. As Tracy (2006:58) points out, the consensus of historical Christian
teaching, as well as that of many modern Christians, notably evangelicals, is that
sexual relations are only appropriate within marriage. This naturally follows from
the parallels with worship of one God only, especially in the polytheistic world of
the Biblical environment, and from the New Testament extension to Christ and
the Church (Eph 5:23). It also follows from Christ’s kenōsis, insofar as he became
a slave, and a slave is naturally obedient to one master only, as Jesus himself
pointed out (Matt 6:24). This means abstinence from sexual relationships before
a full commitment to one person, usually in a marriage, and from those with
other persons after such a commitment. Tracy (2006:61f) suggests that sexual
abstinence actually has positive benefits for the one following that practice, despite
the common belief that it is harmful and unnatural. This would tie in with the
point that the kenōsis of Jesus was ultimately beneficial. He remarks (2006:66)
that self-restriction is generally accepted as a beneficial discipline in almost every
walk of life, except the sexual.
Christian practice has traditionally restricted the practice of sexuality to
marriage, and rejected any intercourse either before the formal commitment in a
wedding or outside the formal marriage bond. Indeed, more than this, the attitude
of several early Christians, such as Aquinas and Augustine, was that the sexual act
should be limited to procreation; most today however feel that it is a part of the
union between partners. Nevertheless, the physical side may need limitation, as
Paul enjoins (1 Cor 7:5). A marriage relationship does not demand sex to be good
(Piper 1942:30); in fact even procreation is possible without sex, although very
unnaturally! This comment is of course also applicable to homosexual relationship,
which does not require physical sex.
Getting married is effectively accepting the practice of limitation. This manifests
in two ways. Firstly a married person is then not able to relate to members of
the other sex in a way that would have been possible before marriage. This does
not mean sexual intimacy, which would be forbidden in any case, but the very
existence of the partner must restrict any real openness. Nothing can be said or
done that would affect the relationship in the marriage. A person concerned for
his or her reputation and so Christian witness will even be hesitant about visiting
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members of the opposite sex in a way that can be misconstrued. An example of
this is that a minister making a pastoral visit to a member of the opposite sex
may well feel that it is advisable to be accompanied by his or her spouse. In fact
the sexual climate is changing so rapidly that this precaution is becoming more
applicable to visits to people of the same sex!
Secondly, the very existence of a marriage relationship is naturally limiting.
Paul discusses this point in 1 Corinthians 7 and goes so far as to advise Christian
workers not to marry, simply because the very existence of the partner and the
desire to act in such a way as to please him or her is naturally restrictive and
may even affect the practice of Christian faith. Examples abound of Christians
who are married, even to people who are not directly antagonistic to the faith,
who complain that they are not able to do what they want to. Even the existence
of a committed Christian partner can be restrictive, even though there may be
complete sympathy for the faith.
Christian marriage has moreover been monogamous, so that any polygamous
unions are not permitted. Yet another limitation! Thielicke (1964:178) comments
that Christianity has always resulted in a tendency to monogamy, as this elevates the
woman as a person. This is exactly what God does in kenōsis, self-limiting in order
to give free choice to people, so elevating them. However, Thielicke (1964:180)
comments that monogamy is not a condition for Christianity; Christian practice
has caused a great deal of stress when, in cultures which accept polygamy, the man
has accepted Christianity and has been told to put away all wives after the first.
The practice in any case leads to tremendous hardship and suffering.
Thus limitation is an inevitable part of marriage. Indeed, the relationship in
Christian marriage must be kenotic if it is to reflect the action of the creator.
Ephesians 5:21 enjoins each partner to be subject to the other; this is clear in
respect of the wife, who is commanded to submit “as to the Lord, for the man is
head of the woman” (Eph 5:23). Perhaps less immediately obvious is the attitude
of the husband, but love (agapē) always means self-giving. This must imply selflimitation,
which is made very clear by the reason for that love, in that Christ
“gave himself up for [the church]” (Eph 5:25), which was of course by the act
of kenōsis. Indeed, the nature of love, expressed to its human height in marriage,
is kenotic, and so the kenōsis of Christ provides a pattern for it. Obviously the
partners cannot stand on status, they will self-limit to serve each other in humility,
even obey each other; and the commitment is to death.
However, the belief is common among Christians that a wife has to be totally
submissive to the husband, believing that this is commanded in Ephesians
5:22. Obviously a wife in such a situation experiences definite limitation. It is

Sexual kenōsis
not surprising that in many societies, women express an unwillingness to take
the step of marriage, as they fear oppression by a husband. This results in either
uncommitted cohabitation or a succession of partners. It is common that at the
same time as there is a refusal to accept the implications of marriage, the natural
desire for children results in a plethora of single parent children, with very often
the father naturally not wanting to take the responsibility for children that the
commitment of marriage would normally entail. Of course, without the help of
a father, the mother finds that situation even more restrictive. Surely Christian
practice, however, is that both partners should limit themselves so that decisions
are mutually made. It may then just be suggested that the dominion that the male
has over the female both due to physical strength and from creation (1 Cor 11:3)
must also be subject to kenōsis, again for the sake of the harmony within marriage.
Thielicke (1964:155) then says that when there is still disagreement, it is for the
husband to decide; this is a solution prompted only due to the social context
(1964:158).
But again, what is important is to note that this limitation is really an essential
accompaniment to the magnificent relationship that is marriage. Again, limitation
enables relationship. Indeed, most people gladly accept the restrictions that
marriage involves simply for the joy of the relationship. And once again, there
is a parallel to the kenōsis of Jesus, in that the depths of self-limitation which he
experienced, and it must never be forgotten that it was voluntary, were done to
enact atonement, so to produce the relationship between God and those who
accept it. Perhaps it might just be added that in a healthy marriage, each party is
well aware of the sacrifice that the other is making, and in a real sense participates
in it. When it comes to the atonement, it would be a caricature to stress the idea
of penal substitution and the “amazing exchange” to perceive that Jesus did all
of the suffering and Christians none. Paul says that he makes up what is lacking.
Instead, it has been a common experience to so appreciate the sufferings of Jesus
that they are participated in; an extreme of this is the appearance of the stigmata.
Indeed, even the practice of sexuality within marriage is subject to the principle
of kenōsis. Paul writes that husbands and wives should not refuse each other (1
Cor 7:5). In other words, each may have to limit themselves when not wanting
the other sexually. In fact more than this, every spouse is aware of times when out
of love for the other, it is necessary to exercise self-restraint. In both of these cases,
self-limitation is done for the sake of the relationship. This is quite in line with the
kenōsis of Christ, which was done for the sake of salvation, so for the enabling and
indeed for the strengthening of relationship with God. The reason that Paul gives
is in fact not directly for the sake of the relationship within the couple, but for
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prayer, the relationship with God. But then, of course, if this is strengthened, the
relationship between the couple would also naturally improve as well.
Clearly much more could be said in this regard. Perhaps one point that is vital
is that a successful marriage is very much a matter of a Christian mind, which is
the purpose of Philippians 2; but of course a will that issues in action. It may be
observed that a marriage is better when a partner is aware of the situation and
feelings of the other, but on the other hand, when each gives freedom to the other,
not dominating. In his incarnation, which must be a parallel to marriage, Jesus
gained awareness of what it is like to be human. Moreover, just as Christ’s kenōsis
was an act of will, so marriage is likewise; despite the common delusion, it does
not depend on continual attraction, but on commitment. Such love is not an
emptying of essence; neither party loses, but rather gains, just as kenōsis in God is
not an absolute loss, but a restriction for the sake of benefit.
Part of this gain was the salvation of people into a relationship with God, a
“new creation” (2 Cor 5:17), and of course one purpose of marriage, even if not the
only one, is procreation. This may be affirmed as good; there is no Gnostic refusal
to bring children into a wicked world (cf Martin 1995:205). However, family size
should be limited; kenōsis is for the sake of relationship, and a family is too big
if its size precludes adequate relationships and mutual care, not least economic
provision. This should not be seen as a refusal to obey the “dominion mandate” to
multiply and fill the earth (Gen 1:28). It would be deviating from the purpose of
this article to defend kenōsis in detail in the context of this, but a few comments
must be in order. Firstly, the dominion mandate has been criticised extensively as
the root of capitalism, and specifically exploitation and oppression. At the very
least it must be qualified in its application. It must, for example be understood in
the context of a primitive earth with no population problem and little prospect
of ecological damage (Williams 1993:57). Unbridled dominion and population
expansion in the modern context can only result in the loss of harmony both
between people, and with the environment. Secondly, the command was given
in an unfallen state; it must be clear that the punishment for sin as outlined in
Genesis 3:16-9 directly affected both aspects of the mandate. This would indicate
that the command of Genesis 1:28 must be understood in a clearly qualified sense,
and in particular that both dominion and multiplication must be limited for the
sake of harmony. They are dependent on specific circumstance, even something as
basic as income (Thielicke 1964:203).
Of course dominion does require numbers; here it may be observed that
dominion is in the context of sexuality (“let them have dominion”), but probably
no more than plurality is intended. It is in this that Barth (1958:181f) finds the

Sexual kenōsis
meaning of the image; he notes that the first occurrence of the term in Genesis
1:26 is immediately followed by ‘male and female’. God may be affirmed as plural,
but not sexual. Incidentally, the belief of Trible (1992:18) that the plurality of
Genesis 1:28 precludes original androgyny may rather be explained in the fact
both the dominion, and the plurality that enables it are anticipated. What this
does indicate, as she points out, is the equality and harmony that enables real
dominion.
Then more than just the relationship between husband and wife, the
relationship with the results of that union will also exhibit kenōsis if they are to
be successful. Parenting is of course restrictive in itself! When a child is still a
baby, the control over it by the parents is almost absolute, but as the child grows,
the parents should gradually lessen their control by limiting their own action,
giving increasing freedom. In fact this lessening of control has already started at
birth; how many parents wish they could control the bowel movements of the
child! Thielicke (1964:206) comments that refusing to have children reduces the
purpose of marriage; he cites Bertrand Russell’s view that a childless marriage is
no marriage (1964:209). In the oneness of the flesh comes the command to be
faithful (1964:251).
Most definitely excluded by the traditional ethic are multiple relationships,
whether consecutive or concurrent. This goes against much modern belief and
practice. Tracy (2006:60) notes the common modern rejection of the Biblical
ethic, hardly surprising in a post-modern world. Divorce has then become almost
an accepted feature of modern western society. This must be qualified, as the
practice of co-habitation has become more common, allowing “divorce” without
all the associated messiness and expense that it would otherwise entail. It may be
suggested that while the Christian ethic is of permanent monogamy, the issue of a
formalised marriage may well be secondary to this. The commitment of traditional
marriage is a mockery in many if not most cases, and is incidental to the key issue
of a single exclusive lifetime relationship. In some societies it even has unwanted
implications, such as financial, which can be avoided by living together.
Over the last few decades, homosexuality has replaced divorce as the deviation
from traditional Christian values most in the public eye. Jones (2000:446)
suggests that it is a symptom of a resurgent paganism; he notes (2000:444) its
widespread acceptance in modern western society. It can be seen as a refusal to
limit sexual expression to the opposite sex, so a rejection of kenōsis. Interestingly, it
is often defended from the perspective of creation, insofar as appeal is made to the
suggestion that God made a person as he or she is, so it must be good; a contrary
suggestion is that the Genesis account specifies the creation of humanity in two
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sexes, so that the exclusion of the relation between opposite sexes is wrong (Tate
2003:78,80).
Homosexuality has become particularly contentious in an African context,
with many political and Church leaders being very hostile to any homosexual
practice; the issue is even threatening to split the Anglican communion. It is
perhaps significant that opposition to it has been characteristic to Africa in light
of the stress on community there; Monti (1995:252) notes that some opposition
to homosexual marriage is based on the view that it is detrimental to society.
Kenōsis is of course to the good of society. The modern interest is in marked
contrast to the observation of Thielicke (1964:269) that it was virtually ignored
in his day. This was largely because its practice is explicitly condemned in both
Testaments (Thielicke 1964:278), and so it had almost uniformly been declared
wrong, resulting in divine judgements, including “very fat voracious field mice” [!]
(Thielicke 1964:276), and AIDS. Today, in contrast, many professing Christians
not only accept the validity, but also practise a homosexual lifestyle, and affirm this
to be consistent with Christian belief; in keeping with the prevalent world view of
rejecting any restraints, longstanding prohibitions are put aside. Attempts are made
to justify this theologically, such as by suggesting that the Biblical prohibition is
not against homosexuality as such, but male prostitution (Blenkinsopp 1970:46);
Schreiner (2006:63) however notes that there is no reference to cultic activity
(cf also Tate 2003:81). He (2006:64) also notes consistent opposition in second
Temple Jewish literature, and that both Stoicism and Jewish Hellenism viewed it
as “contrary to nature”. Interestingly, Blocher (1984:143) notes that Paul connects
homosexuality with idolatry; both are the rejection of the “other”. A further view
is that marriage is primarily for companionship, and only secondly as a remedy for
immorality and for procreation (Williams 1996:284, appealing to Bucer); likewise
Nelson (1994:381) argues that from the seventeenth century a growing view was
that marriage is primarily for love, so that children are an “added blessing” (also
Piper 1942:50). It must be noted that even if homosexual marriage meets this
criteria, it automatically excludes the other, especially if it satisfies the Christian
standard of permanence. Incidentally, Williams (1996:282) alleges that contrary
to popular beliefs, homosexual marriages have at least as good a record of stability
as heterosexual ones. It is also the case that Christ’s kenōsis was done from the
purpose of love.
A common view is that for some, homosexuality is not so much learned,
but innate; in this case, it is not a matter of will, which is the case for adopting
kenōsis. Here Thielicke (1964:269f) accepts the existence of homosexuality as a
genetic condition, seeing it, like disease, as a result of the fall, so not culpable as a

Sexual kenōsis
predisposition (1964:282), and, he believes, as incurable (1964:284). This opinion
is not uniform. Davis (1993:99) asserts that homosexuality is learned, not genetic,
and that changing sexual preference is not particularly difficult with modern
techniques, while Nelson (1994:382) insists that therapies to change orientation
are discredited. Walker (1997:157) observes that most who advocate a liberal view
accept the latter, but he feels that evidence suggests that this is only the case for a
very small minority. Wrigley and Stalley (1997:173) are even more explicit, saying
that there is no evidence for genetic origin (cf also Tate 2003:79). Citing Masters
and Johnson’s Human sexuality, they assert that there is “considerable evidence
to show that homosexuality is not a fixed all-life condition.” In this regard Tate
(2003:79) remarks that although some homosexual experience is fairly common,
it is usually temporary. Schreiner (2006:73) would not be alone in claiming that
homosexual temptation can be overcome in the grace of God. Likewise Wimber
(1987:28) claims that Christian healing is effective not just for physical disease,
but also for “problems like homosexuality”. These views would support the
assertion that a Christian response to the homosexual urge that does come to
many at some stage (Wrigley and Stalley 1997:170) is not to accede to them, but
to limit oneself.
Even if a person is genetically disposed to homosexuality, he or she is not forced
to practise it. The same is true for other deviations from a Christian sexual ethic;
they are never forced. Temptation is not sin, as seen in the experience of Christ,
who was far from exempt from the former, but did not yield (Heb 4:15). In this
regard it is often pointed out that the kenōsis of Christ was voluntary, an act of
his will, and prompted by love. Here Martin (1995:212) comments that Paul in
1 Corinthians 7 was more concerned about desire than actual intercourse; the
same was true of Jesus, and in several later Christian writers, such as Clement of
Alexandria, who saw evil in the desire (Martin 1995:215).
This would also apply to issues of much longer standing. Abnormal sexual
practices such as bestiality or incest are also a refusal to be limited to the more
widely accepted norms. This, with qualification, also applies to masturbation.
Birth control seems almost totally acceptable in modern society; even if this may
well be practised to avoid the limitation of the calendar, it may well be done, as
the kenōsis of Christ, for the sake of enhancing relationship. Abortion can also be
seen as the refusal to accept limitation by imposing it upon another, so a refusal of
grace, rejecting the sanctity of life (Thielicke 1964:226f).
It is probably true to say that the incidence of homosexuality and of divorce,
both official and unofficial, has increased over recent decades. The same is also
true of promiscuity, although this later has always been a feature of society, and
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often even not particularly hidden. A person is even thought to be strange or
abnormal if he or she does not practise, could it be said, as much sex as possible?
May it also be observed that the sexual practices closely mimic the religious
ones? Certainly modern society practises hopping from church to church at
whim, refusing commitment to any, while many practise polytheism, whether
in westernised Hinduism or in the idolatry of materialism. Acceptance of role
likewise, in contrast to the situation in the Middle Ages, is a rarity, with many
people changing careers several times in a working lifetime.
These practices all result from a desire for pleasure, which goes against the
sacrifice and responsibility, so limitation, demanded in marriage (Thielicke
1964:201). Christ’s experience of kenōsis must largely have excluded pleasure. All
three practices may also be viewed as a refusal to accept limitation in a more
fundamental way. Both promiscuity and divorce stem from a refusal to limit sexual
relationships to one person, and so denying the exclusivity that is fundamental
both to the nature of God and to his worship. It is really no accident that the
polytheism of ancient Canaan was associated with polysexuality, in contrast to
the uncompromising limitation of worship expressed in the first commandment.
Likewise of course, the battle against religious syncretism has constantly been
reflected in the battle of the Church for sexual purity.
Self-limitation may well be correct, but it should not be overdone; kenōsis is not
in fact total emptying. It is of course a feature of life that reaction to something
is often overdone, and it was then hardly a surprise that Christian practice often
adopted the ultimate, as in early asceticism. When applied to sexuality, excessive
self-limitation manifests in celibacy, the Catholics even making it a requirement
(at least officially) for the priesthood. Perhaps the irreverent thought of the last
parenthesis can then be followed by another, that if monogamy is motivated by
monotheism, then an over-reaction of celibacy is a parallel to spiritual atheism?
Nevertheless, there is perhaps a desire here to imitate God more closely, who is
himself celibate (Blenkinsopp 1970:24), so also a reflection of his kenōsis. However,
even bishops are enjoined to be the husbands of one wife, not of none (1 Tim
3:2)! The image of God may to some extent be seen in creativity, but does not lie
in procreation (Blenkinsopp 1970:27). Interestingly, a rejection of the traditional
Christian view of marriage, particularly in feminist theology, has sometimes gone
along with advocacy of celibacy. Of course, without sexual practice, a person may
as well be homosexual!
Celibacy does of course find Biblical support in Paul, especially his statement
that “it is good for a man not to touch a woman” (1 Cor 7:1). Martin (1995:205f)
rejects a gnostic influence here, which may well underpin celibacy; of course this

Sexual kenōsis
is also contrary to Christ’s kenōsis, which is an affirmation of a material humanity.
He thinks that Paul has generally been seen as advocating marriage only for the
weak, although Protestants have generally seen him in favour of marriage. This
latter is perhaps more likely, in view of the Old Testament metaphor of God’s
marriage with Israel (Piper 1942:12), and the parallel picture of Christ and the
Church in Ephesians 5. Paul’s injunction was motivated rather by the situation
(1 Cor 7:28), but also from a desire for singlemindedness in service, a benefit
of this form of self-limitation. Marriage is not an absolute; Christian devotion
may include leaving one’s spouse (Lk 18:29) (Blenkinsopp 1970:92). Wholeness
does not depend on sexual relationships, but on Christ (Tate 2003:85). Johnson
(1997:273) comments that the Christian conception of calling liberates from any
illegitimate shame at not fulfilling traditional stereotypes.
The transcending of kenōsis
After the horror of the dereliction of the cross came the glory of the resurrection;
after the depths of kenōsis came the exaltation and glorification. Limitation will
be removed. This is seen in Christ, to whom every knee will bow (Phil 2:10) and
in creation itself, for in the re-creation there will be no night, and no sea (Rev
21:1,25).
The same is true of relationships, for in the final state there will be no
marriage. I have elsewhere suggested (Williams 2004:236) that this is because the
exclusivity that is fundamental to marriage is no longer relevant, that it will be
possible to relate fully to all. Probably the limitation of sexuality is transcended
completely and the original androgyny of Adam restored (cf Martin 1995:205);
the suggestion of Johnson (1997:285) that we will be effectively female neglects
the transcending of marriage. Sexual relationships are no longer necessary, as there
is no longer the limitation of death, and so no more need for procreation. In fact,
not only multiplication, but also dominion come to an end as no longer necessary
with the reversal of kenōsis.
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6
Kenotic ministry
Since the start of the Christian church, there have been some who have performed
a role in it separate from the rest of the Christian body, serving as what can often
be called “ministers”, although there are several other terms which have been used,
the particular one usually depending on what is seen as the major role of the
minister. Such a distinction is of course not original to Christianity, occurring
in many other faiths, and especially in Israelite religion, which must form the
background to the Christian one. The Levites were distinguished from the rest
of the nation, being substituted for the first-born who were particularly seen as
belonging to God (Num 3:40f). It was the first-born who were redeemed by the
shedding of the blood of the original Passover lambs at the start of the Exodus; in
place of them, the whole tribe of the Levites were consecrated to God, and acted
as ministers to the whole nation. Within that tribe, the Aaronites, and later the
Zadokites, acted as priests.
With the coming of Christ and the destruction of the Temple by the Romans
in 70 AD, the roles of the priests and Levites fell away. On the one hand, there
was no longer any need to offer sacrifice, as this had been fulfilled by the sacrifice
of Christ on the cross. The Old Testament system had only looked forward to its
reality in Christ (Heb 8:6 etc). Then on the other hand, without the Temple, the
role of the non-priestly Levites also fell away. The book of Hebrews in particular
then sees the priestly role fulfilled in Christ, the “great High Priest”. There are no
longer any priests, and most Protestant denominations reject the term for their
ministers, as they do not carry out the priestly function of sacrifice. Nevertheless,
some of the other aspects of the role that the priests performed in the Old Testament
still continued, and it is these which are carried on by Christian ministers. Roles
such as teaching, guiding, leading worship, advising, are all recognised activity for
a modern minister, who then stands firmly in the line that leads back to the time
of Moses.
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Kenotic ministry
It must of course be noted that there are some Christian traditions, especially
those stemming from the “radical Reformation” (Hanson 1975:95), that reject the
concept of a set-apart ministry, believing rather that all Christians have the job of
ministry to each other. A strong Reformation emphasis has been the “priesthood of
all believers”, which Morris (1964:31) stresses is just that, and not the “priesthood
of each believer”; it is of the community. The Biblical idea is of a corporate
priesthood, but this has “degenerated into the excessive individualism which has
plagued Protestantism” (Goodykoontz 1963:22). It is perhaps for this reason that
the New Testament actually says so little about the ministry, and therefore that
so many are confused about the role of the minister (Goodykoontz 1963:7,17).
Such an idea has come into particular prominence with the Pentecostal movement
and its later developments, which has urged that as the Spirit is available to all
Christians, all should seek to know which gifts have been given to them by the
Spirit for the benefit of all. Certainly, just as Calvin pointed out, in 1 Corinthians
12, the receipt of gifts precedes the matter of offices (Goodykoontz 1963:31).
The idea of such a “body ministry” is a welcome corrective to the distinction
between “clergy” and “laity” that arguably has been so detrimental to the
Church for centuries (Watson 1982a:247f). Such a picture is reflected in the
introduction to the Philippian “hymn”, where indeed the Spirit enables mutual
encouragement. Part of the justification for a body ministry is the practice of the
charismata, the endowment of specific roles by the Spirit, such that the role of
each is complemented by those of others, giving a total completeness, a picture
described beautifully in Paul’s illustration of the body (1 Cor12:4f). However, the
“specialized ministry” (Guder 1985:207) does fit neatly into this picture as a role,
among others, in the Church. However, in all these cases, God’s kenōsis can be
seen in that he limits his calling and gifting to specific people.
Indeed, it must also be observed that even in charismatic groups there is usually
a belief in the necessity and establishment of a distinct ministry, and that the older
traditions usually in practice can identify their leadership. Even the Quakers would
not deny that some are given a specific gift of ministry (Hanson 1975:95). This
would indicate that a specialized ministry is not only beneficial to the Church,
but really essential to it (Guder 1985:210). Even if it is quite possible for a local
church to exist for a while without a minister, the common experience is that it
is rarely a happy or successful experience. Luther commented that “one is born
to be a priest, one becomes a minister” (in Hendel 1990:26; perhaps it would
be better to say that one is re-born a priest!). So, although all Christians have a
ministry, not all are ministers (Goodykoontz 1963:93). Perhaps an understanding
of the leadership as equipping the rest of the body for its service is closest to the
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Biblical pattern, as is reflected in Ephesians 4. Thus the ministry are “servants of
the servants of God” an expression well-known in Catholicism, as revived by John
XXIII (Guder 1985:107). In this case, what can be deduced from Philippians 2:5f
about the nature of the ministry should not be restricted to a particular group
in the Church, whether distinguished by ordination or by activity, but to some
extent pertains to all. It was again Luther who highlighted the fact that God could
as validly give a secular vocation as a sacred one, so that all should be obedient
to the calling that God has given, whether to specific ministry in the Church, or
service to God in other ways.
Christ as the paradigmatic minister
But even if the priesthood was completely fulfilled in Christ, and does not continue
past him, most ministers would also identify themselves to some extent with other
Old Testament roles, those of the prophet and king (Williams 1997:214f). These
are lines that also centre on Christ, and are fulfilled in him. So if the Old Testament
ministry looked forward to its fulfillment in Christ, the New must also look to
him for its pattern. Again from Hebrews, Jesus is the “apostle and High Priest”
(Heb 3:1). Oates (1964:72) validly describes the minister as an “ambassador of
Christ”, an idea adopted by some traditions in the term “vicar”. Obviously any
ambassador shares the nature of the one represented; it would be inconceivable
for a South African ambassador to another country to be a foreigner! Morris
(1964:25) adds that Christian service is a continuation of the work of Christ,
indeed the continuing work of Christ. Technically, the only ministry is that of
Christ himself (Goodykoontz 1963:24), but who works through his people.
Thus just as in so many other aspects of Christianity, the question of the role of
the ministry must then receive a Christocentric answer. “What would Jesus do?”
is a valid question. Paul writes of himself as an imitator of Christ (1 Cor 11:1).
Indeed, so much of what Jesus did can well be seen in ministerial terms; he was
naturally addressed as a Jewish minister, “Rabbi”. A minister will naturally spend
much time in exactly those pursuits that occupied Jesus, teaching, discipling,
channeling healing, and so on. The authority and standing of a minister should
rest on the measure of conformity to Christ and his cross, not on academic
qualifications (Neuhaus 1979:57), nor on an event of ordination, nor even on
belief in a call. Even competence in the mechanics of ministry, such as preaching
or counseling, is secondary to the manifestation of Christ-likeness.

Kenotic ministry
The fact that Jesus was Son of God does not mean that he cannot be an
example for us, for after all he was totally human as well. But in order to do
this, he had to limit himself. It is this aspect which can help us to understand
something more of what a Christian minister should be, for one aspect of being
human is limitation. Such is a characteristic of ministry, as it is of the nature
of Christ himself, particularly as it is outlined in the great hymn of Philippians
2:5f. A Christian minister then reflects the nature of Christ’s ministry, outlined
in that passage. The key idea there is indeed that of Christ’s self-limitation and
his humility, summed up in the word kenōsis, or “emptying” (Phil 2:7). It is this
that can provide an underlying concept to the Biblical approach to ministry; 1
Timothy 3:1-7, its parallel passage in Titus 1:5-9, and 1 Peter 5:1-4 are generally
referred to in this regard, when the qualities advocated are all aspects of selflimitation
(including the marriage to only one wife!). Kierkegaard remarked that
“everything that God is to use he first reduces to nothing” (Foster 2000:56). The
word “humility” has the same root as “humus”, fertile ground (Foster 2000:63).
When “the mode of Jesus’ ministry, chosen in the wilderness, contained within it
this potential of helplessness” (Wright 1980:57), it must be a comfort when the
minister experiences the all too common feelings of impotence in many of the
experiences that are a part of regular work of the calling.
It may be noted that the appeal to generosity that Paul made to the Corinthians
is based on an appeal to the nature of Christ in 2 Corinthians 8:9 (Bockmuehl
1997:126), a passage often compared to Philippians 2. It has also often been
remarked that the foot-washing incident in John 13 parallels this aspect of Jesus’
nature; Hawthorne (1983:78) notes the “striking parallels” between Philippians
2 and John 13, and Chrysostom illustrated Philippians by the John incident
(Bockmuehl 1997:137). Watson (1982a:255) then writes that it is “the most
telling illustration of all as to the nature of the Christian ministry”. In fact in that
incident it is even clearer than in Philippians that this was done as an example for
the disciples (Jn 13:15). This practice has even found its way into the liturgy of
some traditions. At the university where the author teaches, the valedictory service
for leaving students contains a short ceremony in which their feet are symbolically
washed by the lecturers.
Indeed, even the Old Testament “offices” have this feature, as they all involve
a measure of limitation. The priesthood, which involved no qualification beyond
bodily perfection, was restricted to a tribe that had no inheritance. Being a prophet,
on the other hand, was a matter of a distinct call, but this very much involved the
subjection of the desires of the prophet to those of God. The third, that of the
king, carries for us an opposite implication, of the opportunity for personal gain
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and authority, but it is clear that this is not God’s intention. The king is rather
the servant of the people (Deut 17:14f). Perhaps even more clearly, Goodykoontz
(1963:17) sees the roots of the ministry in the “suffering servant”, especially in
Isaiah 53, rather than in the priesthood. Christians have of course also always seen
this figure as fulfilled in Christ, an opinion reflected as early as the New Testament.
The voice from heaven at the baptism of Jesus quoted the first song (Matt 3:17
= Is 42:1), and reference to the fourth is quite common (Matt 8:17, Acts 8:32,
1 Pet 2:22-5 etc). And again, this feature applies to the wider “body”. Certainly
an attitude of kenōsis should not be limited to the “professionals”; speaking of
Philippians 2, Fee (1999:97) says that Jesus’ “true humanity is expressed in his
humbling himself”. Perhaps it may be noted that in John 13 Jesus related to his
disciples, not to “apostles”. This is a part, even the major part, of sanctification,
and of becoming wholly human.
Creation
Although the Philippian hymn commences with the incarnation, it really assumes
a prior act of creation. The closing verse is actually a quotation from Isaiah 45:23,
a passage centring on God as creator. This does not of course apply to the preexistent
eternal Son, but for him to become incarnate, creation had to have
occurred. Such is true of the Church, which is God’s new creation (2 Cor 5:17),
and so of its ministers. Paul and Jeremiah saw their call as an act of God even
before their birth. When Moses complained about the ministry that God was
calling him to, the reply was directly linked to creation (Ex 4:10f). Such must be
a great comfort; God provides the equipment for the job!
But there is another side to this, as creation is an aspect of kenōsis, in that in
the making of an entity distinct from himself, God did accept a limitation on
himself (Moltmann 1985:86); he notes a second aspect to this as well in that
what was actually created was only one of several possibilities (1985:80). In this
case, as it is in the very nature of God to create, it is also part of that nature
to limit himself. In this regard the New Testament sees the full image of God
in Christ (Heb 1:3). Irenaeus noted that in incarnation, Jesus assumed his own
handiwork (Bockmuehl 1997:137); in a sense he created in order to be incarnate.
Significantly, the foot-washing incident both starts (Jn 13:3) and concludes (Jn
13:19, “I am”) with Jesus’ assertion of his divinity. Because humanity was created
imago Dei, it should therefore be the nature of true humanity to reflect this aspect
of deity (Fee 1999:97), so likewise self-limit. In this case, unlike the pattern which

Kenotic ministry
has been all too common in the Church, where the minister in practice does
everything, there should be a limitation, indeed a kenōsis, from the roles to which
God has not called. This means that every Christian, and perhaps specifically the
minister, has the right, indeed the obligation, not to do some things that may be
requested or expected. If this were the case, ministerial “burnout” should not be a
problem; even Jesus withdrew at times.
Then the method by which God created was by the word, and a minister must
be one who responds to the call of God. Then just as the creation of humanity was
a two-stage process in which the Spirit enlivened the already created clay figure, so
a minister, indeed any Christian, can only be effective through the empowering of
the Spirit. Even this involves a kenōsis, as the temptation will always be to rely on
other things and abilities besides the Spirit.
Why did God create? This is essentially unanswerable, but a common suggestion
is that it was done out of a motive of love, a desire for increased relationship. The
appreciation of kenōsis can only add to this, a graphic picture of the nature of God
as love, for it is the nature of God to love even the unlovely (Rom 5:8), a love
then seen in the words of Jesus to love enemies, and in his example of loving the
despised of society. And who can really love feet enough to want to wash them?
Self-limitation includes the fact that one’s preferences are restricted. In this case,
Christian ministers cannot expect to serve only those that they like, but also those
who they would naturally find obnoxious and distasteful.
The reference to creation then highlights an aspect that goes right through
the Philippian passage, that the kenōsis of Jesus, as any act of love, was voluntary.
It is this aspect that frees the idea from any hint that God’s essential being was
compromised, for it was an act of God’s omnipotence by which he freely chose to
limit his own freedom. In this regard, becoming a minister must be an act of free
choice, despite the well-meant advice that the call of God should be resisted as a
way of finding whether it is genuine (Oates 1964:94). It is clear that every step of
Jesus’ path to the cross, and even death itself, was by his free choice. The desire of
God may have been resisted, as in Gethsemane, or in the prophets (cf Jer 20:7f),
but it was ultimately accepted by choice. This point is reiterated in 1 Peter 5:2;
ministry can never be by constraint.
Incarnation
The great wonder and uniqueness of the Christian message is that God, in order
to minister to human need, became a human being himself; he became incarnate.
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Immediately, this tells us something of what a Christian minister should be,
because the act of incarnation was not simply one of becoming a human being,
but also implied limitation. He left heaven, just as Abraham left Ur, and Christians
leave, in a sense, their previous world; as Jesus, they experience a kenōsis. Jesus
then, as his servants, identified with a particular human situation, with a specific
culture, engaging in a ministry in a culturally relevant way (Thielicke 1966:510f).
Not only did the kenōsis of Christ involve limitation to the constraints of being
human, but a further limitation to that specific set of humanity. Christ did not
do what other human beings, in other times and places, did, but limited himself
to the practices of a first century Jew. He could have appeared as an angel, or in
a way similar to that in which he revealed himself on Patmos (Rev 1:13). His
message could still be made, in a different way, but he chose identification.
This also meant that his concerns were limited to the ones that concerned them
at that time. There was much that Jesus could have said and done, but chose not
to. Likewise a modern minister must be relevant; the remark of Barth is frequently
cited (Neuhaus 1979:170), who said that preaching must be with a Bible in one
hand and a newspaper in the other. It was not an accident that in the situation of
his day, with its pressing political issues, Jesus was crucified as a king.
Paul, also perhaps a paradigmatic minister, knew the need for identification,
for he also “became a Jew to reach the Jews” (1 Cor 9:20). It is actually this
aspect that is easier outside the ordained ministry, which automatically makes a
distinction from other people. There is much to be said for ministers to follow in
the path of both Jesus and Paul and have, or have had, a secular occupation; such
does help identification. Indeed, the economic reality for very many churches in
Africa is that a full-time ministry is really impracticable; perhaps this is really a
blessing for the Church.
The purpose of the sending of the Son was the formation of the Church. It is
then inevitable that the Church is likewise sent. Indeed, Richard (1997:180) feels
that this is reflected in the usual New Testament term for the Church, ekklesia. “As
the Father has sent me, even so I send you” (Jn 20:21). The great commission was
Jesus’ last action before ascending (Matt 28:19). Indeed the word “commission”
means a “sending”, with the prefix “with”; the Church is not sent powerless,
because it is sent to serve (Richard 1997:182). The Church is then fundamentally
apostolic, and so missionary, both of which terms also derive from “sending”,
respectively in Greek and Latin. Mission is then not secondary, but fundamental
to the church, part of its very nature. This in any case follows from the fact that
the nature of the second Person, both as Son, but also as logos, word, is of being
expressed, or sent.

Kenotic ministry
Sending is inherent in the idea of being a servant, who acts only in terms of his
or her sending, doing no more or less than what is commanded. The idea of the
sending of the second Person is in any case a common one, especially in the gospel
of John (eg Jn 5:24). Indeed, this is implicit in the identification of the second
Person as the “word” of God, as words are sent from the speaker. It is then not
surprising that those most intimately connected with the Word of God, the Old
Testament prophets, are most conscious of being sent. Jesus of course was very
much aware of his place in the line of prophets, while the New Testament does
not hesitate to see him as the fulfilment of the Mosaic prophecy of Deuteronomy
18:18.
It may be observed that the modern missionary movement has, until
comparatively recently, been a sending of people from the rich churches of the
West to the poorer part of the world. This is of course exactly what Jesus did in
leaving the glories of heaven to become human. What most missionaries have also
sought to do is to identify with the host culture; this principle was particularly
adopted by Hudson Taylor and those who followed him in the infant China Inland
Mission (now Overseas Missionary Fellowship) who scandalised other Europeans
in China, and even other missionaries, by their wholehearted adoption of Chinese
dress, and as far as was possible for a Christian, Chinese lifestyle and customs;
there is no doubt that this was a major factor in his success. At the same time, the
comparative failure of so many other missionaries can well be traced back to their
unwillingness to identify. There is a continuing message in his example for those
who seek to serve in the name of Christ. Kritzinger et al (1984:18) point out that
particularly in Africa, it is much more important to just be with the people than
to do things for them, a hard lesson for action orientated Westerners.
Jesus identified for two reasons, which are both applicable to today. On the one
hand he did it to give salvation, but secondly to give credibility to his message, by
showing real love. He did this in the power of the Spirit, who enabled him, and then
later Christians, to do what is a most unreasonable thing. For him, the adoption of
identity with humanity was essential for his atoning sacrifice, although even in his
case, he assumed the “likeness” of men (Phil 2:7) because he did not adopt human
sinfulness; he was also still God, aspects that were essential for him to do his work
of atonement. Identification did not mean an elimination of difference. Likewise,
for us, full identification is not practicable; in particular, adoption of third world
poverty would be adoption of impotence. Bonk (1986a:448) has pointed out
that total identification with many contexts would mean the rejection of all the
technology and other aspects that can aid ministry, especially communication. But
then, this is actually what Jesus did! Neither, in fact, is it possible, as despite all our
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efforts, we are still from another place and culture, and can never deny that; Jesus
likewise was still fully divine. Nevertheless, the point is that an effective Christian
minister will certainly identify with the people served as far as possible, while of
course retaining such distinctives as training, and, hopefully, a fuller Christian
lifestyle. A total identification would destroy the example of a Christian life.
Jesus became incarnate as a poor person, so identified with the majority of
the people. This was a further aspect of his kenōsis, for by so doing he denied
himself much that is only available to the affluent. This does not mean that Jesus
was an ascetic, denying riches, for he apparently enjoyed good food, and had an
expensive robe. Nevertheless his lifestyle was obviously acceptable to the mass of
the people of his day. Every Christian minister must deal with the issue of level
of lifestyle, living in such a way as to be the most acceptable, neither despised by
the more affluent as stupid, or hated by the poor as too different from them. The
question of lifestyle will indeed be a part of the kenōsis of ministry of many, who
have given up a career which is often more lucrative, with the lifestyle that can go
with it, to identify with others in serving Christ in ministry.
Seemingly paradoxically, we give evidence of the truth by our wealth, which
enables actual deeds of practical love. At the same time, our wealth does give
evidence of the truth of the gospel. It was a realisation of Weber, who in his
description of the “Protestant Work Ethic” (cf Williams 1998:181), that Christian
commitment does in general result in material prosperity. In fact, this is quite
consistent with the kenōsis of Jesus, for at the end of that came the glorification.
As Christians, we share in this, and although it is only received fully in an
eschatological sense, it is received partially now, just as other aspects of the Spirit’s
work.
Some aspects of this do not pertain to material possessions, but are still a
foretaste of the eschatological glorification. These can also be extremely attractive
to other societies as a recommendation for the gospel. Firstly, Christianity has
been responsible for the elevation of the status of groups which in other societies
are despised and inferior. It has rejected the institution of slavery, and has elevated
the status of women, both of whom enjoy equality with all others, as Paul explains
(Gal 3:28). If salvation is received equally by grace, then Christians are essentially
equal. A second aspect is health, where a Christian lifestyle does contribute to the
health of the body, and also to the health of the mind. The latter is due to the
removal of worry, provision of motivation and a reason for living. Christianity
is not just a matter for life after death, but also life in the present; Christians are
concerned not only that people do not die without Christ, but that they should
not live without Christ.

Kenotic ministry
One final comment here is that the work of Jesus was also kenotic in a temporal
sense. His ministry was a mere three years, and then in the wisdom of God, it
ceased. One feature of modern mission is that the old pattern has been largely
superseded, and in fact it may well be suggested that the days of mission are past.
The modern world is witnessing the extinction of many missionary societies which
did wonderful work in their day, the amalgamation of others, but, most notably,
the transfer of responsibilities to other bodies, notably the indigenous Church.
Jesus, of course, continues his work in the Church that he founded!
Perhaps an aspect that is difficult for a minister, one that is shared with the
poor, is of being a recipient of the generosity of others. It can be a humbling
experience, and certainly it is difficult to preach on Christian giving when one’s
income depends on it! But by the act of creation, God had made it possible for
himself to receive from what he had made. He became able to be loved. Then in
incarnation, Jesus received humanity, and in atonement, those who were saved
through it as his brothers and sisters. Kritzinger et al (1984:19) suggest that one of
the features of a successful ministry is the ability to listen and to receive as well as
the giving which perhaps comes more naturally.
Certainly the life of a minister is always under scrutiny. One further aspect
that is given up, or at least curtailed, is privacy. What Jesus, as incarnate, was
doing, was making the works of God manifest by acting publicly, and in a sense
this is one role of a minister (Hendel 1990:26). One of the features of crucifixion
was that it was done publicly, and the condemned suffered the shame attached
to it (Heb 13:13). How many ministers have not from time to time endured the
reproach of the calling?
The step of incarnation was one that was permanent. The book of Hebrews
(7:28) again points out that the humanity of Jesus was not shed at the ascension
but continued in his ministry as High Priest. Even if a human life is a temporary
experience, it has at least the potential of permanence in the receipt of eternal
life. This would indicate that a ministry patterned on Christ is likewise one
that is permanent; it is not something that can just be abandoned at will. Jesus
himself indicated that nobody who puts his hand to the plough and then turns
back is fit for the kingdom of God (Lk 9:62). In the Old Testament, kingship
and priesthood were seen as permanent endowments. This aspect has indeed
been taken by some traditions as indicating the permanence of ordination, that
once somebody becomes a priest or minister, it is a life-long possession. This is
particularly important where the minister is believed to have the power to forgive
sins or to convey grace such as in marriage.
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However, where the view of ministry differs from this, there has not been such
a feeling of permanence, and particularly in a culture which sees as the norm
changes in jobs and even in careers (and of course in partners!), there has been a
tendency for ministers to change their specific location every few years, to shift their
denominational affiliation, and even to leave and return to the ministry. Perhaps
missionaries have been particularly prone to this, often feeling free to move and
to return to their sending countries as circumstances change. It may be queried
whether this really reflects the commitment of Jesus to humanity, especially as
this practice precludes the full incarnation of a person into a particular situation.
Acceptance by a community is something that is not achieved overnight, and
especially in the case of a different culture, there will be additional barriers of race,
language and many other things that go against a viable ministry for many years.
This is not to say that a person has to stay in one place permanently. Jesus
did carry out an itinerant ministry. Then if ministry is a response to a valid call
of God, he is perfectly entitled to withdraw that call or to replace it by another.
What may be queried is whether this is as frequent as would seem to be assumed
in the modern world.
Service
Jesus identified his role as that of one who serves (diakonōn) (Lk 22:27). In
keeping with this, Morris (1964:28) writes, “… the idea of lowly service involved
in diakoneō is the fundamental idea in all Christian ministry”. Other terms could
have been used, but all convey the connotation of power rather than the humility
of the ministry (Watson 1982a:254). Guder (1985:52) connects diakonia to
martyria, witness; certainly Jesus in his service acted as a powerful witness to God,
and it may be suggested that it is insofar as we serve that our witness is effective.
More than this, our witness depends on the amount of dedication to God, so our
kenōsis, that we are seen to have.
The Philippian hymn thus continues by even identifying Jesus as a doulos, a
slave, one who was restricted in the sense of having no independence of action. A
slave was subject to the master, having to do what the master wanted, not what
he or she desired to do. Quite naturally, we have a decidedly negative perception
of slavery. Especially since the Enlightenment, and especially enshrined in the
American world-view, freedom is seen as a basic human right. In contrast, Christ’s
kenōsis as a doulos implied in that he is seen as surrendering his freedom. John’s
gospel in particular stresses his obedience to the Father (Jn 15:10). Even though

Kenotic ministry
the incarnation carried the possibility of sharing in the freedom to sin which is
part of being human (posse peccare), he voluntarily rejected this. He accepted the
obligation of total obedience as a doulos.
Imitation of Christ therefore implies acceptance of the status of a slave. Again
this aspect is perhaps particularly understood in Africa, which has had a long
history of slavery, and not only in the institutional form as practised by such as
John Newton and abolished through the labours of Wilberforce, but in the social
forms such as in apartheid.
In a society that is very concerned about human rights, it needs to be stressed
that a slave in that situation had no rights. This is a point that a minister has
to be aware of; Kritzinger et al (1984:19) point out that there is a temptation
almost to demand response from the people that are being ministered to on the
basis of what has been given up for them. More pointedly, the same attitude can
even manifest in relation to God when things go wrong, or when it is felt that an
answer to prayer can be demanded.
Of course, being a slave immediately raises the question of who the slave
belongs to; it is a relational term, in contrast to service, which is functional
(Watson 1982a:254). Thus, significantly, one of the most common titles for Christ
in the New Testament is kurios, which bears the common meaning of a master of
slaves. Foot-washing was the duty of a slave, even, interestingly, of a Gentile slave
(Kanagaraj 2004:18), but in taking this role, Jesus stressed his position as Lord and
Master (Jn 13:14). Westcott writes that “the knowledge that He was possessed of
this divine authority was the ground of His act of service” (Goodykoontz 1963:18).
The same thing is true for modern ministers who serve just because they have
God’s calling and therefore authority. One of Paul’s favourite terms for himself is
therefore doulos (eg Phil 1:1), and elsewhere he uses the idea to refute those who
felt that salvation by grace meant that they had total freedom to ignore all moral
imperatives, or even to act contrary to them. In Romans 6:15f he explains that a
Christian is a slave of Christ, under obligation to obey him. A Christian does not
just have freedom to do what he or she wants, but what the kurios, Christ, wants.
The passage is in the context of the first chapter of the epistle, where the apostle
complains about those who seek their own benefit (Phil 1:15). Jesus contrasted
his view of the nature of Christian leadership to what was common in his day (eg
Mk 10:42) (Kanagaraj 2004:16). Contrary to such self-seeking, the slave sought
the benefit of his or her lord. However, it must be pointed out that slavery to a
good master was in fact a decided benefit, notwithstanding that there was still an
obligation of obedience; it could well provide a life of basic comfort. Paul even
points out that a person is otherwise a slave to sin (Rom 6:17), non posse non
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peccare, not able not to sin. One of the great metaphors for Christian salvation is
then redemption, in which the slave is given freedom; a Christian is then posse non
peccare, able not to sin.
The key aspect is that a slave does what he or she is sent to do. Jesus, standing
in the line of the Old Testament prophets, ministered because he was conscious
of having been sent, or commissioned for that role. It is often said that nobody
should enter the Christian ministry out of desire, but from a conviction of being
sent. It is a response to God’s will, who knows the best, certainly not from natural
desire or own comfort; it is necessary even if the called person is not unwilling.
This is an urge which can be resisted, but if it is a valid call, the one called will
find it very difficult to resist. Jeremiah (20:9) spoke of the message as a “fire in his
bones”, where fire, significantly, is a common picture for the Spirit. The idea of
commission is often linked to the parting words of Jesus in Matthew 28:18, where
after his resurrection Jesus sent out his disciples. It may be noted that the kenōsis
of Jesus had ended with the cross, and that he then received the full authority of
lordship; many scholars (eg Fee 1999:99) believe that the name given to Jesus in
his exaltation (Phil 2:9) is that of kurios. In this case, the commissioned disciples
are adopting the kenōsis of Jesus that he had put down for their own service.
Neither, of course, can a Christian simply stop doing what he or she has been
appointed to do, unless given permission by Christ. The “hand is on the plough”
(Lk 9:62), and it is disobedience to withdraw it. This point is not just applicable
to “professional” Christians, ministers or missionaries, but as Luther pointed out,
God’s calling may also be to a “secular” occupation, and as such as equally one of
obedience to the kurios.
Perhaps it does need to be pointed out here that diakonia is not slavery (Hanson
1975:86), which does have a very significant implication in that a minister,
although a slave of Christ, is a servant to the congregation. The minister is then
not subject to its every whim, which is why Paul, very mindful of his status,
nevertheless felt able to administer what could be quite sharp discipline (Hanson
1975:85). In this regard, Watson (1982a:262) refers to the “clearly recognised
spiritual authority” of the ministry; perhaps it should be suggested that this should
not mean just authority in “spiritual” matters, but an authority given by the Spirit,
exercised insofar as the minister is driven or motivated by him.

Suffering
Kenotic ministry
Christ not only took humanity on himself, but also the suffering that is all too
common its experience; he suffered by taking humanity. More particularly, in
the Philippian hymn, the assumption of servanthood led to the cross, and the
foot-washing incident “inaugurates the process of suffering and death” (Kanagaraj
2004:21). Such an assertion was foreign to many in the early years of Christianity,
who could not conceive of the possibility of God suffering; such docetism took
the attitude that Jesus could only have appeared (Greek dokeō) to suffer. However,
the Biblical witness is clearly of his suffering, from such as tiredness and hunger,
through to the devastation of scourging and what has been described as the worst
form of death ever devised by a cruel humanity. And that is still to say nothing of
the mental pain of one who anguished over the fate of the cities of Judea, such as
Capernaum (Lk 10:15), or who wept outside of the tomb of Lazarus (Jn 11:35).
The list is endless. It goes without saying that the intention of all that Jesus went
through was far from his own benefit.
It is inconceivable that a Christian minister can expect anything other than
a life of suffering. Nobody can really enter the ministry for its benefits! It is
surprising to hear of Christians who feel that because they are children of God,
any form of suffering such as poverty or disease should pass them by. Indeed,
it even frequently seems to be the opposite. Paul speaks of his service as kopos,
a work to weariness (1 Cor 3:8, 1 Thess 1:3 etc), and of the hardship that he
endured (1 Cor 4:9f). A reading of the biographies of such dedicated servants of
God as Hudson Taylor or George Müller of Bristol reveals repeated experiences of
sickness, bereavement, and many other forms of pain, which of course hindered
their ministry, in itself causing distress. Wright (1980:75) comments on the
loneliness which is the experience of so many in ministry, but which must be seen
against the background of the essential loneliness of the one on the cross. Again,
the motif of suffering will strike a chord in Africa, where so many know suffering
in its various forms as an ongoing feature of daily life.
And of course, his suffering was for us, to give us life. We may not be called to
do what he did, how could we? But seeking to bear the pain and difficulties which
abound in any congregation cannot leave the minister unaffected. Their griefs and
temptations will be experienced as they are shared.
Perhaps the modern preoccupation is with questions of finance. One other
passage which deals with the emptying of Christ is found in 2 Corinthians 8:9,
in the context of the determination by the Corinthian church to do something
about the poverty of their fellows in Judea. There the apostle notes that Christ
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himself accepted poverty. Certainly he had no fixed and guaranteed income,
accepting the support of well-wishers (Lk 8:3). The Son of Man had nowhere to
lay down his head (Matt 8:20). This should not be taken as a rejection of the good
things of life; indeed he was accused of gluttony and wine-bibbing (Matt 11:19);
he even had an expensive seamless robe (Jn 19:23). Perhaps this then makes his
poverty more noteworthy. Certainly he did not act for any material reward; the
first temptation was a clear renunciation of that. Hawthorne (1983:85) comments
that it was because Jesus was in the form of God that he saw equality with God
not as getting, but as giving. Equality with God was not an excuse for benefiting
himself (Bruce 1989:69). Indeed, the Philippian hymn specifically states that
Jesus did not grasp (harpagmos) at any benefit due to his equality with the Father
(Bruce 1989:69). On the contrary, the kenōsis of Christ was for the benefit of
those with whom he identified in his incarnation. If this is the example, how
can ministers be overly concerned about guaranteed lifestyles and fixed incomes?
Oates (1964:84), commenting on the passages in the Pastoral epistles, rejects any
idea that the ministry be undertaken or the gain of finance, or, it must be said, of
power. How can Christians seek positions in the Church, as so common elsewhere
in African society, in order to participate in the “gravy train”? Where is the ideal
of service without reward? Watson (1982a:261) bemoans the tendency for the top
people in the Church to adopt the lifestyle of their secular equivalents.
Death
Finally Jesus accepted the ultimate in self-negation, and gave up his very life.
The Christian understanding of this, since the very beginning, has been that this
was a voluntary act, not forced upon him, but accepted as the means of human
salvation. Bruce (1989:71) rightly points out that Jesus was not so much obedient
to death, but to God’s will. Kanagaraj (2004:21) even sees the cleansing of the
disciples’ feet as pointing to the cleansing of sin by the blood of the cross.
Reference to death must immediately remind the Christian of the great
prophecy of Isaiah 52:13-53:12, where the servant of God suffers and dies for sins;
Moltmann (1985:87), among others, connects Philippians 2 with that passage.
Even if the word often used in the Septuagint translation is not doulos but pais,
Bockmuehl (1997:138) points out that the two are often treated interchangeably,
as in Isaiah 42:19, one of the other “servant songs”, and that doulos is actually the
preferred word in one of the other early translations of the Hebrew into Greek,
that by Aquila.

Kenotic ministry
Is this also not what Christians are then called to do? Certainly Paul speaks of
bearing in his own body the death of Christ (2 Cor 4:10). There is inherent in
the acceptance of ministry a rejection of one’s own life and its ambitions, of the
possibility of burnout for others, and even, which has been the experience of so
many in the past, of literal martyrdom for the sake of Christ. All this, just as the
sufferings of Christ himself, happens, as clearly said in Isaiah 53, because of sin in
the world; without this, such suffering, whether of Christ or his servants, would
not have been necessary.
The goal of ministry
It comes as a relief to continue the hymn and to rejoice that the death of Christ was
not the end of his experience, but was at the bottom of a process that continued
with his exaltation through resurrection to glorification. It is by union with this
experience that a Christian will ultimately know his or her own resurrection
and glorification. At that point the process of kenōsis will have ended. As Christ
resumes his status as Son of God, we too receive the fullness of our adoption as
children of God in our glorification. It is at this point that the faithful minister
receives a “crown of glory” (1 Pet 5:4).
Here it may well be observed that the second section of the passage commences
with the word “therefore”; Bockmuehl (1997:140) points out that the glory, even
if it is not a reward for humility, is an act of justice. Certainly the exaltation of
Christ is only what it is because of the experiences of kenōsis. Perhaps it may well
be suggested that an easy ministry is not so likely to result in great glory. Again
it must follow that the motive of Christian ministry must then be the salvation
of others, and secondly their glorification. This latter commences in the process
of sanctification, in progressive conformity to the nature of Christ himself. What
the Christian minister will seek to do, just as Christ himself did, is to draw people
along with him in the walk with and growth in Christ.
In keeping with the fact of process, the Church is also a pilgrim body (Richard
1997:194), being conscious that it is also on a road, and has not come to any
finality. This is what the author to the Hebrews means by talking about an
eschatological rest. During this life, there is still change and, hopefully, progress,
as the Church is also prepared for its glorification and presentation as the bride
of Christ, “without spot or wrinkle … (Eph 5:27). But just as Christ has already
commenced the process of glorification before the parousia, so also the Church.
As Christ hides the divine attributes less than he did on earth, so the Church also
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manifests the aspects of divinity. “Greater deeds than these” was the promise of
Jesus, enabled by the same power, that of the Spirit. Perhaps one aspect of this
is the reflection of the omnipresence of Christ in the spreading of the Church
throughout the world prior to the end (Mk 13:10). Until then, the Church should
continue to reflect the humility of the kenotic Christ, acting as servants.
Through the Spirit
It may be that God does not call a specific person to such depths of suffering in
the course of self-negation, but even the prospect of a very little must prompt the
question of how such is a possibility. The natural human inclination revolts against
any such idea. Even with the high-minded motives of the imitation of Christ,
and the desire to seek the glory of God, the assumption of kenōsis is hard. Yet
such extraordinary behaviour contributes greatly to effective ministry and witness.
Cardinal Suhard, archbishop of Paris in the 1940’s, wrote that a minister seeks to
make “the mystery of God present to man” which means that the minister seeks
“so to live one’s life that it would be inexplicable if God did not exist” (Wright
1980:8). This becomes even more of a challenge when it is realised, as Hawthorne
(1983:77) observes, that the humiliation of Christ was by his own action, even if
the exaltation is an act of God. Perhaps the answer to this is found at the start of
the Philippian hymn itself, for Paul speaks of “participation” (koinōnia) (Phil 2:1).
It was by the Spirit that Jesus became incarnate, as the Spirit “came upon Mary”
(Lk 1:35). It was through the Spirit that he entered into service, as the Spirit
descended on him at his baptism (Lk 3:22). He was significantly in the form of
a dove, which was a recognized symbol for Israel; it was through him that Jesus
identified fully with Israel, and then with those being saved through his work.
After this, it was the Spirit who drove him to the wilderness and to the experience
of suffering. Ultimately it was the Spirit who enabled his death, when Jesus “gave
up his spirit” (Jn 19:30). Moltmann (1985:97) then interestingly comments that
the Spirit himself experiences kenōsis, and suffering, such as in being grieved.
It must follow that ministry, in all its aspects, is something that is only possible
through the Spirit. This is not to negate the need of as thorough a training as is
possible, for the Spirit works through, and empowers what is already present. A
preacher cannot expect the Spirit to simply create a sermon, but it can be expected
that he will enable the preparation to be remembered (cf Jn 14:26), and to enliven
it. Even if some believe that natural talents and inclinations are irrelevant, even
a hindrance to the work of the Spirit, this would surely negate the real humanity

Kenotic ministry
of Christ. Rather he may well enhance what is there naturally. 1 Timothy 3:2
indicates that a minister should be an “apt teacher”, which Watson (1982a:266)
observes is the only technical qualification for a minister! This is a term which
Oates (1964:92) understands as “capable, or possessing the ability”. It is actually a
single word in the Greek, didaktikon, occurring only in 1 Tim 3:2 and 2 Timothy
2:24, where the suffix-ikon, as in sōma pneumatikon, “spiritual body” (1 Cor 15:44)
carries a functional or ethical sense, so that pneumatikos means “belonging to” or
“pertaining to”, animated, or guided by the pneuma so that the spiritual body has
this as its organising or governing principle (Fee 1994:29). It is a matter of the
desire to teach, not the ability. Nevertheless, so many testify that in the Spirit they
are able to do what naturally they cannot. The gifts of the Spirit, the charismata,
are just that, gifts. But even there, the Spirit is using humanity, not creating.
Very few would question that Christian ministry is enabled by the Spirit, that
he fills in order that their service is effective. The word “commission” is perhaps
particularly appropriate, for the prefix “com-” is from the Latin cum (with), and
“mission” is from the Latin for “send”. The combination is “sending with”, and
Jesus, as Christian ministers, was sent with the Spirit who guides and empowers.
Oates (1964:92) comments that the Spirit takes the form of the vessel that is
filled, so that he uses what is made available to him. It should follow that the
most effective work by the Spirit is when the vessel is empty, where the kenōsis is
as complete as possible. “The official Ministry is charismatic; every function of
it presupposes the presence of a Divine Spirit acting through human weakness”
(Morris 1964:62n).
And it is only by the Spirit that the ultimate purpose of God will be fulfilled.
The exaltation of Christ was not the ultimate goal of the process of kenōsis, for
that would have contradicted the fact that Jesus had not grasped at deity. Rather,
at the end of the Philippian hymn, the goal is clearly stated as the glory of God
the Father, and it is that which must be the goal of ministry and the experience
of kenōsis.
Conclusion
Paul was not one for academic theology, but in the heights of his insight he was
always aware of the need to apply it in Christian life and practice. It is then not
surprising that at the end of the great exposition of kenōsis and exaltation comes the
second great “therefore” (Phil 2:12). The succeeding verses apply the implications
of what has just been expounded.
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And how much richer and meaningful are the following injunctions because of
what has just been explained! Although Paul could well have simply commanded
how to lead the Christian life of ministry, it is so much more meaningful, and so
much more likely to be followed, if the underlying theology is explained.
And more than this, the passage gives more than an indication how the goal
of a Christian life and ministry is even a possibility. If the precepts are just laid
down, they become an impossible dream, and would never be followed. As South
Africa should be becoming more aware, it is impossible to get a Christian ethic
and lifestyle while treating the underlying theology as irrelevant. But the glory is
that Christ not only provides the pattern for what is right, but by union with him
through the Spirit, he enables it to be fulfilled.

7
Praying in kenōsis
The practice of prayer must be at the heart of a Christian life. Christianity is not
primarily adherence to a Christian lifestyle, following Christian ethics, although
this is important. Christianity is not primarily attending Christian services of
worship, although this is important, not least in the contact with other Christians,
and mutual encouragement. Christianity is not just believing the right things,
although this is also important. Rather the heart of Christianity is a relationship
with God. Salvation is not just the granting of survival after death, but a present
relating to God, both of which made possible by the forgiveness of the sins
that separate us from God, enabled by the kenōsis of Christ to the depths of his
sacrificial death. But this involves communication, and for Christians this means
prayer, and not just the following of a laid down liturgy, helpful though it may
be, but a real communicating with God. It is a reflection of the developing union
with God that is the essence of salvation (Pinnock 1996:155).
But even if the heart of a Christian life is prayer, the other aspects are also
valuable in relation to it. It can hardly be possible to really pray if we are aware
that we are doing things that God disapproves of, or of course, neglecting to do
what he does want. It is true that sin is a major reason for failure in prayer (Fosdick
1960:144), and will at best distract (Wyon 1962:76). Sin, after all, rests on pride,
the antithesis of kenōsis. Jesus so correctly pointed out that prayer is pointless if
there is a dispute with another person in the Church, or an attitude of hatred
or lust (Matt 5:21f). “Prayer and a holy life are one” (Ravenhill 1961:72). It is
amazing how people can habitually disobey God, then think that they can run to
him in an emergency (Baughen 1981:15). This does mean that a key element in
prayer is accepting forgiveness; this is, or should be, from an attitude of humility,
so effectively of kenōsis. However, awareness of imperfection need not detract from
praying, indeed should do the opposite. Even if we should always only come to
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God with an attitude of confession and a desire to accept forgiveness, we cannot,
dare not, wait until we are perfect before we pray.
Christian prayer must also be hindered if the wrong beliefs are held about the
nature of God. After all, what we believe about other people naturally affects the
way in which we communicate with them. It is here that the traditional Christian
teaching about God can be very detrimental to intercessory prayer. Although
some people have despised asking God, seeing it as selfish or a distraction from
real praying (Woolmer 1997:121), it has usually been part of Christian practice.
As Macquarrie (1978:43) points out, the heart of Christian prayer is asking,
not meditation. After all, Jesus encouraged it. But intercessory prayer has been
problematic for at least two reasons, both relating to the omniscience of God.
Firstly, if God knows the future, then it is fixed, and prayer, at least intercessory
prayer, becomes futile. Why ask God to do something if it cannot happen, simply
because the future cannot be changed? Among many others, Aquinas felt that
God is unaffected by our prayers, although they were ordained by him as a means
(Sanders 1998:153); they believe that God acts, never reacts (1998:162). Prayer
is then simply an exercise in trying to reconcile oneself to what is inevitable, and
even that is a waste of time, as one’s future attitude is also fixed!
How many have then stopped praying, just for these reasons? Prayer is after all
hard work, and if it is also a waste of time, why bother?
The traditional understanding of God’s omniscience, although it can be a
tremendous source of comfort in other respects, is then the cause of a big problem
for many people. Not only does it result in the querying of God’s love when
he is aware of our suffering, but it destroys the reality of prayer. This is what is
reacted to by “open theism”, which says that God does not know the future; he
cannot, simply because if actions are free. The future is “open” not fixed, because
it has not yet happened. I have tried to deal with these problems in an earlier
chapter; here I want to consider another very real problem, which also comes from
a belief in God’s omniscience; why we should pray if God already knows what
we want? Origen believed that God foreknows our prayers (Sanders 1998:144).
This problem is not addressed by open theism; even if it denies that the future is
knowable, it usually says that God, as omniscient, is totally aware of everything
in the past, and, which is the issue here, in the present. This would again render
prayer unnecessary. If God indeed knows everything, then prayer seems to be
totally superfluous; we cannot tell him anything, for he knows everything, which
includes all our problems, beforehand. “Before they call, I will answer” (Is 65:24).
The suspicion that God knows everything before we even ask must tempt us to
simply pray something like, “God, you know already the needs that I have and

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the desires of my heart, please answer them”. Is it just that he likes to be asked
(Bonhoeffer, in Foster 2000:192)? Does God just insist that we actually verbalise
our prayer for it to be heard? Does he even want us to say it out loud? As C S
Lewis said, delight in another is incomplete until expressed (Woolmer 1997:102).
Even if we do need to ask people for things simply because they may not be aware
that we need them, this is not true for God.
There are indeed some people who believe that as creation was effected through
the power of God’s spoken words, then therefore we too must speak and unleash
creativity for anything to happen (Williams 2001b:200). This modern deviation,
sometimes called the “prosperity emphasis”, is the belief that God must respond to
what we claim in faith, that if we thank God in the assurance (rather presumption!)
that we have effectively already received, thus demonstrating our faith, we will
indeed receive. This practice of “positive confession” therefore concentrates on
what is expected, be it health or wealth, but not on the negative lack of disease or
poverty. As may be expected, this has led to disaster, as when a person, showing
faith in healing, therefore suspends medication (Farah c1980:1f). In fact, it would
seem rather the case that the faith to which God responds is not the assertiveness
of “positive confession”, but humility (Pinnock 2001:173); an example of this
is that even after all the evil that he had done, God responded to the prayer of
Manasseh when he humbled himself (2 Chron 33:12).
But how many Christians are at the other extreme, presuming on God in
the opposite sense, and so not asking at all! Is this what James means when he
complains that “you do not have because you do not ask” (Jas 4:2)? Even if God’s
action does not demand that we pray, God often only acts if we do. The prosperity
emphasis, as any heresy, has emerged as a reaction to a lack in the church, but
has over-reacted. But by its emergence, a more balanced and correct belief can
develop.
It must be observed at this point that even if this were the case, Christians
have usually felt that prayer is still worth doing. Even if they feel that God is
totally omniscient, and therefore their prayer cannot actually achieve anything,
and that in any case God already knows, many still pray. After all, if the essence of
salvation is having a relationship with God, that relationship is not just something
static, but, as any relationship, is always developing, always needs nurturing;
that needs communication, and communication is far more than just imparting
information. The fact of unanswered prayer is irrelevant when the key feature is
relational (Barry 1987:71). Any married couple knows full well that one highly
significant aspect of the relationship is the speaking to each other which is totally
incidental to giving information. The closest relationship that we know of is the

102 Have This Mind
bond of marriage, and many couples testify to knowing each other so intimately
that they hardly need verbal communication. They do not need to express their
love; it is known. Quite often they do not need to ask the other for something;
the need is known, and more than likely already met, without a word being said.
Telling one’s partner something new must actually be quite a small part of what is
said. This must be the case with a relationship even more intimate, that with God;
this point is made particularly clear in the exercise of glossolalia, when the one who
is speaking really has no idea at all what is being said. If prayer is relational, the
telling is secondary (Barry 1987:15).
Prayer necessary due to kenōsis
However, even if these thoughts still make praying worthwhile, the basic point
remains that just because God knows before we ask, what is being done is nonsense,
that intercessory prayer is really unnecessary. Or is it? I want to suggest that the
answer to this lies in the idea of the kenōsis of God. This has indeed provided a
solution to the issue for some without questioning omniscience; one traditional
suggestion is that God has consistently limited himself by acting through people
for the extension of his kingdom, and, very significantly, has usually chosen to act
only when people pray (Hallesby 1948:127).
Particularly if prayer is essentially an aspect of the relationship between God
and the Christian, it would then naturally be connected with the means by which
that relationship was established, which was by the kenōsis of Christ. Salvation was
enabled by the incarnation of the second Person, then by his death on the cross,
both of which are kenotic in nature. In fact, the main kenōsis passage, Philippians
2:5f, is usually understood as a hymn, so a prayer; Taylor (1972:214) also suggests
that it is the result of a prophecy, so again an aspect of God’s communication with
people.
Moreover, if kenōsis also includes God’s deliberately limiting his knowledge
of us, so that it is in fact necessary for us to tell him of our desires, then prayer
is more reasonable. It makes a lot more sense to pray if it is really a matter of
communicating what we need to God. If he has indeed chosen not to know our
inward thoughts so that he is in fact unaware of what we need and want, then it is
necessary to tell God, or he simply will not know. If the privacy of our thoughts is
something that is real, because God has given us freedom, then we do need to pray.
Indeed, it is because of kenōsis that prayer is necessary at all, for God has limited
his manifestation to the world to give it freedom. This of course immediately

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suggests that human response is similarly kenotic, and also, incidentally, that God
may well limit his response to our prayers, even refuse them; perhaps in many
cases that is an act of love for us! As P T Forsyth once observed, God’s refusals are
often his real answers (Foster 2000:194). C S Lewis once remarked that we would
be in a mess if God answered all our silly prayers (Foster 2000:194)!
I visit the local prison once a month to conduct a service for the inmates. I
like to do quite a lot of singing, and present a short message usually based on a
visual aid. [I have also published a collection of these talks, which have had a lot
of exposure in schools and churches as well as in prisons (Williams 2002).] But
my concern is also to be practical; I do not just want to inform, or even just to
worship, but I believe strongly that my faith is effective, that God does help us
in our lives if we are his children. This means that God does answer prayer, and
so I want the prisoners to bring their needs to him in faith. But how to do this?
I cannot pray for each person individually, nor do I feel that people want to spill
out their inner desires and problems before everybody else. And yet, we do need
to ask.…
So what I do is to urge anybody who has a particular need to bring to God to
raise their hands while all our heads are bowed in prayer. I tell the prisoners that
by raising their hands they are asking God to look into their hearts and to see
their needs. I am affirming that God is able to see our inward thought, but usually
respects our privacy, and does not intrude; however, he can and does if we ask
him. In this way the prayers of all who want are brought to God without a word
being said. And so many people have testified that God has indeed responded to
the prayers that they have offered in this way.
This suggests a reason for the spiritual gift of glossolalia, speaking in tongues.
This is usually understood as prayer to God, bypassing the mind, and expressing
what is too deep for people; Romans 8:26, the “sighs too deep for words”, is often
felt to refer to this. It only has cognitive value, so able to communicate and edify,
if it is interpreted (1 Cor 14:28). What it does do is to give assurance of real
communication with God. It is here that there is also a further connection with
kenōsis, as the speaker must yield control of the voice in order to speak in this
way.
However, it has proved quite difficult to understand why God should give
such an endowment as it seems pointless to utter sounds that the speaker does
not understand; indeed, many have suggested that it is not real, particularly after
the apostolic period. Glossolalia, speaking in tongues is then an indication that
the speaker has also yielded access to the mind, so that the Spirit can be aware of
the needs of the worshipper. Accepting the gift, as an act of freedom, is effectively

104 Have This Mind
permission to God to search the mind, which he otherwise limits himself from
doing, respecting the freedom of the individual. This also indicates that glossolalia
is indeed a sign of commitment, so of sanctification, even if the original Pentecostal
view that tongues is a sign of a “second blessing” is not tenable. Paul states in 1
Corinthians 14:22 that it has value as a sign, but there is no hint that what was
said actually communicated. Although he refers there to its value to non-believers,
it can also function as a sign to believers; a person receiving utterance from the
Spirit knows that he or she is actually praying, communicating to God, and not
just speaking into the air.
This suggestion then clarifies the enigmatic reference to tongues in 1 Corinthians
13:8: “as for tongues, they will cease”. A common suggestion has been that this
refers to the time of the completion of the canon, when “the perfect comes” (1 Cor
13:10) (eg Budgen 1985:73f). This suggestion has the added attraction to some
that any later prophecy can in no way add anything to the revelation in scripture.
However, others understand the reference is to the parousia, the “second coming”
of Christ. This latter is consistent with the connection of glossolalia with kenōsis,
for at the time of the second coming, kenōsis will come to an end. Incidentally, it
may just be observed that while open theism treats the future as indeterminate,
it does usually hold that God still intervenes in the world, so that some future
events can be treated as certain. Prophecy will then be fulfilled, which includes
a statement such as that of 1 Corinthians 13:8, and also the expectation of the
parousia. Helpfully, Woolmer (1997:81) suggests that praying cannot affect the
ultimate future, but it can change the process by which it comes.
But, and of utmost importance, a connection between prayer and kenōsis
means that even though God has indeed chosen to limit himself, this is not an
inherent limitation in God, but a restriction that he has laid upon himself for the
sake of our real freedom. This means that if he wants to, he can indeed override
that limitation, and see into our hearts. He will not do so uninvited, for that is a
negation of the freedom that he has given, but if we ask him to, then he will do it,
and so receives our prayer and may then respond to it.
It is the fact that God can still intervene that answers the problem that is so
often expressed in relation to kenōsis, the self-limitation of God. If prayer seems
pointless if God already knows what we want, it is equally pointless if God is not
able to do what we ask. This, incidentally, does not demand actual omnipotence,
but adequate power; in fact even creating does not require infinite power, simply
because the universe is not itself infinite. Likewise, omniscience is not necessarily
infinite, but the ability to know all there is. This is not an irrelevant distinction
as infinite ability cannot be limited without losing its essential characteristic of

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infinity; adequate knowledge, on the contrary, is restrictable without any essential
change in God’s nature. However, on the contrary, the limitation of God is a selfimposed
restriction, which he is totally able to leave aside if he so desires. Rather,
aspects of his attributes which do not affect the free will of people need not be
restricted. An example of this in relation to omniscience is that God’s knowledge,
unlike that of people is both immediate, so there is no delay in being able to
remember anything, and distinct, so that there is no confusion. The latter is
relevant to prayer, insofar as God would not grant a request to the wrong person!
It has after all happened in human circles that a person has even undergone the
wrong operation in a hospital. Even more relevant is the aspect of simultaneity,
whereby God can be aware of many things at once (I sometimes remark that this
is one of God’s maternal characteristics!). Its application to prayer is not so much
of knowledge, but that God is able to attend to several prayers offered at the same
time, which is actually a common practice in African churches.
The way in which God limits himself can be seen by means of the example of
a very common reason for coming to God in prayer, that of sickness. In general
God allows the ordinary action of viruses and bacteria, the possibility of accidents
and of deliberate injury. These are all the result of the sort of world that God
created, and are possible because God has given it at least a measure of freedom.
Of course God just not want to see people suffer due to the effect of any of these,
but even more importantly, he does not want to over-ride the freedom which he
gave to the world. They continue, not because God inherently cannot deal with
them, but because he respects his gift of freedom to people, who must then really
experience the results of that freedom.
But then if people, in their freedom, ask for God to act, there is no inherent
reason why he should not, and if he chooses, he may well act outside the bounds
of normal happenings. In this case, healing which is inexplicable by any other
way than the action of God may well occur. God has transcended his own selflimitation,
which he has the ability to do. Kenōsis is not an inherent limitation in
God; he is not unable to help; miracles are possible.
This means that God does respond to our praying, that things are different
due to our prayer. This affirmation has caused hesitation, as it implies that
God changes, and also that God has to some extent yielded his sovereignty to
our desires. Spurgeon wrote that prayer is able to bend omnipotence (Foster
2000:242). It may be observed that even such a staunch upholder of the idea
of God’s sovereignty as Pink accepted such an idea (Wilson 2001:63); in fact
there is no suggestion that prayer in any sense forces God to do what he would
not want (Killinger 1981:74). Boyd (2001:239) holds that prayer is effective;

106 Have This Mind
he suggests that it adds to the likelihood of events. Indeed, it is commonly felt
that the Greek idea of a static immutability is not consistent with the Biblical
witness, so that immutability rather be understood in the sense of faithfulness and
consistency (Pinnock 2001:76). Because people change, God has to change in his
relationship to them. Effectively, he has to change to be unchanging! Prayer, at
least intercessory prayer, is a request for God to act outside of the normal limits
which he has imposed upon himself. Nevertheless, God’s answer will always be
within limits, it is always kenotic; for example he would not do what is sinful.
Jesus did indicate that even mountains could be moved in response to prayer
(Matt 21:21), which indicates that the limitation is perhaps less than we often
assume, but there will still be limitation. Prayer is then asking God to change
within the limits that he has set himself. The future may not be fixed in detail, but
the possibilities are still restricted.
A further example of this is the matter of salvation. In the normal course of
events it just does not happen, for “the wages of sin is death” (Rom 6:23), and “all
have sinned” (Rom 3:23). As a consequence of human freedom, all are naturally
lost. But again, if we freely choose, God transcends that limitation, and grants
something that people in themselves do not naturally have. Only God is by nature
eternal (1 Tim 6:16), and so people naturally die. That is unless God chooses to
act otherwise, which he will do if he is asked. We negate our freedom by asking
God to negate his self-limitation, which he is so graciously happy to do!
Indeed, that is what God was doing in Jesus. Whereas he had limited himself
in the act of creation, he did not want to just ignore the world that he had made,
but acted to solve that need. But this action was consistent with his kenōsis; hence
Jesus acted himself in kenōsis. And when we pray, we are in effect asking God to
act further.
Why otherwise would Jesus pray? We are not speaking just of a religious
man, trying to obey God and to teach others about him, we are speaking of God
himself, the second Person of the Trinity, one who has a closer relationship to his
Father than we can conceive of. It is easy to assume that because Jesus was the Son
of God, he did not need to pray (Knowles 1985:41). Such as a Luther or a Francis
of Assisi prayed, but Jesus said, “Did you not know that I am in my Father and
my Father is in me?” (Jn 14:11). What human friendship, or blood relationship,
can even claim to approach such intimacy?
So was he only praying as a lesson for us, doing something just for our benefit,
providing an example? That would surely not be consistent with the character of
Jesus. This would be docetism, rightly rejected by the early Church. His praying
was no sham, but a genuine exercise, essential for him.

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The fact that he prayed must then mean that he was really communicating
with God, really informing him, and that if he had not done that, what happened
would have turned out differently. In this case, for him, prayer must have been
constant, as he needed to constantly relate to the Father, to receive from him
constantly. This is part of what is meant by perichōrēsis, the interaction of the
Persons of the Trinity, their constant giving and receiving from each other.
Not only is prayer the natural result of the relationship with God that the
Spirit produces, but it has been suggested that prayer becomes a very participation
in the life of the Godhead itself, a relationship itself enabled by the Spirit (Taylor
1972:226). As adopted children, what we are doing is sharing in the praying of
Jesus (Taylor 1972:226); we participate in perichōrēsis; we have access to God in
his access (Wyon 1962:40). This is in itself kenotic, as perichōrēsis is a kenotic
act. Prayer is then participation in God (Leech 1980:8); it is then “something in
which we join” (Wyon 1962:33). “Our prayer is only true prayer to the degree in
which it is one with His” (Father Andrew, in Wyon 1962:32). Indeed, it is not
going too far to assert that “None of your prayers is ever answered. Only God’s
prayers are answered” (Glenn Clark, in Wyon 1962:86).
In his kenōsis through his incarnation Jesus was especially dependent on God;
he needed to receive from him, and to do so constantly. Here Origen, the great
theologian of Arius’ native Alexandria, had realised that the generation of the Son
from the Father was not at a point in time, which would indeed be subordination,
but was an eternal process. The Son constantly received. Thus in both his divinity
and humanity, Jesus was dependent constantly on the Father; an attitude of
constant thankfulness was therefore appropriate, a perpetual acknowledgement
that pertains also to our inherent limitation. “Even though Jesus lived a perfect
life, he did so only by looking to his Father for guidance and strength at each step”
(Knowles 1985:40), the very method that we can use. The fact that he prayed is
perhaps the best reason for us to do likewise (Wyon 1962:36). The constancy of
his communication with God likewise shows our need to pray without ceasing
(1 Thess 5:17). Clement of Alexandria said that the perfect Christian lived in
perpetual communion with God (Le Bruyns 2001:80), an echo of this, the shortest
verse in the Bible (in Greek), and perhaps a reaction to the growth of liturgy.
Moreover, much of our praying shares his motive. He became incarnate
to identify with needy humanity; praying followed from that. Jesus’ priority
was humanity; what of our’s? Nédoncelle (1962:32) believes that prayer is an
expression of a dominant desire, so a good way of assessing priorities. Praying for
others involves putting ourselves in their situation, feeling their needs (Knowles
1985:22).

108 Have This Mind
Prayer effective through kenōsis
If the reality of prayer is due to God’s kenōsis, it should not be surprising that
our response is similarly of kenōsis. It must not be forgotten that the context of
Philippians 2 is that we follow Christ’s example, so if he was willing to humble
himself, so should we be. Not only is praying from a desire to change things,
but “to pray is to change” (Foster 2000:5). Indeed humility is essential for real
prayer (Ravenhill 1961:148); prayer is a yielding of control (Foster 2000:8). On
the contrary, pride hinders it (eg Is 58:1-5). The reason for this is that kenōsis
enhances the relationship that is at the heart of prayer; a good relation with others
enhances the relation with God, and vice versa. “The best disposition for praying
is that of being desolate, forsaken, stripped of everything” (Augustine, in Knowles
1985:54). Augustine also said that God gives where he can find empty hands
(Foster 2000:199). Perhaps we tend to resist the idea of God’s self-limitation
not just out of respect for God, but also because it implies that in imitation of
him we should also limit ourselves. Real prayer must be costly (Wyon 1962:62).
One example of this is fasting; this may well be unfashionable today, but it has
frequently been an accompaniment for intense prayer (Hallesby 1948:93f). Even
if the Hebrew word can just mean submission, fasting cannot just be spiritualized
away, but in self-deprivation can express the submission of the entire person to
God, which is the heart of prayer. It has been suggested that the idea in Matthew
17:21 is a later addition to Jesus’ words (eg Spencer & Spencer 1990:102), but
the principle is surely original. The fact that it is a voluntary act reflects the selflimitation
of Jesus. For him, as for us, prayer, obedience and sacrifice are one
(Wyon 1962:40). Fasting of course involves the body; so perhaps prayer should
then include the body; it is not just a mental exercise (Ravenhill 1961:146).
Kenōsis does not mean a limitation to the mind! Even more so, prayer must not
be an emptying of the mind, a danger of the use of liturgy (Williams 2004:158);
however, glossolalia may involve this form of emptying to a degree.
More than this, it may well be suggested that even intercessory prayer that is
effective is that which originates not in the mind and heart of the one praying, but
comes from God. Prayer of this sort does change things; it is not just the power of
thought (as Jackson 1968:113). It is surely not a method of transmitting energy,
as Killinger (1981:74) suggests, which would be magic, but a loving fatherly
response to his children. It is prayer in his name, in accordance with his will (1 Jn
5:14), that will be answered. John 15:7 is not just a blanket promise for any whim
(Baughen 1981:31), but “in his name” means “according to his will” (Spencer &
Spencer 1990:93). Thus even Jesus’ prayer, that in Gethsemane, was unanswered

Praying in kenōsis
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(Macleod 1998:176). The faith that makes prayer effective (Mk 11:24) is not
a psychological endowment, not a “positive confession”, but a response to
the will of God. This means that “Being aware of the presence of God is the
beginning of prayer” (Topping 1981:9); effective prayer is in the awareness of real
communication (Barry 1987:16). It is then that it can become authoritative; there
is a place for spiritual warfare (Foster 2000:244f). Prayer is answered when our
desires are placed secondary to those of God, when our will is emptied, so we pray
in accordance with God’s desire. Prayer is removing the hindrances that we have
put there (Macquarrie 1978:45). This may well explain the otherwise enigmatic
idea of agreement for effective praying (Matt 18:18); this is not just a matter of
two prayers being stronger than one, and definitely not a magical formula, but any
agreement with another must involve a degree of self-limitation to accommodate
the other. It will probably also involve the moderation, so limitation, of what is
requested, when it is subject to the ears of another person! Thus effective prayer
requires our submission to God; indeed, very often, the result of prayer is to change
us, not God (Knowles 1985:22). Kierkegaard described prayer as a struggle with
God, in which we win when God is victorious (Nédoncelle 1962:79); effectively
when we acknowledge our need. Jesus’ kenōsis was to “the form of a servant” (Phil
2:7); our action in prayer is as slaves to God, so in obedience to him.
At the very least it takes effort; prayer is then not something to be rushed into
lightly; it takes time, just as any relationship (Baughen 1981:43, 70). It requires
some giving up of other activities; so praying is a form of kenōsis! Not only is prayer
because of service, but it is service; Nédoncelle (1962:viii) cites the assessments of
Maistre, that the value of a civilization rests on the quality of its prayer, and of
Toynbee, that it is the only foundation for human brotherhood. This of course
applies particularly to the Church.
Just as for Jesus, the heart of our praying is an acceptance of our own kenōsis,
that we are limited, that we need God’s help. Prayer is something that we naturally
turn to when we are conscious of our own inadequacy, that we need help from
outside our strength. We often fail to pray just because we are not even conscious
of our own inadequacy, or are too proud! Knowles (1985:22) asserts that the
greater part of prayer is in learning how to receive. If we, as human beings, could
grasp something of the total omnipotence of God, and at the same time, our
impotence, it will then drive us to pray. We cannot save ourselves, and we cannot
even exist in this world independently of God’s provision. For people aware of
utter dependence on God, prayer must become a way of life (Topping 1981:16).
Perhaps nobody else could ever be so aware of the contrast between the power that
Jesus had as a human being, and the divine power that he had limited in order to

110 Have This Mind
be human. He knew, as none other, the need of his Father’s help. It is because he
knew God’s power and wisdom that he prayed (Fosdick 1960:78).
But contrary to popular belief, prayer is not primarily to receive, which is
essentially a pagan idea (Hallesby 1948:125). Jesus after all had everything
available to him. It is rather a giving, a yielding, conformity to the mind of God.
The kenōsis of Jesus was not for his gain (Phil 2:6), except insofar as it was a
gain of a fuller relationship with humanity. As kenōsis, prayer is then a liberation
from isolation, a finding of one’s real self (Leech 1980:6). Paradoxically, the aim
of prayer is not the benefit of the one praying, but the transformation of life to
God (Wyon 1962:147), which is then for the benefit of the one praying! In a real
sense, prayer is an instrument to wholeness (Jackson 1968:54). In Augustine’s
well-known words, “our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee”.
Is this after all not the purpose of Christ’s own kenōsis? He went through all
that agony not only for us, but also that he might gain the fullness of those in
relation with him, the completion, or wholeness of his body. Kenōsis, after all, led
finally to glorification and exaltation!

8
Charismata and sanctification by
kenōsis
At first sight, the receipt of the gifts of the Spirit, the charismata, described mainly
in 1 Corinthians 12 and 14, seems to counterproductive to the attitude of selflimitation,
kenōsis. Surely one reason behind the tremendous growth of churches
and groups accepting and advocating these is simply because people want the
blessings attached to them. By speaking in tongues, glossolalia, they gain the
blessing of a spiritual experience; by receiving the gift of healing, they gain power,
and inevitably influence. And this would be true of the other gifts as well.
Certainly the greatest growth in Christianity in the last century has been in
the Pentecostal movement, and the more recent variants on this, the “charismatic
movement” and the “third wave”, together accounting for over a quarter of
Christians (24% in 1992; Hummel 1993:21). All of these emphasise the work of
the Holy Spirit in the life of the individual Christian, such that the Spirit can no
longer, as was the case for centuries before, be called “neglected”, and hardly even
“self-effacing” (Ferguson 1996:186). All of these movements concentrate on the
receipt of the Spirit as a distinct experience as the key to the Christian life, and
see this resulting in the exercise of gifts, the charismata, such as prophecy, healing,
and most controversially, tongues, glossolalia. Worship, they say, now becomes
vital and exciting, as God is experienced in new ways. A Christian can now “live”,
not merely “exist” (Frost 1971:40). Pentecostal experience, specifically the gifts,
are sought because of their benefit to the Christian.
Yet I want to suggest that the opposite is true, that each of the gifts is actually
exercised by self-limitation, and should lead to increased humility in kenōsis. It
would incidentally follow that if a person was seeking a gift simply due to the
desire to receive, then the Holy Spirit in his wisdom and sovereignty may well
choose not to bestow it. This is perhaps particularly true of the gift of healing,
111

112 Have This Mind
for a person who has received this will automatically be sought after, will become
influential and powerful; the temptation to pride will be enormous, totally
antithetical to the humility that is the counterpart of kenōsis. Ignatius spoke of the
need to restrain the gift with humility (Kelsey 1981:36). It is surely no accident
that the experience of Jesus, when he was filled with the Spirit, was at his baptism,
for this is among other things an acknowledgement of the need of grace, so a
yielding, and a humbling. The older term “baptism in the Spirit” as used by early
Pentecostals has fallen out of favour for exegetical reasons (cf Williams 2004:75);
this is perhaps a shame when alternative terms such as “filling” or “second blessing”
have more a nuance of getting rather than of submission.
It is not my intention here to evaluate the genuineness of either the traditional
charismata or the more recent phenomena such as “slaying in the Spirit”, in which
a person being prayed over collapses onto the floor, or the “Toronto blessing”,
in which worshippers exhibit uncontrollable laughter and movements, as I have
done this elsewhere (Williams 2004:171f). I would just repeat the comment that
I made there that the existence of a theological explanation for them can then
support the assertion that the experiences are valid, and a genuine result of the
activity of the Holy Spirit. Of course this cannot prove that they are, but it does
make it more likely. Here, the suggestion that the charismata relate to kenōsis does
provide such an explanation.
It must be stressed that even if the phenomena can be explained, this does
not mean that they are necessarily correct or even healthy. In particular, even
a heightened relationship with God may be questioned if it results in excessive
individualism, the pursuit of the experience for the benefit of the worshipper, and
so in selfishness. Such a charge could be validly levelled against the early hermits
and monks. What can well be said to be happening is that the action of the Spirit
is concentrated on in only one aspect of relationship, to the possible neglect of
others. This is a possibility as the Spirit does not force. Perhaps this is one reason
why tongues will cease (1 Cor 13:8), when relationships become more complete
in the reversal of kenōsis. Rather, in addition to an increased relation to God, the
fruit of the presence of the Spirit should result in greater awareness of others, of
increased love and care for them (Gal 5:22). It may be wondered if this latter is
the case, whether such phenomena as the Toronto blessing and “slaying” would
in fact occur.
There are still some who believe that the exercise of the gifts ceased with
the apostles, a belief known as “cessationism” (cf Gaffin 1996:35f). Pinnock
(1996:133) scathingly calls this belief “self-fulfilling”! Rejection is particularly the
case when these include “slaying in the Spirit” or the “Toronto blessing”. They

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insist that people have received the Spirit simply by becoming Christians, citing
such texts as Romans 8:9, because the work of the Spirit is essential for somebody
to be a Christian at all. However, Pentecostals and Charismatics uniformly
believe that this work of the Spirit is not the end of the matter, but that there is a
subsequent work that he does which enables the receipt of the gifts and a deeper
experience of God.
This belief is very compatible with an understanding of salvation that sees it
enabled by union with the experiences of Christ. So just as a Christian received
forgiveness by identifying with the death of Christ on the cross, then eternal life
and the assurance of resurrection by participating in the resurrection of Jesus, so
a person also participates in Pentecost. Despite Ferguson (1996:86), it is felt that
the latter experience, just as the former, may be shared in by the Christian.
The identification with Christ for salvation is marked by baptism in water,
which very appropriately symbolises the various aspects of what salvation means.
In particular, it reflects union with Christ, as indeed Paul outlines it in Romans
6:1-4). The very word “baptise” is appropriate as it is used in dyeing, where a
garment is put into the dye and the dye enters the garment, a parallel to the
relationship between the believer and Christ. The terminology was then extended
to the experience of the Spirit subsequent to conversion. Originally, Pentecostalism
believed that the Spirit was received in a distinct event subsequent to conversion,
which they commonly called the “second blessing”, and more usually, the “baptism
in the Holy Spirit”, quite justifiably taking this terminology from Acts 1:5, and
seeing it as similar to that of the disciples on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2:1f).
They also supported this from several incidents in the book of Acts, and even
from that of Jesus himself, who received the Spirit at his baptism.
It is here that the experience fell foul of Biblical exegesis, as many have shown
that the term “baptism in the Spirit” refers only to conversion and not to a second
experience (Hoekema 1972:23). This traditional Pentecostal terminology has
therefore come under criticism, especially by such as Dunn (1970), who argues
that Biblical reference to such a baptism is to Christian initiation, and so not
to a second experience. It is simply another metaphor for becoming a Christian
(Lederle 1988:68). There are also several other problems with describing
the experience in this way (Williams 2004:76). The questioning of the term
“baptism” has, however, only resulted in the search for alternative terms, simply
because of the dynamism of the experience itself. Even if the experience was often
not understood, its legitimacy was not questioned (Lederle 1988:38). The early
Pentecostal tendency was to base their teaching on experience rather than on
exegesis (Atkinson 2003:50, citing Hocken), but this only means that the use of

114 Have This Mind
the term was wrong, not of course that the validity of the experience is doubted.
There are just too many people who have experienced dramatic post-conversion
experiences to simply write them all off as spurious. Is it adequate to assert that
“the New Testament assumption is that all Christians are in the full experiential
flow of the Spirit’s life and power” (Smail 1975:42)? There has therefore been a
need for alternative terminology to describe the second experience. The issue is
the experience, not its name (Oss 1996:240).
Filling
Perhaps the one term which is most appropriate is that of “filling”, which is after
all the other term used on the day of Pentecost itself. It is often felt that the Spirit
is indeed received at conversion, but “he does not come into one’s life in His
totality until the time of the Spirit-baptism” (Hoekema 1972:10). Indeed, it may
well be argued that Acts does not really support the idea of a “second blessing”,
but only repeated fillings (Lederle 1988:65, following Bruner). This is the belief
of the current successors to the Charismatic movement of the 1960’s, the “third
wave” (Storms 1996:176); Williams writes, contrasting with the uniqueness of the
incarnation, that the coming of the Spirit at Pentecost was the first of an unlimited
number (in Gaffin 1996:33). It is noticeable that a writer such as Deere (1993),
with such a strong advocacy of the charismata, never relates these to the “baptism”.
He was influenced by Wimber, who also does not teach this (Bridge & Phypers
1995:173). It may also be suggested that even if there is such an experience, this
may be seen as the initial of a series of “fillings”. A post-conversion “baptism” is a
new “filling” (Ferguson 1996:236). Hummel (1993:52) cites Mark 7:4 as evidence
that baptism is not simply an initial experience. Thus, as Smail (1975:40) points
out, a new experience of the Spirit does not have to be interpreted as a “second
blessing”. Thus even if Hoekema (1972:81) denies the “baptism”, he does affirm
the need of “filling”, which can be a momentary experience.
Indeed, Acts does not really support the idea of a “second blessing”, but only
repeated fillings (Lederle 1988:65, following Bruner). Ephesians 5:18 uses the
term in a command, where the Greek implies that this should be a continual
or a repeated experience. The first is then only unique as initial, and could be
concurrent with conversion. This would match the common life experience of
growth, which does occur as a process, but with a series of crises; such as, in
the case of plants, breaking soil, or for people, puberty (cf Hummel 1993:247).
Discovering and using a gift may be a significant step, even seen as a crisis in that

Charismata and sancti cation by kenōsis
115
process (Bridge & Phypers 1995:169), comparable to the “crisis” of the “second
blessing”. Hoekema (1972:90), following Stott, then also points out that the
experience of filling will be different, depending on the amount of progress that
has been made in the process of sanctification; the example used is of lungs, which
require a different amount of air to fill them if they belong to a baby or an adult.
Filling is then not a once for all experience, as has been taught in Pentecostalism
(Bruner 1970:71), but a step along the way, although it is likely that each
filling does leave a lasting effect. It may be suggested that calling the first postconversion
experience a “baptism” has then given the impression, as was the
case in Pentecostalism, that it was once-for-all, with a permanent result (Bruner
1970:70). This led people to a feeling of having arrived, with no need to seek
further “fillings”, and so the possibility, even the probability, of a gradual loss
of spiritual vitality. Rather the implication of Ephesians 5:18 is of a repeated
experience, a constant renewal.
Each experience of “filling” could then be accompanied by the possibility of
glossolalia, as was possibly the case in Acts, although again this need not necessarily
be the case. At the same time it can well be that the manifestation of the charismata
may be in a state of fullness, but equally maybe not. Certainly it is hard to argue
that the Corinthians were always fully filled. Is there then such a thing as full
charismata, such as authoritative prophecy (2 Pet 1:21), which is then completely
the word of God, and also their manifestation without being filled, which would
then lack authority as it would include the human input? Also important for
traditional Pentecostal theology is the possible implication that if the “baptism”
is simply the first in a series of “fillings”, then there should be no fundamental
difference between the first and subsequent experiences of glossolalia, the first
being a proof of the “baptism”, the subsequent a gift. This would of course explain
the apparent differences between Acts 2 and 1 Corinthians, but if there are in fact
real differences, these may equally have arisen from the necessary uniqueness of
the former situation.
Even if the term “filling” is the best description, what does this mean in terms
of the Spirit, who is essentially immaterial? Perhaps some answer to this question
can be found by looking at the effect of the experience. Pentecostals, and their
spiritual descendents in the Charismatic movement and “third wave” associate the
experience with the receipt of the “gifts of the Spirit”, the charismata. As a result of
the “filling of the Spirit”, a Christian receives one or more gifts, such as speaking
in tongues, the ability to heal, or to prophesy. Some groups have then said that the
manifestation of these, especially the first, is the proof of the “baptism”, although
this is widely doubted, especially on the basis of texts such as 1 Corinthians 12:30.

116 Have This Mind
This puts the emphasis on power, and indeed it is fairly clear that the gifts are to
be associated with this. This was after all why the disciples were told to wait in
Jerusalem for the descent of the Spirit (Acts 1:8). Bruner (1970:73) notes that
Pentecostals do not connect the “baptism” with salvation, but with power for
service. Hummel (1993:88) is typical in his belief that the charismata are given for
service; justification is Christ for us, sanctification is Christ in us, and the gifts are
Christ through us. Indeed the Holy Spirit may well be expected to make the lives
of those that he fills more “whole”, more complete, more powerful. An example is
that it is testified that the “blessing” gives liberation from the power of sin and of
addiction (O’Connor 1971:160).
Certainly the gifts do have this function, as is particularly clear in the lists in
Romans and Ephesians; 1 Corinthians 12:5 also speaks of “varieties of service”.
The stress in the latter is however on the members of the Church, with their
individual giftings, working together, and so it is clear that the gifts are not so
much given for individual empowering, but for the effectiveness of the body.
In particular, although it was felt at an early stage that tongues were given in
order to communicate the gospel in other languages, this idea has generally been
discounted (Kelsey 1981:151) despite the incident on the Day of Pentecost.
Atkinson (2003:50) records the disappointment of some of the early Pentecostals
who discovered to their chagrin that this was just not the case. The closest is Paul’s
belief that tongues can well be a sign to unbelievers (1 Cor 14:22), but there
is no hint that these actually communicated. Laurentin (1977:85) even records
a tradition that Peter used interpreters and notes that Paul did not understand
Lycaonian (Acts 14:11f). Bennett and Bennett (1974:101) stress that it is a gift,
so the choice of language is outside of the speaker’s control, and may in fact never
be repeated. Nevertheless, of course, all the gifts will make the ministry of the
Church more effective, both by empowering the workers, and, as with healing,
complementing the spoken good news with action. Bruner (1970:139) reminds
us that the gifts have a function of signs (cf 1 Cor 14:22). Certainly this was what
Jesus was doing at the depths of his kenōsis; “I, when I am lifted up from the earth,
will draw all men to myself” (Jn 12:32). Likewise this is one role of Christians,
in their role as witnesses, even martyrs. Pinnock (1996:90) sees martyrdom as a
charism of the Spirit. A kenotic life, as for example that of Francis of Assisi, has
been a powerful witness for Christ, as so extraordinary.
However, what may be queried is the nature of this power, what the Spirit
gives to a Christian that makes him or her more effective. The most obvious and
natural answer, that seems unquestionable, is that the Spirit empowers by giving
a person extra abilities. A person receives the gift of glossolalia, or of healing, or

Charismata and sancti cation by kenōsis
117
of prophecy, and is thereby empowered. A further possibility is that what the
Spirit does is to take an ordinary human ability and enhance it, or perhaps bring
into operation something that was there, but latently. Interestingly O’Connor
(1971:156) suggests that sometimes the “blessing” affects people who were
basically good already, giving them depth and vitality. Bittlinger feels that a gift
operates in and through, but also beyond, natural abilities (Hummel 1993:90).
The conception is always positive, of something possessed that was not there
before. Such an idea is very much in keeping with the materialism that is such a
part of the western world-view. Even the Spirit himself is commonly thought of
as a “thing to be received”, an extra possession that will then add to the power of
the one possessing him.
As if the Spirit, God himself, could possibly be possessed! The view is
tantamount to making the Spirit a thing to be used, a tool, and Christianity
becomes in danger of becoming Baalism, a religion adopted because of what
benefit it gives. One manifestation of this is the so-called “prosperity teaching”. In
fact it is the connection between the Spirit and power that leads to the possibility
of perversion, for “power corrupts”. At the same time, the experience of a “second
blessing” was naturally attractive when understood as empowering in itself, but
could result in feelings of being “super-Christians”, of pride and even loss of effect.
This may be seen in a dramatic way in the church of Corinth, where the practice
of the gifts led to pride and to division, a situation repeated in countless modern
churches where some have come into a Pentecostal experience. Rather the issue
should be how far the Spirit possesses us (Williams 1971:19)!
However, the idea of filling can be understood in various ways. Perhaps the one
which comes most readily to mind is as when a person’s plate is full, or to bring in
the idea of power, when a fuel tank is full, or a battery is fully charged. But it can
also carry the sense of “overwhelming”, such as when a shopping bag is full, but
it has to be carried. In contrast to this, another picture has been suggested, which
connects with the idea of baptism. Here Frost (1971:39) notes that the word
“baptise” can be used of a deluge from above, a meaning accepted as possible by
Turner (1996:28), who however feels that a less dramatic meaning is more likely.
It then carries the sense of “overwhelming” (Lederle 1988:158, citing Cassidy,
who follows Watson). Frost pictures a ship sinking due to this deluge. In this case
it becomes immersed in water, but that occurs because it has become filled, and
at the same time, in practice, this immersion is only possible when it is filled.
Interestingly, when the boat became filled with fish (Lk 5:7, the verb mainly used
for the filling with the Spirit, as in Luke 1:15,41,67, and Acts 2:4, 4:8 etc), it
began to sink! The filling is also possible due to water coming from above. The

118 Have This Mind
descriptions in Acts would indicate that the Spirit comes upon a person, but the
result of this can well be that of being filled (Acts 2:3,4). This understanding has
obvious significance for the idea of kenōsis, for the result is a loss of power, not a
gain!
In this case, although the “filling” is commonly thought of as the reception of
power (eg Smail 1975:40), its heart is rather something else, and that empowering
is a result of this. This is close to the view of Guthrie, who sees the Acts 2
experience itself not as empowering, but to give an experience of conversion
(Hummel 1993:270).
After the New Testament period, there was a gradual decline in the charismata,
but then they reappeared from time to time in Christian history; Foster (2000:144)
says that they have appeared in nearly every generation. An early example of
this was in Montanism, which has “striking similarity at almost every point” to
modern Pentecostalism (Bruner 1970:36). The latter can be traced back to the
nineteenth century American holiness movement, which in its turn came from
Wesley’s Methodism (Bruner 1970:37). Wesley’s view was that the Montanists were
genuine Christians (Budgen 1985:151, who quibbles at this assessment); he did
however dismiss some later manifestations (Budgen 1985:161). Another example
is Luther (Kelsey 1981:51, who recounts other examples from that period). The
link between all of these is the desire for holiness, which is, rather than the ecstatic
element (Bray 1979:62), what would seem to have attracted the eminent Tertullian
to Montanism. It is this, not the manifestation of power, which is the key factor.
Thus the gifts of the Spirit are given as a means to holiness; the fact that they
may well empower the preaching of the Gospel and other activity of the Church
is that through them people can either become holy in their conversion and so
justification, or in their lives become more holy, so in sanctification. Both of these
are effectively kenōsis, as salvation is a yielding of oneself, accepting what God has
done, and sanctification involves a humbling of the will in conformity to that of
God. Filling then enables sanctification (Kelsey 1981:79). “Nothing hinders faith
and the operation of the Spirit as much as the self-assertiveness of the human
spirit … the self-sufficiency of the human mind” (Budgen 1985:185). The gifts
are given not for the sake of power, but in response to a desire for holiness, for
kenōsis.

Sanctification
Charismata and sancti cation by kenōsis
119
Michael Harper, who as many others equates the ideas of filling and the baptism,
indeed highlights a significant nuance of the former term which is lacked by the
latter, that it has ethical implications (Lederle 1988:157). This then restores one
of the original meanings of the experience, relating it to sanctification. Whereas
it was natural for Pentecostalism to become excited over the reception of power,
such as in healing or prophecy, the Holy Spirit also sanctifies; indeed these
two aspects, relating to the two parts of the title “Holy Spirit” should not be
divorced. Rather the evidence of the presence of the Spirit is to be seen in the
quality of life, in sanctification by the Spirit, the manifestation of the so-called
“fruit” (Gal 5:22), where the implication of the term is that they would appear
naturally. In fact, the original Pentecostalism made a definite connection between
the “baptism” and holiness, “an emphasis on holiness linked to power, rooted
in a subsequent experience of the Spirit” (Hudson 2003:39). This was a link
that was lost in neo-Pentecostalism, where the stress rather was on empowering,
which then emphasised the charismata, or gifts for service (Sproul 1990:138),
with the danger of concentrating on the experiences themselves and neglecting
the reason for them. Nevertheless, any experience of the Holy Spirit should result
in increased holiness, although not perfection. Some Christian traditions indeed
recognise a second experience, but do not connect this so definitely with the Spirit.
In fact such a teaching is not novel to the twentieth century, but “it cannot be denied
that throughout church history there has been a line of teaching which has favoured
a twofold work of the Holy Spirit expressed in a variety of ways” (Bridge & Phypers
1995:130, who cite such as Tertullian and Augustine). Although seen as due to the
Spirit, the stress has fallen on sanctification, personal improvement in life. It is this
observation that may well also clarify the nature of the “second blessing”, for there
are distinct strands of Christian teaching which advocate full surrender, or a distinct
experience of sanctification, both of which may be seen as yielding to God. Here there
is an obvious link with the idea of kenōsis. Significantly, these may well be without
the explicit manifestation of the charismata. It was the nineteenth century Holiness
movement, so before Pentecostalism, which popularised the term “baptism of the
Spirit” (O’Connor 1971:215, Bruner 1970:43). The example of Wesley at Aldersgate
in 1738, when he felt his heart “strangely warmed”, and became greatly assured,
comes to mind here; in fact it was Wesley’s designated successor, Fletcher, who first
used the idea of the “baptism” (Lederle 1988:1). Hummel (1993:254) similarly
relates the surrender experience of Hudson Taylor in Brighton in 1865. Both clearly
were empowered by God in their subsequent ministry.

120 Have This Mind
Lederle (1988:5f) refers to a movement in Reformed theology, going back to
the Puritans, which stressed a post-conversion “sealing” of the Spirit. A modern
exponent of this is Martyn Lloyd-Jones (Hummel 1993:266). In particular, this
gives a deeper ability to pray and commune with God, so is profoundly experiential.
There is again however no link with the charismata. Jonathan Edwards saw this
as confirming true conversion, and manifests in the “outward practice of piety”;
significantly, he experienced it repeatedly (Lederle 1988:9)
The best-known example of crisis experience is Wesley’s view of perfection, “a
second transforming work of grace, distinct from, and ordinarily subsequent to the
new birth (conversion)” (Packer 1995:132). This is not, as often caricatured, the
total removal of sin, but rather a total determination to obey (Lederle 1988:10),
which results in consistent spiritual progress. Although instantaneous, it would be
preceded, and followed by a gradual work (Wesley, in Bruner 1970:324). Wesley is
particularly relevant as an “ancestor” of Pentecostalism, via the “holiness” groups.
According to Culpepper (1977:45) the dominant influence of Methodism upon
Pentecostalism was in the centring of spiritual desire on experience and especially
on an experience subsequent to conversion. Wesley preached a definite conversion
(repentance) followed by the second blessing which is the Spirit baptism (also
Kelsey 1981:71). However, his preaching had also often evoked a variety of
pronounced physical manifestations. He did believe in the manifestation of the
charisma of tongues. “Wesley made no claim to the gift of tongues for himself,
but he had no doubt that some of his contemporaries had it, nor that this gift
had found authentic expression in other post-apostolic centuries” (Culpepper
1977:43). When speaking of the gift of tongues, Wesley acknowledged that
according to his free will, God is the one who gives spiritual gifts. He once
explained that God imparted his gifts as he chose, and that in his wisdom he had
not deemed it best to bestow on Wesley himself this gift which he had granted to
some of his contemporaries (Hamilton 1975:80). As to the operation of the other
charismatic gifts, he reckoned that they had not been regular through the ages. To
account for that, Wesley remarked that “dry, formal, orthodox men had begun
to ridicule those gifts that they themselves did not possess and to decry them as
either madness or imposture” (Culpepper 1977:44). Thus although accepting the
gifts as valid, Wesley’s emphasis was on holiness.
A particular view of the idea of a second experience is associated with the English
town of Keswick, where an annual convention is still held in the beautiful setting
of the Lake District. Its original emphasis, which is today almost absent (Hummel
1993:267), was that sanctification could be received as an act of faith, just as
justification, so that rather than strive, or “work” for improvement, the Christian

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should deliberately yield to Christ’s activity in him or her (Packer 1995:145f), so
self-limit. This teaching is therefore sometimes called “full surrender”, so again is
an act of will (Lederle 1988:13). Packer (1995:152) describes it as “crisis followed
by a process”.
The “blessing” does not give instant sanctity (O’Connor 1971:172). The
Christian life is a process, an uneven progression, with sudden spurts at each filling,
but with the possibility of decline at other times. However, as regards sanctification,
most indeed, quite rightly, see it as a life-long process, contrasted with the event
of justification. This would indicate that subsequent “fillings” would not simply
return a person to the same spiritual state as at the previous one, but should result
in an improvement. A Christian battles with temptation right through life (Packer
1995:129). It must be added that the original feast of Pentecost was associated
with the Law, and also that although the immediate empowering of the disciples
at Pentecost was striking, it is perhaps more significant that the embryonic Church
was able to practise koinōnia, a significant manifestation of sanctification.
The gift of the Holy Spirit is thus to produce holiness. This is a word with
several aspects. The key Biblical nuance is of separation or distinction; here the
creation was of an entity separate from God, made possible by his kenōsis. In
this case, the response of the creation is also of kenōsis, so a self-limitation which
does not seek to control God; hence the heinousness of the desire that underlay
the first sin of seeking to be like God. Thus the Spirit gives discrete gifts (1 Cor
12:3f), which are separate but complement, which is the role of the creation in
relation to God. The attitude of a person who receives a gift is then the humility
of gratitude, the use of that gift in relation to the lordship of Christ, but also then
a self-limitation insofar as there must be a realisation that others receive other
gifts, which are not to be coveted; all of these involve self-limitation. Interestingly
there is a distinct similarity to the practice of division of labour, which has been so
successful in generating prosperity.
The usual understanding of holiness derives from this. Ethical holiness is a
separation from sin and evil. Obviously this again involves self-limitation in a
refusal to do what is wrong. At the extreme, some people wanting to be holy
have espoused asceticism as an extreme form of self-denial, although this has been
motivated also by a rejection of the value of the material. The gifts of the Spirit are
“for the common good” (1 Cor 12:7), and so that we may “grow up in every way
into him who is the head” (Eph 4:15). The goal of ethical holiness is on the one
hand Christ-likeness, and on the other harmony with others, including, of course,
Christ himself. It is to this end that the gifts are given, because sin, manifesting as
the desire to benefit self, destroys harmony.

122 Have This Mind
The third aspect of holiness embodies this, as the Holy Spirit produces
wholeness. This is the positive side which complements the negative separation
from sin. It is here that the aspect of empowerment comes in, part of fullness of
life. The Church becomes whole not only when it is functioning harmoniously,
as in Paul’s picture of the body, but when it is numerically whole. Hence the
gifting of the Spirit is for evangelism, the growth in numbers, as on the Day of
Pentecost. Those joining the Church themselves become holy. In this regard, a
person proclaiming becomes more whole through the Spirit, receiving gifts such
as apostleship, prophecy, evangelism (Eph 4:11). Paul notes the value of the gift of
tongues in evangelism (1 Cor 14:22).
As the charismata are given for holiness, they are then not given for personal
enjoyment, but as the New Testament indicates, for the edification of the
community (eg 1 Cor 14:12). O’Connor (1971:217) actually then suggests that
the communal aspect is what gives the “blessing” a particular distinctive compared
with the individualism of the traditional understanding of sanctification. The
gifts do not sanctify the recipient, but are aids for the sanctification of the
community (O’Connor 1971:189). Hummel (1993:245) observes that this
realisation distinguishes the later movements from the individualism of the
original Pentecostalism. It is the Church that serves, the whole body (1 Cor
12:4f) although individuals, members of that body, are strengthened for this by
the Spirit. Even the so-called “fruit” of the Spirit (Gal 5:22f), such as love, joy
and peace, although they are personal qualities, obviously benefit the rest of the
community by enhancing relationships. This is not to say that the charismata
are an effect of sanctification (Kelsey 1981:78), and certainly not a reward for it;
they are, after all, the result of grace. Unlike the original Pentecostalism (Bruner
1970:88, 92), neo-Pentecostalism denies any conditions such as obedience; the
“blessing” is received by faith alone (Hummel 1993:272, Frost 1971:56). This is
evidenced in the receipt of the Spirit by the three thousand on the day of Pentecost
(Hoekema 1972:34). Deere (1993:123) relates that William Duma, who received
such an evident charisma of healing, did not attribute this to personal holiness, but
from his desire to glorify God: however this must essentially be the same thing.
The Corinthian situation is a clear witness to this lack of need for sanctification.
The charismata can then occur immediately after conversion. Nevertheless, their
manifestation can well be helped by such as a developed relationship with God,
so better recognising his promptings. At the same time, their practice may well
benefit this relationship; such as glossolalia can be seen as enhanced prayer. That
is as long as they do not result in their own sort of temptation, such as to spiritual
pride, as would seem to have been the case at Corinth. It is for this reason that

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there has been some reticence, such as in Catholicism, against seeking them
(O’Connor 1971:213). Nevertheless, they should result in an increased sense of
humility, surely an aspect of sanctification.
The very name “Christian” reflects the basic point that the heart of Christianity
is a relation with Christ. In this case, this is the essence of progress in the Christian
life (Packer 1995:164); its heart is conformity to Christ. Wesley’s view was
that “true godliness is a motivating spirit of love to God” (Packer 1995:134).
For him perfection was a purified motive or desire (Hummel 1993:266), not
perfect actions. Thus essentially what the Spirit does in this transformation is to
conform the human will to that of God. “To be filled with the Spirit is to come
under progressively more intense and intimate influence of the Spirit” (Storms
1996:179). There is an alignment of the “spirit” to God, appropriately done by
the Spirit. Paul urges the Christian to “be transformed by the renewal of your
mind” (Rom 12:2), and significantly to the Corinthians, that spirituality means
that “we have the mind of Christ” (1 Cor 2:16); both texts clearly reflect the
appeal of Philippians 2. In contrast, therefore, the essence of sin is rebellion (Is
1:2), resisting the desire of God, so essentially an act of the will. Stephen’s harshest
criticism of the Jews was that they always resisted the Holy Spirit (Acts 7:51).
This implies that all post-conversion experiences, including the “second
blessing” can be understood in just the same way, as a fuller commitment to him
(Packer 1995:197,225). Christian devotion has commonly seen a full commitment
in terms of the imitation of Christ. A desire for increased dedication was at the
heart of the monastic movement, where entering an institution or renouncing the
world was a decision of devotion. This could well result in mystical experiences
(Packer 1995:198). An extreme was the reception of the stigmata, the marks of
Christ’s crucifixion.
The gift of the Spirit, which has always been connected with sanctification,
should then have the function of making the person who receives him more like
Christ. After all, the Spirit’s desire is to glorify Christ. The Spirit does not just
relate a person to Christ for salvation, but conform the Christian to his nature,
which then, as in the case of Jesus’ baptism, has the role of designating him or her
as a Christian. This is one of the functions of the charismata, as Paul points out
in 1 Corinthians 14:22, where tongues is a sign for unbelievers. These then give
assurance, which Paul suggests is one reason for his filling (Gal 3:2). The same
point is made in Hebrews 2:4 (Hoekema 1972:62, who however interprets them
as signs of apostleship, and so ceased with them). The Spirit firstly establishes a
relationship with Christ which then enables salvation. This action is characteristic
of the Spirit as the vinculum amoris, the bond of love. The eternal life that a person

124 Have This Mind
“receives” by being a Christian is actually that of God, who alone is eternal (1
Tim 6:16). Once there is a relationship, the second step deepens the relationship.
It is an important link in the relationship to Christ (Hoekema 1972:12, citing
Christenson). It then results in transformation. The relationship must transform
to some extent, as it must include repentance, but major transformation is when
the Spirit fills; the contrast is the Spirit being “in” as distinct from “with” (Jn
14:17) (Bruner 1970:70). Clearly this involves action, and especially the service of
Christ as Lord, which is done by the power of the Spirit. Just as the Spirit worked
through Christ, empowering his ministry, so he continues to work through
Christians in the Church. Although it does happen (eg Ez 37), he rarely works
without human agency. Emphatically, it is then God’s power that operates, it is
never that of the Christian.
This means that the experience of filling is the same as being a Christian, a
relationship to Christ, but more, and more than just a difference in degree. The
contrast of John 14:17, between the Spirit being “with”, or “in” is helpful, but
there are several other metaphors which can contribute, such as the difference
between being interested in a thing and being obsessed with it, the difference
between friendship and marriage, between having a drink and intoxication (Eph
5:18), being influenced and overwhelmed (baptism). 2 Peter 1:21, which is
in the context of prophecy and the production of scripture, can bear a similar
contrast, as the word is pherō, which is translated as “borne along”; the difference
is then between accompanying, going with, or being carried, a similar contrast to
John 14:17. Significantly, none of these metaphors implies the denial of human
freedom, but do speak of its surrendering.
What has often been observed in the ministry of Christ, and especially as he
went to the cross, is that he did not seek to achieve his goals in the way that seems
obvious to most people. He did not want to start a political revolution to apply
the might of numbers, or of military force. He did not want to be made king.
Nevertheless, his means of operating was far more effective than anything that
people do. The way in which this happened seems at first sight to be paradoxical,
as he achieved through deliberate weakness, an insight of such as Bonhoeffer and
Sölle. Rather than operate by the use of the power that he had as Son of God, he
… did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied
himself, taking the form of a servant … (Phil 2:6-7).
Indeed, the miracles and signs that he did were not done through his ability,
but through the Spirit.

Charismata and sancti cation by kenōsis
125
It must be noted that the Philippian hymn concludes with the acknowledgement
of Christ’s glory (Phil 2:9), the result of his kenōsis. This can be anticipated by the
effectiveness of his people in their service for him, enabled through their own
experience of kenōsis.
Thus in commitment to the imitation of Christ, whether seen as sanctification
or “second blessing”, we also “empty” ourselves. In fact we are to become as Christ
not only in his resurrection (Rom 6:4), and in his own Pentecost, his baptism,
but then also in his kenōsis, emptying ourselves in imitation of his example. The
second of these is actually contentious, in that it may validly be pointed out that
surely Jesus, as Son of God and as conceived by the Holy Spirit, did not need to
be filled. The issue is similar to the point that he did not need to be baptised for
forgiveness. The descent of the dove designated him as Messiah and the way in
which he was empowered by the Spirit by means of kenōsis.
Bruner (1970:226) emphasises that Christ brings with himself the fullness of
the Spirit; thus this is linked to his kenotic experience. Indeed, the symbol of the
Spirit at the baptism of Jesus was appropriate, for a dove is hardly related to power
(Sproul 1990:155)! In fact, even the Pentecostal wind and particularly the fire are not
inappropriate; fire in particular weakens what it burns. It is not without relevance
that a common picture for the Spirit is that of fire. The presence of God is often
indicated in this way. This does not just carry a nuance of power as in Acts 2, but
also one of judgement (cf Matt 3:11, and especially Heb 12:29). Here it may be
observed that fire disintegrates what is burnt. Such can also be a preliminary for
making something new. When Jeremiah was called to prophesy, he was told that
he would “pluck up and break down, destroy and overthrow”, as well as “build
and plant” (Jer 1:10). Fire can also bond, as in welding, but here by relaxing the
bonding of the surface of the metal. The molten metal can fuse only because it
disintegrated to a liquid state first.
Thus, just as the “pentecostal experience” of Jesus at his baptism gave him
assurance of God’s appointment by designating him, so the experience of the
“filling” of Christians, especially if confirmed by the charismata, gives assurance of
God’s presence. For the Galatians, the experience of the Spirit did not have to be
argued or demonstrated, but was self-evident (Gal 3:2). So far from the charismata
being received due to faith, they are received to give faith! This is especially needed
as faith should be worked out in kenōsis, as this is so contrary to a person’s natural
inclination.
In this case, Christian action should reflect this kenōsis. Indeed, many have felt,
in accordance with the example and teaching of Jesus, specifically in the Sermon
on the Mount, that this is the heart of Christian ethics. Some groups have therefore

126 Have This Mind
adopted pacifism as the way of Christian action; Hudson (2003:38) interestingly
observes that this was the stance of many early Pentecostals. Kelsey (1981:221)
notes that giving is not a problem for most Charismatics; this is consistent with
the understanding that the “second blessing” is a form of kenōsis, as this includes
the attitude to possessions (cf also 2 Cor 8:9). This also of course contributes
to the growth of these groups! Less commendably, Kelsey (1981:225) also notes
moral excess in early Pentecostals; again an aspect of giving up!
Filling as weakening
What the Spirit does in a person is not so much directly giving them power,
but empowering in the way of Christ, by “weakening” them. In this case, the
“filling” of the Spirit should also be an experience of humility, of kenōsis. When
filling is understood as essentially a conformity to Christ, and so a self-negation
in conformity to his self-negation, an “emptying”, the possibility is opened so that
God could work more powerfully. In the obedience to Christ, personal kenōsis,
comes increased gifting through the Spirit, probably involving the charismata, and
so power and effectiveness in Christian service. Pentecostal theology commonly
links the “baptism” with yielding to God (Bruner 1970:99), opening the self to
the action of the Spirit. This was Paul’s experience, complaining to God of his
“thorn in the flesh”,
He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect
in weakness.” I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power
of Christ may rest upon me.… for when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor
12:9-10).
Holiness must always imply a self-negation, an emptying. Indeed, the Keswick
view of sanctification is exactly this, of yielding, of self-denial (Lederle 1988:13).
What the Holy Spirit does is to impart something of his own nature; he himself
has been known as the self-effacing Person of the Trinity. This nature of the Spirit
is indeed kenotic; Congar (1983:5) suggests that in the case of the Spirit, this is
an emptying of aspects of personality. He limits his personality to act as a bond
(Gavrilyuk 2005:256). He does not force a person (Williams 1971:14), but as
in seduction, rather entices. Perhaps the use of this word also reminds us that
marriage, which was earlier compared to the “second blessing”, can also be seen in
terms of kenōsis, as people yield themselves to their spouses, as indeed Paul points

Charismata and sancti cation by kenōsis
127
out in 1 Corinthians 7:32f. The filling of the Spirit therefore does not result in
instant sanctification, but a transformed will, as in Romans 7, which is worked
out over time as Romans 8 becomes experienced.
In this case, just as holiness or obedience can readily be seen in terms of the
emptying of self, so the filling with the Spirit, the “second blessing”, should be
seen in similar terms. It may be noted that for Christ, this “emptying” or kenōsis,
was a “second experience”, in that to become incarnate, he had to limit his preincarnate
glory. It is however noticeable that Philippians 2:5f actually identifies
several steps in the humiliation of Christ; even if the step of becoming incarnate
was decisive, it was followed by others. It was one step in a process.
Indeed, conformity of the human spirit to God must imply a weakening of the
former. Very significantly, Sherill points out that the essence of Christianity is a
yielding of personal control so that God’s grace can be received (Baer 1986:322). It
hardly needs to be pointed out that even salvation itself must presume a yielding. The
Protestant view is that it is received sola gratia, entirely of grace, and so is a negation of
any idea of earning (Eph 2:8). The only thing that has to be done is acceptance, which
is hardly a “work”, but on the contrary implies the acknowledgement of inability, so
is effectively a yielding.
Far from a positive strengthening, sanctification, and so the “second blessing”,
are then essentially rather a weakening, so that God may readily act through the
Christian. The charismata are given just because the Christian has been weakened!
Our role is to provide as little resistance as possible to the power of the Spirit, so
by being emptied. The charismata then follow naturally. This is one reason why
the receipt of the Spirit is described as a “filling”, for this means that there is no
room left for self-will. Filling requires “letting go” (Williams 1971:62), which
was the Keswick distinctive. Hoekema (1972:87) stresses that being “filled” by
the Spirit implies full yielding to him. The “filling” is so that the body’s energies
fade (MacNutt 1977:203). It may be observed that the major New Testament
discussion of the charismata in 1 Corinthians 12 contains right at its beginning the
affirmation that any utterance inspired by the Spirit must be consistent with the
Lordship of Christ. Affirming this is of course an acceptance of personal slavery to
Christ, so must remind of Philippians 2.
Cassidy then says that a person is as full of the Spirit as his or her surrender
(Lederle 1988:159). This is not a removal of will, but a conformity, a willing
kenōsis. The aspects of holiness and of empowerment given by the Spirit are fully
complementary. It is in a way similar to the agreement of the Son to the Father,
or of the two natures in Christ, which are both enacted by the same Spirit. The
idea of “filling” is quite consistent with that of kenōsis as long as they are not in

128 Have This Mind
any sense seen in material terms, which is the case as regards will or desire; indeed
filling must then mean kenōsis!
Such a picture does reflect the need of a repeated experience of filling, simply
because “nature abhors a vacuum”. An experience of kenōsis cannot normally
remain permanent but must be renewed by repeated fillings of the Spirit. It
would also be the case that each filling results in a deeper kenōsis, as the process of
sanctification then proceeds.
Gifts in weakness
Thus, even if the Spirit is usually understood as giving power, as indeed Jesus
promised (Acts 1:8), which would seem to be at least an aspect of an adequate
explanation for the earlier experiences such as tongues and prophecy, and perhaps
empowerment is even clearer in the case of healing, this is not adequate. This
may be confirmed by the fact that the modern experiences seem to be quite
different; even if those who experience “slaying” or the Toronto blessing do claim
ultimate benefit, this is not really an empowering. Indeed, the experiences can
well be described as totally the opposite, as something yielded, a kenōsis (Williams
2004:171f). Those prayed for lose strength in their legs, and collapse. They “rest”
in the Spirit (Foster 2001:145). Interestingly, Woolmer (1997:103) observes
that even the Toronto experience can be unemotional. Rather than an ecstatic
heightening, the worshippers lose control of their emotions, shout, laugh, and
move in strange ways.
Rather than a gain in ability, those who experience “slaying” seem rather to be
overcome by what is understood to be the presence of the Spirit, and to experience
a loss. This does have some parallel in the Bible; Ezekiel, after his vision of the
divine chariot, sat overwhelmed among the exiles for seven days (Ez 3:15); John,
on Patmos, was overcome by the vision of the risen Christ (Rev 1:17). In both
incidents, the Spirit of God was active. Despite these similarities, there is no
complete parallel with modern phenomena. What overwhelmed could well have
been the vision of God, which would be quite understandable, but this direct
experience of God is not necessarily paralleled in modern “slayings”. There is also
no evidence that Toronto-like phenomena occur in connection with a vision of
God.
Just like slaying, the Toronto experience can also be understood in terms of a
loss. Whereas in normal circumstances a person acts in a restrained way because
of awareness of others round about, that restraint would seem to fall away. The

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129
laughter, the strange movements, would not normally occur because of the
supposed reaction of other people. What is therefore occurring in these cases
may then be seen as a loss of the normal relation to others. Actually even the
older phenomena can often be understood rather in terms of loss than of power.
Frost (1971:51) and Tugwell (Lederle 1988:121), and even Taylor (1972:217),
see tongues in this way, as an aspect of surrender. In the experience of tongues,
the glossolalic does not communicate to other people, but only to God. This is
close to the Toronto blessing, if seen as a form of prayer (Foster 2001:146). Other
Old Testament experiences of ecstasy seem even closer, especially as this involves
a loss of self-consciousness and of rationality (Mills 1986:15). Tongues is a giving
up of the desire for intelligibility; Budgen (1985:63) refers to the “setting aside of
ability”! Foster (2001:143) refers to a prayer “of the heart”. May (1986:56) notes
that automatisms, such as writing, can occur when the subconscious has control;
even a language, learnt in the past but forgotten, can emerge in ecstasy. He also
notes the use of animal sounds by shamans when in ecstasy (May 1986:61), again
perhaps a point of contact with the Toronto experience. In Montanism, also, the
speaker did not retain full personal control (Currie 1986:98). Baer (1986:318)
actually brings together speaking in tongues, the Quaker experiences, and the use
of liturgy, all of which involve a loss of self-consciousness, the first two at least
then producing other phenomena. Budgen (1985:187) notes that lying prostrate
was manifested from the earliest days; it is described in Teresa of Avila (MacNutt
1977:193). There were also reports of Toronto-like happenings at other times,
such as in Wesley’s campaigns (MacNutt 1977:199).
Loss of the usual decorum was indeed a feature of early Pentecostalism, and
it remains the case that people act in a less self-conscious way in that setting.
People are relaxed in the presence of their friends, more so of their “Friend”;
relating in any case involves yielding to the other. Practices like raising hands, or
clapping were, and often still are, looked down upon in services held in traditional
churches. Another common practice is dancing, which is also a form of letting go
(Blenkinsopp 1970:103).
It is natural to identify prophecy as a charisma received through a “second
blessing”. Perhaps the only hesitation lies in the fact that the Old Testament
does not often make a connection between prophecy and the Spirit, possibly
because the canonical prophets wanted to distance themselves from the ecstatic
prophets of the time. The man of the Spirit was looked upon as mad (Hos 9:7),
and this was certainly not the impression that the prophets wanted to give. They
rather stressed that they received the “word” of the Lord to communicate it to
people. Nevertheless, there is enough to indicate that the Spirit was instrumental

130 Have This Mind
in the role of the prophet (eg Is 61:1). However, even prophecy, although its
intention is clearly that of communicating a divine message to others, involves a
loss. Jeremiah is the classic case of a loss of personal freedom, of a constraint to
prophesy (Jer 20:9). Prophecy, as epitomised in the ministry of Jesus, the Word of
God in person, is then also a form of kenōsis. His antetype, Moses (Deut 18:18),
was described as being exceptionally meek. Likewise Jeremiah, who described his
prophetic vocation as having been “seduced”, so of yielding to God (Jer 20:7).
The picture of the clay in the hands of the Potter came naturally to him.
In addition to these, some forms of healing must be understood in terms of loss.
Whereas some are totally constructive, such as repair, and seem very appropriate
for the working of God through the Spirit, in others, such as cancer, the need is
for loss so that healing can take place. It is not surprising that tongues and healing
are often associated (Kelsey 1981:207), if both relate to kenōsis; they may occur
together (MacNutt 1977:202). Even the practice of healing involves a measure of
limitation. When Jesus cured the woman who suffered from the issue of blood,
he perceived that “power had gone forth from him” (Mk 5:30). Certainly the
experience of many who are involved in praying for the sick is that they do find
the whole practice very taxing. Probably this is one reason why so few people are
prepared to take the time and trouble to pray for those who are sick. Boyd (2001)
has also suggested that the Christian life must be seen in terms of warfare; this also
implies something that is not only taxing of strength, but only happens because
we are limited in ourselves and not able to defeat evil by ourselves.
Just as the kenōsis of the Son and of the Spirit is voluntary, a self-limitation,
the worshipper is under no compulsion. The Holy Spirit does not force (Pawson
1995:49). Jeremiah, although under great pressure to prophesy, still had the option
of refusal. But having submitted to him, “slaying”, and to some extent the Toronto
blessing, then do involve some loss of personal control (Pawson 1995:23). This is
then not inconsistent with the self-control that is a “fruit” of the Spirit (Gal 5:22).
Taylor (1972:217), while speaking of tongues as involving surrender, denies that
this includes a loss of either self-awareness or self-control. Kelsey (1981:211) in
his analysis of glossolalia, sees dreaming as comparable, in that people deliberately
surrender themselves to sleep, but once having done this, they have no control
over the expression that results. One who experienced trembling likewise observed
that her control was limited to accepting or rejecting what God was doing (White
1989:92, also 117-8).
On the other hand, if through kenōsis, these experiences are indeed charismata,
gifts of grace, and so cannot just be exercised on demand. It is again striking
that in the case of healing, many who successfully practise the gift are often well

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131
aware of who is to receive healing and who not. This may be interpreted as a “gift
of knowledge” (1 Cor 12:8). They are then able to pray with authority for the
healing, and to see effectiveness.
Many of the charismatic phenomena, and especially “slaying in the Spirit” and
the “Toronto blessing”, thus share a common element, that of a loss of the normal
relating to others. Can this be understood in terms of the presence of the Spirit?
This can be answered in the affirmative on two levels. Firstly, as the Spirit gives
an increased bond to God, this naturally leads to a loss of concentration on other
things. A couple in love can be totally oblivious of their surroundings and other
people with them; likewise marriage is a commitment to one other, so a loss of
relationship to others. Because of the increased awareness of God, there may be
less awareness of self, permitting behaviour not usually indulged in. Tongues can
thus be a sign of a consecration to God (MacDonald 1986:227), simply because
it is also a loss of other concerns. The psychological phenomena associated with
the new experiences may then be side-effects of “emotional release” or “inner
healing” (cf Pawson 1995:18). White (1989:90), speaking of “holy laughter”,
says it involves “unself-consciousness”, and that “it seems to be associated with a
beginning of release of tension in uptight people”. It has even been suggested that
the otherwise embarrassing behaviour is a release from pride (Pawson 1995:80).
In this case, the experience of the Spirit can be understood in terms of liberation
(Rom 8:2, Gal 5:1) (Moltmann (eg 1985:40) has stressed this aspect). This may
well then explain such things as the fact that otherwise reserved people are willing
to do things in charismatic meetings that they otherwise would never do, to clap,
raise hands and embrace, in short, abandon their taboos (Kelsey 1981:93). At the
same time, less awareness of those around gives less concern about their reaction
to what is done. Dunn (1975:148) therefore hints at the idea that tongues may
be a form of disintegration of the personality, but he does not develop the idea.
Nevertheless, emotion is not a prerequisite for glossolalia (Kelsey 1981:13).
Indeed, the filling with the Spirit results in a measure of holiness, as the spirit
is holy. On the one hand this results in “wholeness”, the fuller integration of the
personality; psychological studies indicate that glossolalics are in general welladjusted
(Baer 1986:314). This argument may however not be so strong in the
case of the Toronto experience; Smail (1995:158) feels that it removes, rather than
enhances, a measure of full humanity. But on the other, it results in a separation
from others, as in the more usual Biblical nuance of “holy” (cf Kelsey 1981:222).
So, secondly, the inner presence of the Spirit can also well be seen as causing a
loss of a relationship to others. A modern suggestion is that the Spirit, in working
in the world, voluntarily limits an aspect of his nature, in this case his personality

132 Have This Mind
(Congar 1983:5). The Spirit has chosen to “box himself in” (Gaffin 1996:25),
to “self-empty” (Moltmann 1992:12). This may be seen as why the Spirit has no
name, and also frequently works impersonally, such as by filling, in contrast to the
directly personal activity of the second Person. He has little activity outside of that
with other people. Most emphatically, this must not be interpreted as an inherent
limitation in the nature of the Spirit. Just as the kenōsis of Christ is a voluntary
self-limitation, and does not in any sense mean that he is in his nature anything
else than fully divine, so the kenōsis of the Spirit likewise does not mean that he is
anything other than fully personal, and of course also fully divine, in his essential
nature.
As personality is primarily expressed in relating to others, the result of filling
with the Spirit is then a loss of self-assertiveness. Christians, just as their Master,
do not then promote themselves at the expense of others (cf 1 Cor 13, the “more
excellent way” (1 Cor 12:31) than the use of the more dramatic gifts, which may
be, and are, sometimes used to enhance the status of the user). It is then not
surprising if the filling of the Spirit can result in a loss of relating to others, and so
of such as slaying, the Toronto blessing, and so on.
The two aspects are complementary. On the one hand a bonding to God
produces less awareness of self and of others, and on the other hand, the partaking
of the kenōsis of the Spirit involves the loss or diminishing of other relationships
and then opens the way for a closer relationship to God. Thus the filling with the
Spirit, who has emptied himself, results in the emptying of the worshipper. In this
case, “it does not seem inconceivable that the Spirit might prompt the relaxation
of rational control at surface level in order to strengthen control at a deeper level”
(Packer 1995:224). This would meet the objection of Taylor (1972:217) that the
loss of rationality is a loss of a vital aspect of what it means to be human.
(It may incidentally be observed at this point that this interpretation of the
action of the Spirit confirms the rejection of Montanism as a heresy. Far from being
incarnate in a human being, with all the consequent possibility of relationships, it
is the nature of the Spirit to limit these. Incarnation would thus be contrary to the
nature of the Spirit, and so whatever happened in Montanism, the interpretation
of incarnation cannot be accepted.)
Even if the filling of the Spirit involves less relation to others, it would not of
course be a loss of relation to God, as the Spirit is fully divine. The Spirit-filled
Christian, as Christ himself after his baptism, has the power of God, and may
then exhibit some of the gifts mentioned in 1 Corinthians 12 and elsewhere.
Such use of the gifts depends on those which a specific person is given, but also is
subject to the control of that person (Kelsey 1981:133).

9
Self-limiting in possessions
This chapter is a revision of chapter 6 of Williams (2001b).
It is in the area of material possessions that a kenotic attitude perhaps most
clearly manifests. Richard (1997:65) says that in Mark, renunciation of property
is the clearest indication of authentic discipleship. Although not explicitly
mentioned in Philippians 2, it does appear in 2 Corinthians 8:9, a passage in the
context of the material lack of the Jerusalem church:
For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that although he was rich,
yet for your sake he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become
rich.
Self-denial, or self-limitation, can be manifested either as asceticism or as the
adoption of a simple lifestyle. While asceticism obviously is more extreme, these
have the same basic effect, although from different motives. Asceticism sees the
world and therefore wealth as bad, and so adopts poverty as good, whereas simple
living is at least partly from an appreciation of the limited resources available in
the world, and so attempts to minimize consumption for the sake of the rest of
the world, especially the poor, and for future generations. It is likely to be the
adoption of relative, not absolute poverty (Samuel & Sugden 1985:210). It is
however usually believed that such a lifestyle is better than a more affluent one
from other points of view as well.
Particularly if charity is seen as a necessary response to poverty, it could then
follow that in order to be able to give as much as possible, the natural thing to do
is to limit one’s own consumption. Thus self-denial may be adopted by the rich,
who out of concern for the poor then limit their own consumption at least to
some extent. They will accept simplicity or poverty as what they do not use can be
the means of enhancing or prolonging the human existence of others. At the same
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134 Have This Mind
time there can also be a divestment of wealth which may be used for the poor,
although that may obviously be incidental.
For this approach to be effective, the poor must not in their turn seek to be
rich. However, if simple living or particularly asceticism is a correct approach to
poverty, the poor then have less motivation to seek to better themselves, or to
envy the rich, even if they do still condemn them. The comment of Wilkinson
(1985:85) is however apposite here, for he says that the poor just have no choice
in lifestyle, unlike the rich.
Asceticism was accepted as a lifestyle option in the early Christian centuries,
but not specifically as an approach to the poor. Indeed, it is hard to see that
asceticism can be an answer to poverty in itself, for the simple reason that poverty
is almost uniformly looked upon as bad, even by ascetics themselves. It would
also seem to be clear that the rejection of wealth as such cannot claim unqualified
Biblical support, although it is also clear that the Bible uniformly sees wealth as
dangerous. Simplicity however may be an aspect of a total approach which has
relevance to both rich and poor, and something that can be done by anyone. It is
doubtful if there are many in the world who cannot reduce at least to some extent.
Not only is it a means of conserving resources and of providing for the use of
others, but it is also, as was monasticism, a means of separation from (Pennington
1989:1), and a protest against, the values and practices of the world.
As with any approach to poverty, the practice of self-denial will be more
attractive to some than to others. It should however be acceptable to Christians of
all persuasions; for example Dammers, who advocates simplicity, is an Anglican,
McDonagh, with concern for the environment, is a Catholic.
History of self-denial
That the practice of self-denial is a part of a Christian response to God is clear
from the fact that this, and also its extreme in asceticism, has had a long history in
Christianity, although it is not as common as in other, mainly Eastern, religions.
Unlike them, Christianity is usually world-affirming, and usually sees a person as
a unitary being rather than a good soul or spirit imprisoned in an evil material
body.
The Bible contains few examples of what might be termed asceticism, although
as Griffiths (1985:123) points out, lifestyle at that time was simple. In the Old
Testament, some of the prophets lived a life which rejected affluence, but in their
concern for the poor there is little idea that they saw poverty as a good thing.

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135
The Rechabites (Jer 35) practised a lifestyle rejecting some aspects of commonly
accepted life. They were in a way ascetic, but they were regarded as a special case,
and are not seen as a model for all in their opting out from society (Samuel &
Sugden 1982:49).
Perhaps more a model for Christians are the Levites. Seeing Christians as “firstborn”
and so “new Levites” and landless finds some New Testament support in
Hebrews 12:23, although Romans 8:29 would see reference only to Christ as firstborn
(also Col 1:16). Particularly if the approach to poverty is seen as a religious
act, it is relevant that the Levites were separated from the rest of Israel for religious
duties, although they did provide social service as well as ecclesiastical (Davis
1984:113). Because God was to be their special inheritance, they were landless
(Sheets 1984:284). This is seen by Neil (1973:84) as a reason why Barnabas, a
Levite, was so willing to sell his property, in order to conform more exactly to
Numbers 18:24. He does however suggest that the rule would not have been
applied to such as Barnabas, who lived outside Israel (Barnabas was from Cyprus).
Leviticus 25:32 does however note that Levites owned property in towns. This
would however not have been productive of income as was land in rural areas.
At the time of the New Testament, some groups, notably the Essenes, were
ascetic, and individuals, notably John the Baptist, were self-denying. Their example
did appear to meet with some approval in that Jesus was contrasted unfavourably
with them, being accused of being gluttonous and a winebibber (Lk 7:34).
Certainly he was no ascetic, and imposed no rule upon his disciples, although
did advise some, such as the rich young ruler, to remove encumbrances from
their lives by selling property (Lietzmann 1953:124). He was rather indifferent to
possessions (Boerma 1979:52, Harnack 1913:17).
As Jesus, Paul was no ascetic, but his attitude to marriage in 1 Corinthians
7 tends in that direction. However, there is no denial of marriage as something
wrong, but rather the contrary. Lietzmann (1953:131) is however extreme when
he says that marriage was only tolerated. Nevertheless, it may be rejected for
greater spiritual good. Elsewhere in the New Testament there is little indication
that material things are at all to be despised, but rather to be enjoyed. Poverty is
never valued or proposed; it is the danger of slavery to wealth that is made clear,
and the need that is expressed is not of poverty, but of sharing (Matura 1984:164).
There is rather opposition to an incipient Gnosticism which treated some days or
foods as to be rejected.
The ascetic impulse in Christianity has not generally been from a social reaction
(although it is increasingly so in the modern world). A belief that overall hostility
to wealth was introduced by the Christian poor seems contrary to the general

136 Have This Mind
prosperity of the time (despite Josephus). Schmidt (1987:29) believes that the
early Church was predominantly middle class, not generally the rich aristocracy,
but neither so poor as to totally despise them for their wealth. Roth (1984:7)
also points out that at the time of the start of monasticism, few were either very
rich or very poor, but that most were adequately provided for. There is however,
as many have pointed out (eg Schmidt 1987:12, referring to the synoptics), a
general hostility to wealth, which would then be for reasons independent of the
socio-economic circumstances of the time.
Although it is unlikely that extreme asceticism was ever envisaged by the
early Church, by the second century a weekly fast day was customary (Von
Campenhausen 1968:102), and soon afterwards came the full flower of asceticism,
first in individuals, but later in an organized communal form.
It was only after the time of Constantine and the acceptance of Christianity by
the Roman Empire that it became common, but many Christian writers before
that time such as Hermas, Origen and Tertullian are in favour of it (Hannah
1924:14). Origen refers to ascetics as true philosophers and his predecessor
Clement wrote of “Christian gnosis” (Lietzmann 1953:131). Tertullian referred to
the example of Jesus who had no possession, defended the poor and condemned
the rich (Scott 1980:6); he saw it as a means of warfare against the powers of this
world (Bray 1979:127). In similar vein Jerome rejected wealth because it came
from injustice (Scott 1980:5). Others, on the other hand, such as Clement of
Rome, accepted some luxury (Scott 1980:6).
Asceticism originated as a movement in Egypt. This was practicable in that the
attraction of the desert with its forbidding scenery (Hannah 1924:15) lay close at
hand to a centre of Christianity (Knowles 1969:12). Not to be underestimated is
the suitability of the climate in that area (Knowles 1969:12). Individual asceticism
was not so practicable in the West (Workman 1927:139), nor so desirable by
those with a more practical attitude to life (Hannah 1924:87).
Initially asceticism was individual. Although Anthony himself was against
excess (he once remarked that an over-pulled bow snaps) (Knowles 1969:16), early
ascetics, most notoriously Simon Stylites, soon tried to out-do each other in their
austerities. The Church soon recognised the dangers of extremes in the hermit
life and did not encourage it (Zarnecki 1972:98), but asceticism continued to be
highly regarded. Chrysostom, as many others, practised asceticism for a while but
was forced to stop the practice by ill-health (Roth 1984:9). He said that it is better
to despise money as grass than turn grass to money (Homily on Matthew 32:11
cited in Bridge 1985:117), which would be representative of this approach to the
poor. An indication of the status of asceticism in the world at this time can be seen

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in the fact that in the fourth century all the outstanding fathers of the Church
except one, Ambrose, were monks (Knowles 1969:25).
Communal monasticism was a move away from individual austerity, and so
perhaps from pure asceticism. An answer to the problems of excess, and perhaps
cynically, a means of rejecting wealth without suffering too much, emerged in
community living where individual but not corporate wealth was rejected. Even
a feeling of guilt could be removed while remaining materialistic (Johnson
1981:137). The wealth of the monasteries offered security (Pennington 1989:34).
Monasticism enabled the distraction of wealth and possessions to be removed and
so one desiring a more “spiritual” life to be more devoted.
Pachomius established the first monastery in 320, establishing a set of rules
for the communal religious life (Lietzmann 1953:141). It was however Benedict’s
set of rules which became the foundation for the great growth of monasticism
in the Middle Ages and arguably led to the survival of Western culture. Unlike
the East where monks tended to be outside the Church and society, in the West
monasticism was within the Church (Workman 1927:152). Benedict’s rule was
only moderately ascetic; he wanted to prevent excess. The lifestyle was much the
same as ordinary life at the time (Hannah 1924:89); what it did introduce was
much more discipline to the vocation, what Pennington (1989:7) sees as from
the influence of Roman military discipline. Benedict however believed that a
Christian life should not be a burden on others and should also integrate the
spiritual and material, body and soul (McDonagh 1987:129), so his rule included
work for the support of the community. Although this was not a new concept
(Pennington 1989:4), arguably this proved fatal to the ideal (Workman 1927:219),
as the community prospered, and of course monasteries also benefited from those
wanting to earn merit and gave to them (Hannah 1924:123). The Middle Ages
thus encouraged poverty as a means of earning merit both by practising it (it
became a sign of God’s favour) and giving to the poor. There was little thought to
the causes of poverty (Scott 1987:210). The Cluniacs were perhaps the extreme
case of this. So wealthy did they become by gifts that they were able to minimize
work for the sake of liturgy and magnificent buildings (Zarnecki 1972:40).
The problem of community wealth associated with a loss of enthusiasm
(Workman 1927:67,238) naturally led to reaction and attempts to recover the
original ideal of asceticism and withdrawal from the world. “The spirit which
had inspired their founders was lacking” (Zarnecki 1972:112), leading to
founding of new orders such as the Cistercians who sought simplicity of life, and
adopted austere architecture (Knowles 1969:71). They located away from centres
of wealth and power and by their diligence made great progress in agriculture

138 Have This Mind
(Zarnecki 1972:70). However again the fact of community wealth did not aid real
discipline.
To avoid this problem, Francis of Assisi rejected not only personal possessions
but corporate wealth (Zarnecki 1972:112, also Workman 1927:303), so the friars
became totally dependent on charity (at least initially; later on some branches of
the Franciscans did become wealthy, avoiding the requirements of the founder
by vesting ownership in the Pope, yet retaining use of it (Workman 1927:304)).
Coupled with this, although it was probably not a conscious connection, was that
the friars aimed to be useful to society and not just work for their own support.
As they were perceived to be useful in their preaching, they did receive help. In
fact, “If they ceased to be popularly approved, they could not live at all” (Hannah
1924:157). A side effect of this more extreme renunciation of property was that
monasticism, previously restricted in practice to the nobility, became practised also
by the common people. Like the Franciscans, the Dominicans were also founded
not so much to escape from the world but to serve it (Knowles 1969:115). Going
a stage further still were the military orders who stressed the aspect of obedience
but not poverty (Workman 1927:268). The Jesuits also were founded simply for
service to the world, working in it, a contrast to the Benedictines who worked for
their own benefit (Hannah 1924:251).
It is clear that throughout this period there was a general rejection of wealth.
Aquinas (in Gutiérrez 1974:305) said that although poverty was not perfection,
it was the way to it. It is thus ironic that it was wealth that contributed to
the downfall of the monastic system. They had become dependent on it, and
were seen as drones in society (Knowles 1969:142). More significantly, from a
Reformation perspective, monasticism was seen as justification by works; it was
this, not its asceticism, that generated opposition, as the Reformers in general
shared the attitude of rejection of wealth. Luther lived frugally, fearing any sort
of bondage to goods (Webber 1979:121). Calvin likewise urged frugality; as is
well known, Weber connected the austerity of Calvinism with industry in the
Protestant work ethic (McClelland 1961:16). Owensby (1988:15) points out that
it was believed that election was shown not only by prosperity, but by the frugality
that contributed to it. However here there is not so much a total rejection; for
Calvin, wealth is like poison in that a little may be good (Goudzwaard 1972:13).
He therefore rejected the “drivellings” of the Anabaptists and fanatics who claimed
no personal right to possessions. For him the gospel gave no general precept to
poverty. Extreme poverty is even “dangerous” as beyond God’s word (Gilbreath
1987:223). In particular he rejected the selfishness of monks who provided only for
themselves (Calvin 1965:130). (This is the other side of the Work Ethic, industry

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and profit.) What the Reformation did was to remove the motive of separation
as it abolished a distinction between the religious and secular. As Sebastian Frank
said, all must now be monks and ascetic (Andreski 1983:135).
In a way similar to Calvinists, early Methodists also lived frugally and were
industrious, and so prospered (Paget-Wilkes 1981:60), a result that annoyed Wesley
(Berger 1988:227). The example of Wesley himself (Paget-Wilkes 1981:115) is
well known. He lived on a constant amount despite a constantly rising income.
When he suffered the loss of his home by fire he seemed almost grateful; “The
Lord’s house burned, one less responsibility for me” (Foster 1987:42).
Asceticism, particularly in the way it was practised in the Middle Ages, is a
rarity today. There are still many monasteries in many parts of the world, but the
emphasis is not so much on self-deprivation but on the blessings of community
life. This is perhaps part of its appeal in Africa, where in 1974 there were 110
monasteries (Weinrich 1978:555). In fact Walsh (in Taryor 1984:171) notes that
monasticism was of African origin as suited to the African mentality, emphasizing
community with God and others. The Catholic tradition naturally continues to
see asceticism as a virtue both in the monastic orders, but also in priestly celibacy.
Mother Theresa’s self-sacrifice is well known; for her, suffering is a virtue.
Apart from the Catholic tradition, few today see asceticism as positively
Christian, but there is a growing interest in simple living due to concern for the
environment and from a belief that it is beneficial to the individual. Dammers
(1982:125) claims that 79% of Americans believe that other things in life are
more important than the search for ever higher standards of living, and that 5
million Americans voluntarily practised simplicity full-time in 1978. Some of
course are poor simply because they refuse to integrate into society. For them it is
rather incidental, but can be seen as a necessary result of reacting to a materialistic
society. This motive is attractive to some Christians who desire to separate from an
evil world (Conn 1979:67). A modern example is the Amish; for them, limitless
technology is in any case greed (Hostetler 1980:381), but they find it hard to be
consistent (Griffiths 1985:123).
Evangelicals have tended to favour abstinence and moderation, notably in
Latin America (Conn 1979:63), where liberation theology is important. The
growing tendency to social awareness and action, such as at Lausanne, usually
includes a commitment to simple living (Sider 1982:9). Paradoxically other
evangelicals such as Schuller believe that Christians must show prosperity. He
built a $15 million “crystal cathedral”, justifying it by the logic that only the
best was good enough for God, so the expense is of secondary concern (Voskuil
1983:40). This is an interesting return to a Middle Ages mentality that erected

140 Have This Mind
magnificent cathedrals even if it saw poverty as a virtue. Schuller however hardly
sees poverty as virtuous. It is of course only a step from him to the faith teachings
of the prosperity movement, preachers such as Copeland and Hagin, and in a
related context, the theonomists.
The biblical teaching on possessions
Christ in his teaching and example is seen by many as the major impetus for
Christian asceticism (Knowles 1969:9), and the desire to imitate him as the main
cause of both medieval monasticism and movements to simplicity in lifestyle among
Christians in the modern world. Jesus’ words to the rich young ruler were the
impulse to Antony and Francis (Workman 1927:93), and Dammers (1982:175)
says that the “lifestyle movement”, although not totally Christian, started with
Christian motivation. It is however noteworthy that many sincere Christians do
not believe that the Bible, or their faith in general, requires asceticism, some even
the contrary. It is also significant that Pachomius built as a result of a vision; he
seemed to require more authority than just the Biblical words of Jesus and the
New Testament (Wyon 1963:17). In particular, the Old Testament would seem
in general to reject it, even if there are significant exceptions to this, so that seeing
it as definitely commanded by Jesus and the New Testament must be questioned;
it is not right to drive a Marcionite wedge between a material Old Testament and
a spiritual kingdom in the New. Moreover if it were so clearly Biblical, it is hard
to understand why it only became common in the Church three centuries later.
Chilton (1985:23) in fact insists that there is no Biblical demand to live simply;
Fuller and Rice (1966:69) that there is no Christian objection to prosperity.
Nevertheless, although money is not condemned as such (Prior 1965:18), it is
undeniable that an attitude hostile to wealth runs right through the Bible, despite
its acceptance of property, and even slavery. Schmidt (1987:12) examines this
in some detail and concludes that it is basic to the Biblical message. As Foster
(1980:71) says, “the Biblical injunctions against … and the accumulation of[,]
wealth are clear and straightforward.” “There is one inescapable conclusion, we
who follow Jesus Christ are called to a vow of simplicity … not for … few but for
all” (Foster 1987:71). It would however seem that the Biblical attitude would be
a rejection of self-limitation for its own sake, but an acceptance of its value to aid
the life of oneself and others.
In general, Israel saw salvation and God’s blessing in material terms (Von Rad
1965:35) eg Ps 112:3 (Prior 1965:19). Palestine was a land of milk and honey.

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There was never a denial of the right to prosperity, as it was God who owned
the land (Wright 1983:58). Money therefore is never condemned as such (Prior
1965:18), although the wealth of Abraham or Solomon is never idealized (Samuel
& Sugden 1982:50). Although the material is good, accumulation would not be
an Old Testament practice (Owensby 1988:167).
As a corollary to this, poverty and disaster are bad (2 Sam 3:29) (Davis
1984:29), and may be used by God for judgement. This is not to say riches are
simply a sign of God’s blessing; on the contrary, the prophets denounced the
rich who profited from injustice. Justice, and reliance on God, are of more value
than wealth. Elsewhere in the earlier Old Testament wealth is also to some extent
questioned as connected to oppression, where interestingly hostility to wealth
does not come from the poor as might be expected, but from the religious and
political hierarchy of Israel (Schmidt 1987:60). This, with the ideas that injustice
leads to wealth and that valuing God is greater than wealth, are common ideas in
the world of the time, even as far back as ancient Babylon. However, if the rich
were often far from God, poverty did not bring one close; it is never idealized in
the Old Testament (Boerma 1979:35), as seen in the anti-poverty legislation such
as the right to glean, release from debt, and the Jubilee (Hoppe 1987:18). Koch
(1982:4) moreover feels that the main concern of the prophets was not so much
the sufferings of the poor, but the inevitable disaster that affluence would bring.
They were not so much anti-wealth, but against the oppression that produced
it (Johnson 1981:92). The growing disparity between rich and poor which
originated with the monarchy may however be the start of a despising of poverty
in Israel (Boerma 1979:20).
By the later Old Testament wealth is certainly a blessing (Pallares 1982:64).
Ecclesiastes 9:7 is clearly anti-ascetic, urging eating with enjoyment, an attitude
said to be approved by God (Sider 1984b:124). By the time of the New Testament,
this attitude was established, the Pharisees seeing poverty as a curse (Boerma
1979:25). This led to the noteworthy care of the Jews for their own poor in
antiquity, with the corresponding attitude that any self-impoverishing is wrong
(Hengel 1974:20). The ideal at the time of Jesus was to give at most one fifth of
a fortune to charity (Pallares 1982:68). For the Rabbis, prosperity was a virtue,
so that “… radical criticism of riches and surrender of one’s own resources were
taboo” (Hengel 1974:20).
Although the Old Testament is world-affirming and also respects the right to
property, it does not view this as an absolute right because it sees God as the real
owner of the world. Sacrifice, which is so fundamental to the way in which the
relationship between God and humanity is worked out in the Old Testament,

142 Have This Mind
rests on this. It is however never done from ascetic motives although it involves
giving up property. Like fasting, the emphasis is positive, the relationship with
God, rather than the negative giving up of property. Both of these do however
imply a measure of repentance, which is a motive for asceticism or for simple
living today. Likewise God’s ownership is the basis of the Jubilee and also of the
Sabbath. Although both institutions relate to giving up what could be viewed as
belonging to the people, neither is really from a motive of asceticism.
Thus the Sabbath can be seen as a relinquishing of the work of one day in
seven, but it is in no sense a rejection of work or income, but an affirmation
of God’s sovereignty and ultimate ownership. It can on the contrary be seen as
an affirmation of the need for work for the six days (Davis 1984:116), whereas
asceticism would seek to extend a form of Sabbath to the entire week (Skillen
1982:36). It is emphatically only a portion that is given, and also, in distinction
from asceticism, not voluntarily. It can moreover be seen not as lessening human
production, well-being and wealth, but in providing necessary rest, enhancing
them. As Jesus implied (Mk 2:27) (Pallares 1982:22), it was given for human
benefit. It may even be seen as requiring a measure of affluence; as Scott (1980:94)
says, the really poor cannot afford a Sabbath.
The Sabbath is therefore not so much a giving up, but should rather be seen
positively as an acknowledgement of God’s sovereignty. It is a festival not connected
at all with the cycle of nature and so agricultural production (Wolterstorff
1983:154). It is not for idleness as Chrysostom (1984:23) states is the Jewish
interpretation, but for spiritual activity, even “work”. It may perhaps be seen, as
in Hebrews, as eschatological, not so much having reference to lifestyle, but in
anticipation of the coming Kingdom and Glory (Decock 1978:160).
The Jubilee in some ways is similar. It too is sometimes seen as eschatological
(Decock 1978:160), and again is not voluntary. Again the emphasis of the
institution is not on what is given up, which would be the case if it were related to
asceticism, but it rather has a positive meaning. It is an affirmation, as the Sabbath,
that all property is ultimately God’s (Hengel 1974:20, Foster 1980:71), that we
have no rights but what he gives, which Lee (1986:39) remarks is the context of
Luke 4:18, which some interpret as Jesus’ announcement of a Jubilee (eg Hoppe
1987:148, Croucher 1986:44,). Yoder (1972:64) here, although he does not see
Luke 4 in itself as sufficient evidence that Jesus intended a Jubilee, sees other
evidence such as Jesus calling the disciples to leave their fields, the remission of
debt in the Lord’s prayer, Matthew 18:23f, Luke 6:33f, and even his command
to the rich young ruler to sell. Unlike other commentators, he believes that the

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Jubilee was practised at the time of Christ, as the Rabbinic exclusion procedures
(the prosboul) indicate.
The emphasis of the Jubilee can also be seen to fall not on giving, but on the
rights of the poor and so their need for property. It is not a poor law (Chilton
1985:67), because the benefactors are not those who are poor but those who
are dispossessed. It aims not at equality but restoration (Davis 1984:40), and
emphasizes the need, not of giving up, but of all to have some property.
It is clear that the lifestyle of Jesus was not ascetic, particularly when he is
contrasted with John the Baptist or the Old Testament prophets. Although
Tertullian among others has spoken of Jesus as having no possession, defending
the poor and condemning the rich (Scott 1980:6), he was seen as enjoying and
affirming life (Schmidt 1987:118), as is clear from his attendance at banquets
(Mooneyham 1975:237), his possession of an expensive garment (the seamless
robe), and even by his burial in a rich man’s tomb. He rejected Old Testament food
laws, affirming all food is good, a contrast to an ascetic ideal (Hannah 1924:13),
which would see eating as a necessary evil. He even promises repayment, even
a hundred-fold, for what was given up (Mk 10:30), hardly an attitude that sees
giving up as good in itself (Fuller & Rice 1966:24).
Jesus’ lifestyle as incarnate may not be ascetic as such, but was of such a nature
as to inspire simplicity. Cassidy (1987:5) notes many references to the simplicity
of Jesus’ life, such as Luke 6:20, 7:33, 9:58, 12:15f etc, and Padilla (1982:55)
believes that one reason for the rejection of Jesus was his poverty, as wealth was
looked upon as a sign of God’s favour. However, his lifestyle was necessary due to
the nature of his work, not because it was good in itself. He limited himself so that
he could better proclaim the kingdom. Thus he did not marry, not because it was
a sin, but because for him, as for the disciples, ministry meant a severing of family
links (cf Mk 10:28f) (Von Campenhausen 1968:105). They left their nets, but
the emphasis fell upon what they were going to.
The kenōsis in incarnation may be seen as indicating that giving up is beneficial,
particularly as it is not a necessary limitation of deity: it is a voluntary selflimitation,
so no defence of forced poverty. There is “nothing saintly in imposed
poverty” (Nyerere 1987:123). This can be seen as an incentive to a voluntary
restriction of consumption and exercise of power over others and the world, and of
the urge to constantly advance in life (Scott 1980:243). Jesus generally associated
with the upper class (Schmidt 1987:120), yet positively identified with the poor
of his day (Sider 1982:30), as Liberation Theology affirms. Jesus’ attitude cannot
be seen as a total negation, and is even an affirmation of the created order; in any
case this cannot be evil if taken up by Jesus in the incarnation. It must also be

144 Have This Mind
insisted that Jesus’ limitation and suffering was not seen as good in itself, but was
done for the benefit of others, so that they might receive (Scott 1980:244). Jesus’
self-denial was a means to an end, whereas later asceticism, although inspired by
him, saw it as good in itself because, for example, of a view of the essentially evil
nature of the body (Lietzmann 1953:126). In any case the humiliation of Jesus
was succeeded by resurrection and exaltation (Boerma 1979:91), indicating that
the ultimate good is not in limitation, but in riches.
More than by his lifestyle, Jesus has inspired self-renunciation (Hannah
1924:13) by his teachings on the dangers and the uses of wealth. For example, he
pronounced great woes on the rich of his time (Lk 6:24), in a way reminiscent of
the Hebrew prophets, and from similar motives. It was not that their riches were
wrong as such, but their means of acquisition, their attitude to them, and that
they despised others. This would seem to be the reason for the condemnation of
the rich man of Luke 16. He is not portrayed as unjust or oppressive, but simply
indifferent (Matura 1984:88). It is noticeable however that Jesus did not tell
people to divest themselves of their wealth (Hengel 1974:28). Even the command
to “love as yourself” even implies the contrary (Synnott 1978:76). Balance, not
asceticism, is Biblical (Taylor 1965:50). Despite the appeal of Padilla (1982:60)
to texts such as Mark 10:20, Luke 12:33 or 14:33, poverty is not essential for
Christian discipleship.
Jesus also proclaimed, “Blessed are the poor” (Lk 6:20). The force of these
words has been mitigated somewhat by the “in spirit” in the parallel in Matthew
5:3, leading to a debate between those who see Jesus advocating material poverty
and those who see Jesus desiring an attitude of humility (Sider 1982:38). There
is little doubt that he did desire the latter, but it is also evident that literal poverty
may well aid this (as Aquinas, cited in Gutiérrez (1974:305)). In this case the
blessing comes as a result of poverty, not in poverty itself. However this is not to
say that humility with a measure of wealth is not better (1 Tim 5:17), if only for
the ability to do good. An interesting opinion is that of Dussel (1988:50), who
interprets “in spirit” as “by choice”, as in the new Spanish translation, so sees
Jesus blessing not the involuntary poor, but those who have deliberately chosen
the path of self-renunciation. Indeed, even in English, “spirit” does carry the
connotation of will and purpose. Thus without advocating poverty as an ideal,
Jesus nevertheless saw blessing in it.
It was Jesus’ command to the rich young ruler (Lk 18:18f) which has been most
influential in prompting asceticism (Goudzwaard 1972:5). It is clear that Jesus
did not advocate this for the sake of the poor, who are incidental (Via 1985:136),
but for the young man himself (Eller 1973:33). The real desire was “follow me”,

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not “be destitute” (Watson 1982b:74), and his riches were a hindrance to that, as
also in his very graphic illustration of the camel and the eye of the needle (Matt
19:24) (Pallares 1982:66).
Although some have seen his words to the young man as not literal, for example
Clement of Alexandria, for whom property was morally neutral, few others doubt
that the words were meant to be taken seriously (Von Campenhausen 1968:90).
Most however feel that the command was only for the young man himself; that
wealth was an obstacle to him is clear (Matura 1984:18). On the other hand,
many believe that it was a general precept, and that Jesus would not ask one
person and not another (eg Griffiths 1985:124). There is no double standard.
Geldenhuys (1950:461) believes that it is the call for unconditional surrender
which is applicable to everyone, but that the detailed application, like Abraham’s
sacrifice, is individual. Wealth may not have to be surrendered for the owner to be
acceptable to God. Likewise Fuller and Rice (1966:26), who refer to the admission
to the great banquet of Luke 14:12f. Indeed Von Campenhausen (1968:97)
believes that the story shows that wealth in itself is not unjust.
The command of Luke 14:33 seems to be clearer, and to imply more than
just willingness (Schmidt 1989:29), yet Nürnberger (1978:54) believes that the
present tense indicates that it refers to an attitude, and Hengel (1974:64) that the
verse is merely redactional. However if selling all was a requirement for salvation,
Zaccheus would surely not have given only half to the poor. In his case it was not
a divestment in order to be ascetic, or a retention for comfort, but a desire for
justice (Schmidt 1989:30).
Schmidt (1989:30) says that Jesus always urges giving wealth away. However
his emphasis is not so much on wealth but on self-denial (Mk 8:34, Matt 19:12,
cf also Mk 4:19, 6:8); as in the Old Testament (eg Mic 6:8), obedience is better
than sacrifice (Matt 9:13, 12:7, Mk 12:32f). The disciples after all were called to
follow immediately with no time to sell up (Schmidt 1987:104), and in Mark
10:17f possessions are even a promise for obedience, although this could be
a reference not to material wealth but to the blessings of the new community
(Schmidt 1987:115). Pallares (1982:70) feels that it is a response of encouragement
particularly to a community disillusioned by persecution, not a general promise
for all time.
In all these cases, the poor are of secondary interest (Schmidt 1987:115); what
matters is the relationship to God, for which riches would seem to be a hindrance
(Schmidt 1987:136). In this case part of the strength of the early Church lay in
that most early Christians were poor (Padilla 1982:62). Schmidt (1987:29, 112)
however disagrees; he feels that the main reason for giving was not that it was

146 Have This Mind
good for others, but that it was a token of salvation. It is therefore commended,
even if it would cause poverty as in the case of the widow’s mite (Mk 12:44); in
giving of her very life, she showed real trust in God (Pallares 1982:58). Likewise
the issue for the ruler was really of security (Via 1985:134). He had to reject trust
in both wealth and accumulated merit, but in fact his trust in them was greater
than his will to eternal life (Hendricksen 1974:726).
The New Testament is one in seeing the material as good, to be enjoyed, but
nevertheless dangerous. Riches are regarded with cynicism or are condemned. But
there is no idealization of poverty in the New Testament, no condemnation of
riches as such (Pobee 1987:44). Paul never attacks wealth, but only covetousness
(Nürnberger 1978:165). James 5:1f may be harsh against the rich, but does not
urge poverty. Again the danger of riches is to trust in them (eg 1 Tim 5:17), even
if material things are good, and may even, as in Jesus’ parable of the steward (Lk
16), be able to be used for spiritual benefit. The danger of riches is that they tend
to produce selfishness, but the New Testament values an awareness of others (eg 2
Cor 7:2) (Taylor 1965:48).
The practice of giving referred to in the early Acts church should therefore
be seen not as from an ascetic motive but in order to share. The giving of the
early Church was clearly voluntary, and maybe large gifts as that of Barnabas were
exceptional (Haenchen 1971:233). Its ideal was not poverty, but its elimination
(Gutiérrez 1974:301). There is likewise a negative attitude to wealth in Peter’s
pronouncements (eg Acts 1:18, 3:6, 8:20) (Cassidy 1987:25), but no asceticism.
Johnson (1981:17) sees no idea in the New Testament that everything had to be
given away, as there is such an emphasis on alms and on sharing. The very act
of sharing, which requires at least some possessions, is a negation of an ascetic
viewpoint (although not of a simple lifestyle).
The same is implied by Paul, even if it is not explicit. He says that a Christian
has citizenship in heaven (Phil 3:20), an attitude reflected in Hebrews 4, no doubt
stemming from Jesus’ appeal to store treasure in heaven. A temporary resident
does not acquire too many goods, particularly the immoveable (Osei-Mensah
1982:134). Likewise an athlete cannot be fat, and a soldier must be separate from
civilian values (2 Tim 2:3f) (Osei-Mensah 1982:130). The desire to serve results
in a self-limitation.

The motives to self-denial
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147
The Philippian hymn is particularly concerned with motive. It urges imitation
of Jesus, which will then manifest in the attitude to possessions. However, this
has several facets; people limit their possessions for a variety of reasons, not all
consistent with the imitation of Christ.
It is doubtful if anyone views poverty as good in itself. Not even the most
dedicated ascetics would view it as desirable, although they adopt it for the sake
of its benefits, and will say nothing about how to escape it (Roth 1984:12).
However, many Christians have seen self-denial as a natural result of their beliefs
and reflected in the teachings of Jesus and the New Testament. It has however
also been practised and advocated from a variety of other motives and religious
viewpoints. Dammers (1982:81-2), in his appeal for a simple lifestyle, presents
ten reasons for a simplicity in lifestyle. As any action, it will be done either from
obedience or from hope of benefit. Although the latter may at first sight seem
strange, the very existence of poverty and suffering in the people of God indicates
that there must be some positive benefit from it (cf Rom 8:28). Moreover, as has
been seen, self-limitation can be a result not only of a rejection of the material,
but a desire to serve. As such it is a valid part of an approach to poverty. In fact
whatever the real motive, it will ultimately be a benefit to society and to the
poor.
Negative attitude to the material. It has been argued that the rise of Christian
monasticism, usually incorporating a degree of asceticism, although prompted
to some extent by the New Testament and especially by the words of Jesus, was
influenced far more by the prevailing philosophy of the time (Goudzwaard
1972:5). “The main agent [in the growth of monasticism] was an ascetic instinct,
born in the Church from heathen origins” (Harnack 1913:39). Stoicism was quite
influential at the time (Workman 1927:37). This saw passion and enjoyment
as wrong so tended to ignore the material. Indeed, it is hard to see that this is
really consistent with the life of Jesus, simply because in his very incarnation he
embraced a physical body.
Certainly the New Testament must be read against a background of a growing
tendency towards Gnosticism and its dualistic rejection of the material. The
Pastorals therefore reject asceticism as Gnostic (Von Campenhausen 1968:119).
The belief was that only the spiritual is good, so the body as material should
be suppressed as evil. This then tended to either antinomian excess, or more
commonly to asceticism (Lietzmann 1953:129), as the Marcionites. If weakened
by asceticism the body cannot harm the soul.

148 Have This Mind
The world was treated as evil, so could not be a real home, which was in general
the attitude of the Middle Ages (Wolterstorff 1983:4). With this belief, religion
will not seek to change the world, but to avoid it. The ascetic rather seeks the
kingdom of God within (Workman 1927:23), which partially accounts for the
emergence of asceticism when Church and state came together.
It has been suggested that in general, in the early period it was the heretics,
corrupted by pagan ideas, who were ascetic (Workman 1927:82). This would mean
that orthodox Christianity is not fundamentally ascetic. Indeed, it is noteworthy
that later Christian monasticism makes little reference to the Bible. There appears
little link between asceticism and doctrine (Lietzmann 1953:152).
It would be strange if Christians of this period were unaffected by this view, and
so dualism should probably be seen as at least a contributory factor in the growth
of asceticism and monasticism. Thus according to Athanasius, Anthony followed
the example of Pythagoras. The Anchorites then shunned nature, culture, social
ordinances, anything that could cause sin. The Celtic monks even used exile to
cut themselves off (Knowles 1969:32). However, peace was rare.
Nevertheless, it is also claimed that the first ascetics, Pachomius and Anthony
were in fact “untouched by Greek ideas”. In this case it is likely that asceticism
arose from within the Church (Lietzmann 1953:136). Indeed, there were no
examples of a total separation from the world before Christ except a group in the
temple of Serapis at Memphis. Even the Essenes did not totally separate themselves
(Lietzmann 1953:132). Thus it would seem unlikely that Greek ideas were alone
responsible, particularly as both Greeks and Romans saw the absence of poverty
as a feature in a Golden Age (Decock 1978:160). Moreover, if it were simply
cultural, it would have probably arisen earlier, rather than waiting, significantly,
for the adoption of Christianity by the Empire.
Certainly, even if a negative attitude to the material was influential in the early
Church, this is no longer the case. The modern world rather affirms the material.
Modern Christians tend to be more Hebraic than Greek so do not practise
asceticism or simple living for that reason, although of course many do so for
other reasons such as concern for the environment. In this case, however, the
practice is not likely to be so rigorous.
This attitude is of course a feature of other religions. Whereas all advocate
unselfishness, and most decry the pursuit of material wealth (Dammers 1982:126),
some, notably the Eastern, see the material as evil, together with holding a
cyclic view of time. This negates an idea of progress, so naturally militates
against economic development (Griffiths 1982:141). Gandhi therefore opposed
technology. For him civilization was a limitation of wants, not their multiplication

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(Sine 1981:73). Here Wolterstorff (1983:5) helpfully divides religions into worldavertive
and world-formative, depending on whether they seek to avoid or to
change the world.
Any rejection of the material can be seen to imply that it is not really good, for
if it were it should always be received with thanks. For the real ascetic, of course,
the world is evil and thus to be rejected. “Christian asceticism called the world evil
and abandoned it. Humanity waits for a Christian revolution which will call the
world evil and change it” (Rauschenbusch, in Gibellini 1988:14).
This objection is implied to some extent by the teachings of Jesus, “what
advantage is it to gain the world and lose your life?” (Mk 8:36) (Workman
1927:23), but he must be seen as rather seeking to put material things into a
correct perspective. He did affirm the goodness of life, the world and flesh as
not evil in themselves as is the devil (Munby 1956:33). Hall (1986:188) asserts
that Christ, without approving of all aspects of life, nevertheless adapted to them,
and this would seem also to have been the practice of Paul (1 Cor 9:20). The
Biblical attitude is rather to see the world as good as created by God, so poverty,
particularly forced poverty, as evil (Foster 1980:73). At the same time, however, it
is not the greatest good, but must take second place to a relation to God.
The Church speedily rejected a Gnostic dualism which saw the world as
inherently evil, but it did see the world as temporarily given over to the devil.
“The world is good but the life of the world is bad” (Harnack 1913:23). There is
an appreciation that even good things may be used in an evil way. Thus dualism
returned as a temporary state and was undoubtedly a factor in the emergence of
monasticism. However, of course, the abuse of something, particularly a gift of
God, is no reason to reject it.
Asceticism is based on dualism; it presupposes that the person as a soul needs
to be restored to health (Lietzmann 1953:136). The person is divided, and so
perhaps less than fully human. Underlying this is the idea that the soul only is
to be regarded as basically good. Not that such a negative attitude to the body
is always the case; Francis is neutral. For him the body is “brother ass”, so could
neither be revered nor hated. Simplicity, on the other hand, is rarely done for this
reason; indeed, on the contrary, it may well be done to benefit the body, whether
that of the practiser, or those of the ones who can then be helped. This then seeks
a full humanity. It is significant that later in Calvinism there was an emphasis on
total depravity (cf Lewis 1984:180). This meant that total recreation of the person
was essential (cf 2 Cor 5:17); before that was felt that the need was rather just
of improvement, for which bodily discipline could be effective. Interestingly, of
course, self-limitation continued to be practised, but as part of sanctification, as a

150 Have This Mind
response to, but not to enable, salvation; this, as Weber saw, then contributed to
economic prosperity. However, this was in no sense dualistic.
The emergence of asceticism in the Church may also be seen not only as a
witness but as a protest movement (Bosch 1980:111), whether against galloping
inflation in the Empire (Taylor 1965:80), against culture (Alexandria being a
cultural centre) (Harnack 1913:37), against clericalism (Workman 1927:13),
but was especially a rejection of worldliness in the Church (Surin 1985:384). An
acceptance of Christianity by the world led to a drop in standards and a desire to
escape to be more dedicated (Workman 1927:6). Ditz (1988:66) sees the early
Christians as an ascetic minority within the decadent empire, and being preserved
in monasticism. Interestingly he saw asceticism weakened by Hellenism. Even
the cessation of persecution could be seen to be a factor (Workman 1927:82),
although González (1990:163) adds the idea that some were fleeing oppression.
In this case rather than simply asceticism, the essence of the monastic life may be
seen as separation (Pennington 1989:2). Indeed, in the early Church, the very
confession of Christ was enough to separate a Christian from the rest of society.
The monks fled not just the world but the world in the Church, yet not the
Church itself (Harnack 1913:36). At the very time of the alliance of Church and
state, monasticism created a new form of life (Hengel 1974:53).
Such a motivation may still be relevant today. On the one hand there is often
a desire to express a Christian commitment in a visible way, more than just
attending places of worship; a distinctive lifestyle meets this need. On the other
hand, more positively, many Christians reject the materialism and consumerism
of modern society, and express this in self-denial. Both of these desires may be met
by living in community, a modern version of monasticism. Of course there are
also still many monasteries, in the traditional sense, in existence in various parts of
the world. However, abuse of God’s gifts is no reason for rejecting them. God is a
good creator, so that human perversion of the material is no reason for rejecting
it, but only its misuse.
Perhaps paradoxically, although monasticism started with a rejection of the
world, particularly the world in the Church (Workman 1927:10), it ended with
a Franciscan harmony with nature leading to the study of science (Workman
1927:310). Thus as Boff (in Christiansen 1990:75) remarks, reverence for the
world was rooted in the severest form of asceticism. Whereas “monastic writings
scarcely ever show any appreciation of natural scenery” (Hannah 1924:40), part of
the attraction for some was a closer contact with nature. The Celts desired solitude
with nature, perhaps an affinity to the old nature religion (Workman 1927:185).
Indeed Celtic Christianity only survived in monasticism. It is also significant that

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medieval monasticism was often extravagant in its building, especially of churches,
and in their decoration. The material was used in a way seen as good as it aided a
relation to God (Eller 1973:28). Such phenomena possibly indicate that Christian
asceticism is not always fundamentally world-hating; perhaps the change came
with an appreciation of service to humanity in the Benedictines and especially in
the Franciscans. Pennington (1989:13) in fact sees the cycle of daily offices in the
monastic community as an attempt to achieve harmony with the cycle of nature,
and so with God.
An interesting modern variation on Plato’s negative attitude to the material is
that of Marx (Prior 1965:11). For him material is not negative, quite the opposite
as Marxism is materialistic, but becomes the source of evil when possessed by
individuals. The solution for him is likewise a form of asceticism, but here the
denial of private property.
It is likely that a rejection of private property contributed to the growth of
monasticism. Particularly if the world is evil and not a real home, then possessions
are not possible. Certainly property was fairly uniformly rejected in the early
Church as a root of dissension (eg by Basil and Chrysostom) (Hengel 1974:1,
cf Hinkelammert 1986:171), or as a result of the fall (Gregory of Nazianzus).
The Pseudo-Clementines (Hom 3:25) see the name “Cain” as from “possession”
(Hebrew qana acquire, qana’ envy) so possessions are by nature sinful (Hengel
1974:1). Chrysostom therefore said that we can never possess anything more
than its use (González 1990:136). Augustine (Civitas Dei 15) also concurred
with this, believing that nobody can have property without denying it to others
and so arousing envy (Goudzwaard 1972:6), although in 414 AD he denied the
teaching of the Sicilian who said a rich person cannot be saved without selling all
(Oddie 1984:127), pointing out that Lazarus went to the bosom of rich Abraham.
(Nevertheless, Abraham, although rich, held his riches lightly.) This should be
seen against the background of the usual approval of common ownership in pagan
thought (eg Virgil and Seneca) (Hengel 1974:6).
Christians too have often rejected private property, feeling that if an individual
uses too much, it is the same as stealing from others (Roth 1984:12). Property is
rather held in stewardship for God, so used rather than possessed. Things are a
loan from God for which account must be rendered (Hengel 1974:68). This idea
naturally helps the avoidance of waste and the positive adoption of simplicity. It is
this rather than a negative attitude to the material as such which contributes to the
motive for Christian self-limitation. On the other hand, of course, if possessions
are not owned but held in stewardship from God, they cannot be legitimately
given away, but must be used, although this can be for the poor.

152 Have This Mind
The desire to dominate the material. The kenōsis of Jesus was his method
of domination; by self-renunciation, he overcame the forces of sin and death.
Self-denial, and especially asceticism, may also be practised from a desire for
domination. For the ascetic, the world needs to be conquered, and to do that the
self must be conquered (Workman 1927:336), and its many temptations (which
come from the world) overcome. The Jesuits in particular saw renunciation as
means of achieving domination. For them it was a means to an end (Harnack
1913:109). For the monks too, asceticism was a means to domination, but over
the forces of sin whether within them or demonic (Lietzmann 1953:166). There
could only be full freedom if the world was repudiated completely. It may well be
asked here how far they were successful in this, for temptation never departed, and
may even have intensified with asceticism. Despite the efforts of the Anchorites
to shun nature, culture, even humanity, all that can cause sin (Harnack 1913:51),
temptation and the spiritual battle if anything worsened. More to the point,
however, is whether domination is really the right attitude to the material.
In contrast to this view, which also has affinities to capitalism and some forms
of Christianity, self-denial usually rather seeks harmony with the created order.
There is a rejection of the idea that people have total rights to use and abuse
the material (Moorhouse 1969:218). Modern religion often seeks power over the
world, such as in healing or in the pursuit of prosperity (Hall 1986:193), but
here there is a desire not only to prevent harming the world too much but also to
enable provision for others and so harmony between people.
Aid to religion. Closely related to a negative attitude to the material is a
view that limits possessions and consumption as beneficial to religion. Here it is
noteworthy that the footwashing incident of John 13 was in the context of the last
supper, which most Christians see as central to Christian worship.
Most likely stemming from a negative attitude to the material comes the view
that divesting oneself of possessions will earn favour with God. A person must be
frugal or cannot please God (Chrysostom 1984:75). Anthony’s aim was to save his
soul (Hannah 1924:23). Arsenius heard a voice, “flee from men and you will be
saved” (Pennington 1989:1).
A related view derives from the connection of sin with suffering, and the view
of original sin. It has been believed that all must suffer, if not in this world, then
in the next, as God is just. Therefore to avoid suffering in the next, some have
deliberately tried to suffer in this (Chrysostom 1984:61f). Asceticism may be seen
as a form of penance (Workman 1927:214). However, Taylor (1992:136) believes
that the ascetics actually sought apatheia, immunity from suffering, to be closer to
what they believed was an apathetic God. Many monasteries benefited from gifts

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to them for this reason, which although may not have been a total giving of all
were nevertheless viewed as an investment, or as a sort of insurance premium.
Giving naturally declined at the time of the Reformation (Scott 1987:211),
with the abolition of many of the monasteries which had received gifts. More
significant at the time was the removal of the idea of merit, for if salvation is a gift
it cannot be earned. The Protestant view of “grace alone” naturally killed this idea;
trying to earn salvation is a denial of the sufficiency of Christ’s atonement. His
death alone enables justice and forgiveness (Rom 3:25). Protestantism is fearful of
any idea of salvation by works and tends to see repentance as an attitude (cf Greek
metanoia (change of mind)), with works then following in thanks for salvation.
However there can still be some hope for reward in a world to come. There
may still be an appeal to the justice of God in a lifestyle that looks for some
recompense for present good deeds such as sacrifice. Protestantism still has
a doctrine of rewards in the afterlife which encourages this practice, but if the
benefit is firstly not certain and secondly only an additional blessing to salvation
it is unlikely to result in great sacrifice.
Jesus’ lifestyle may have provided an incentive to asceticism not just as an
example to follow, but from a belief that redemption lay in the imitation of Jesus
as closely as possible (Lietzmann 1953:138). This is a belief that real repentance,
which may include giving to the point of sacrifice, is necessary for salvation, an
idea encouraged by the words of Jesus, such as “no-one can serve two masters”
(Matt 6:24), and “he who loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matt 16:25).
This would definitely be a form of salvation by works rather than by grace.
Roth (1984:14) however sees this not so much as salvation by works but the
development of character by those works.
Without seeing it as necessary to salvation or even to earn a reward, some have
seen the material as a hindrance to their religious lives. Jesus said that there is no
advantage in gaining the world and losing the soul (Matt 16:26), so it may be
inferred that to gain the soul involved rejecting the world (Workman 1927:23).
Recognizing that possessions can be distracting and cause the use of both time
and money which could be diverted into more “spiritual” channels, some have
therefore sought to minimize their possessions. Although both rich and poor may
equally be free from material concern (Eller 1973:64), Sheets (1984:291) asserts
that “History shows that a reliable index of the level of religious life is found in
the degree to which evangelical poverty is lived out”. This is seen as true not only
for the individual, but groups. Paget-Wilkes (1981:107) notes that before the
Church had buildings, it grew fastest, but there were of course many other factors
involved.

154 Have This Mind
The monks sought an inner freedom (Hengel 1974:55) not unrelated to Paul’s
contentment (Phil 4:11) or the Stoic or Cynic ideal of self-sufficiency. They
sought detachment from the world by renouncing possessions (Foster 1987:5),
not wanting the burden of caring for anything, even their bodies (Hannah
1984:39). For reasonable monks, asceticism was a means to an end (Workman
1927:339). They rejected the view current at the time (and today) that the
individual exists only for the state, seeking isolation from it for better communion
with God (Workman 1927:27). This is in keeping with the Pauline metaphor of
the soldier or athlete who must avoid encumbrances to be efficient (2 Tim 2:3f)
(cf Chrysostom 1984:26), and with his advice to remain unmarried (1 Cor 7:26).
Likewise Jesus speaks of the difficulty of the baggage to a camel (Matt 19:24)
(cf Lee 1986:119) and forbids anxiety over material goods (Matt 5). Although
he may be contrasted with John the Baptist in practice, the goal is the same,
to remove encumbrances from pursuit of the Kingdom (Lietzmann 1953:124).
The ideal is single-mindedness, a lack of distraction in life. Even the Rabbis, who
are world-affirming, advocating industry to avoid begging, and praised poverty
adopted for the sake of study of the Torah (Schmidt 1987:85).
Again the words of Jesus to the rich young ruler have been influential, “If
you would be perfect, go, sell …” (Matt 19:21) (Lietzmann 1953:126), which
has led to the idea of two levels of morality for Christians, one for those desiring
perfection and the other for the “ordinary”, an idea reflected in the Didache (6:2)
(Lietzmann 1953:129) and in Clement of Alexandria. It is however significant
that the idea of perfection is lacking in the parallels in Mark and Luke. The idea of
two levels is only a possible implication here, and is hardly to be found elsewhere,
and indeed would seem contrary to Scripture as a whole. (Interestingly a similar
idea, but in the opposite direction, is found in Prosperity teaching, where again
there are two grades of Christians, but there the perfect are those who are rich.)
If the Christian life involves a surrender to Jesus, giving up the material can
be seen as an aspect of that. It will engender an attitude of humility (Samuel
& Sugden 1983:133), and a realization of dependence (cf Munby 1956:37).
Chrysostom therefore says that the poor have a better chance of salvation as they
have the right attitude (Roth 1984:12). Certainly in the modern world, riches can
be harmful, as providing temptation unless rejected (Lk 17:1) and have prevented
some from more committed service such as on the foreign mission field. However
if real commitment to Christ did require total surrender of wealth, the command
to the rich young ruler would have been for all (Hendrickson 1974:727), a belief
that few commentators share. It must also be noted that if self-sacrifice were
essential, then there would be no promise to receive back (Mk 10:30), although

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the interpretation of that verse is debated. It is clear that following Jesus does
involve surrender, but at the same time there is a promise of receipt (Fuller & Rice
1966:24), if not now, in the future.
The danger of possessions is that a person will tend to trust them and not God,
so that to really trust God can be seen to require divestment from wealth. This
was perhaps the issue for the rich young ruler (Via 1985:134). Schmidt (1987:36)
remarks that for Luke the evil of wealth lies not so much in lack of care for the
poor but in independence from God. Some would go so far as to allege that any
possession is mistrust of God, but although there is a need to lose reliance on them,
there is also a need to be responsible. Nevertheless the poor do tend to turn to
God more readily than the rich, better appreciating their need (Boerma 1979:76).
There is a connection between the poverty of spirit and material poverty.
It is clear that real worship is only possible in giving oneself, not only in mind
and spirit but also in the material. Certainly giving to others can be an act of
worship to God rather than from an attitude of compassion to the poor, as often
seems to be the case in the Bible, as in both the Old Testament legislation and
in, for example, Jesus’ advice to the rich young ruler, where the poor are hardly
mentioned. “Nothing is said about the poor’s need, still less is considered the harm
that money may do to the poor … he needs to get rid of it” (Johnson 1972:175).
It is a short step from this to a belief that worship requires asceticism. In many
religions, asceticism serves to purify the soul (Zarnecki 1972:11). Pachomius said
that “as an ascetic, he regained the lost image of God” (Lietzmann 1953:135). “For
S. Basil, the ascetic life was Christianity in its purest form” (Hannah 1924:41), a
belief shared with both Greek and Roman Churches (Harnack 1913:10).
This attitude was not just from a view of the material as evil but came also
from the experience of the Church in its early years. Martyrdom was seen as the
highest form of worship (cf Rev 5:9, 20:4), and so suffering was valued as an aid
to worship (Chrysostom 1984:75, Workman 1927:33). Much later, out of the
situation of persecution, Aquinas could say that poverty, although not perfection,
was the way to it (Gutiérrez 1974:305). This may cause the disgust of the liberation
theologian, but even for him, poverty may be a blessing in that it removes material
obstacles to openness to God (Gutiérrez, in Nessan 1986:236).
Now it is indeed often the case that suffering, and the experience of near death
can be spiritually beneficial in removing attachment to the material, and putting
eternity in perspective. St John of the Cross (1988:37) says that “Almighty God
who lifts up poor men from the ashes was pleased to go to Job and speak with
him in a way that God had never done when Job was prosperous.” However this
does not mean that suffering should be actively sought. It could well have the

156 Have This Mind
opposite effect as tending to despise God for creating the possibility of pain.
The Old Testament attitude is of thanks for God’s blessings both physical and
spiritual; worship is in human fulfilment which may or may not imply selflimitation
(Samuel & Sugden 1982:42). The Cistercians, although ascetic, sought
a balance between prayer and work for the benefit of the whole person (Zarnecki
1972:71).
Indeed, asceticism may in fact be a form of selfishness, as much idolatrous as
self-indulgent (Kantzer 1989:39), seeking to benefit only the individual, whereas
the prime Christian virtue is love. Goudzwaard (1975:19) says that the ascetic
escape is immoral; most do not have that choice. Self-denial in the New Testament
is a means not an end (Lewis 1984:22). Even a preoccupation with saving is a
subtle form of materialism, and may actually cost more in time than the saved
money is worth.
Moreover, poverty may remove some problems but will cause others (Harnack
1913:51). Monasticism generated its own forms of temptation (Workman
1927:338). Even in their attempt to flee from the world, the monks had to
struggle with the world that they took with them (Pennington 1989:1). Even on
the physical level it may be counterproductive, as without some assets the very
need for survival may absorb a considerable amount of time and energy (Dawson
1984:17).
On the negative side, asceticism may be construed as a criticism of God, who
placed people in the midst of a world full of temptations which harm the soul.
It would have been kinder to keep people away from such temptation. Surely
a Christian view cannot accept such a picture, so must question asceticism if it
produces such a thought. However even self-denial from the motive of compassion
may be seen as in a sense a rejection of God’s grace in creation and providence. If
God supplied to all adequately, there would be no need for any self-restriction.
Nevertheless, advocates of a simple lifestyle believe that in fact the provision
of God is adequate, but not for excess consumption. Simplicity rejoices in God’s
provision (Foster 1980:74), so accepts that material things are to be used as God’s
gift, with thanks. A belief in God’s provision will reject the necessity of anxiety
or hoarding (Hengel 1974:29), so can enable simplicity, not contradict it. It can
enable contentment (Foster 1980:74). This is an affirmation of the rule of God,
and an acknowledgement of human stewardship, as in Wesley’s response to the
burning of his house (cf also Job 41:11, Ps 24:1). It affirms that Christians are a
possession of God (Ex 19:5), so will be cared for (cf Foster 1987:39). Contentment
is also enabled by a hope of an afterlife, such that suffering in this world becomes

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less significant. In this case, far from denigrating the care of God, self-limitation
rather assumes it and relies upon it; it is even a form of worship.
However a recognition of the provision of God also means an imitation of
it, and therefore the need to give to the deprived. Self-limitation is a means to
do this, and to enable the practice of giving as a corollary of Christian belief.
Chrysostom (1984:75), and others, therefore believe that it is impossible to really
please God without personal frugality. However, as Eller (1973:14) says, this is
seeking righteousness by works rather than by faith.
Better lifestyle. It is unlikely that anyone views asceticism positively as
something desirable in itself. It is practised just because it is unpleasant for the
body, and in the very unpleasantness lies its attraction. However, as a reaction
to the lifestyle which results from modern capitalism, and such money related
problems as gambling (Prior 1965:36f), many are adopting simplicity because
they see it as a better form of life. It is a rejection of the values of modern society.
This may take many forms, of differing degree, from seeking cheaper forms of
recreation, which are often healthier, to the abstinence from food in fasting. This
too is often done as beneficial to the body if done carefully.
The motive is then that it is better to live simply, that possessions and indulgence
in excess are harmful. This need not mean that poverty in itself is good (Sider
1982:26); as Hall (1986:198) says, sacrifice is only valid if for a real purpose. He
finds such a purpose in the needs of nature, but it can also be found in the benefit
to the one who lives simply. Indeed possessions can be detrimental to lifestyle;
the rich young ruler went away with a heavy heart, for him the burden of riches
was oppressive (yet not so oppressive for him as giving them up!). “Possessions
have a way of becoming possessors”, and people are enslaved to them (Wilkinson
1985:87). Chrysostom (1984:46) therefore saw riches in having few desires,
poverty in having many. The self-sufficient is the most affluent. He even feels
that Lazarus was richer than the other in the parable. In any case, for him present
poverty and riches are but masks over reality.
Advocates of the simple lifestyle note especially the stress of modern living, the
anxiety of trying to be rich and the vast consumption of aspirin and tranquilizers
such as valium (Dammers 1982:154, who says that in the UK, one aspirin
is consumed per person per day, ten valium per adult per year). It is the rich
countries that have a high suicide rate; poverty in itself does not give wretchedness
(Bauer 1981:115, an interesting observation from one who advocates economic
growth). People do experience a need for simplicity as evidenced by the desire for
holidays (Dammers 1982:144), reacting also against the pollution and drabness

158 Have This Mind
which is often a feature of modern life. It may be questioned whether they really
find modern living enjoyable. In fact Workman (1927:3) asserts that there is a
desire for simple living in all. Modern life is sometimes felt to be contradictory,
effort being put into what is only temporary and will not ultimately benefit. A car
is bought to save time, only to spend hours in traffic jams, and then more time in
exercising (Dammers 1982:121).
Indeed, simple living is often not just reduction of consumption but a
desire for single-mindedness (simplicity). There is a recognition here that much
consumption is not just from need but from the desire for status, from the
persuasion of others, the need of a sense of achievement, and so on (Galbraith,
in Dammers 1982:98). If a Christian is really concerned to follow God singlemindedly,
much of this then becomes less relevant. The practice of any form of
self-limitation may even be accused of being dehumanizing, as on the one hand it
may emphasize a distinction between the spiritual and the material, and so divides
the person, and on the other hand it is essentially an individual practice and so
divides from the rest of humanity.
Ignatieff (1984:93) points out that before capitalism, virtue was seen, for
example by the Stoics, the medieval scholars or Calvin, as having few needs; but
in capitalism, desire is stimulated, wants become needs, and even growth itself
creates more desire. The appeal of a simple lifestyle is however not just a reaction
to capitalism but may be attractive as it is often seen as liberative, so in keeping
with the essential idea of capitalism, that of individual freedom. The original
capitalism, and the Protestant Work Ethic, also assumed a measure of personal
austerity (cf Adam Smith, in Ignatieff 1984:123). This aspect is also attractive
to Christians, for whom the essence of Christianity is freedom (Taylor 1965:82,
Fraser, in Dammers 1982:178). Salvation is freedom to move and live, the
opposite of oppression; “a Christian is not to be governed by the laws of prestige
and competition” (Küng, in Dammers 1982:177-8), but by putting the Kingdom
first, a Christian is freed to really live. Whereas the desire for wealth is often the
desire for security, a Christian finds security in God. The monk, although owning
nothing, yet knew security (Chrysostom 1984:58). It is regrettable that Christians
often fail to obey Jesus’ words because of the possibility of failure or of going to
excess, or perhaps because of parents who themselves experienced deprivation and
will need to be cared for in old age (Foster 1987:22).
However, although reduction may liberate, the ascetic life is far from stress
free. The very needs of the body cry out for attention. Asceticism, rather than
simplicity, can hardly be beneficial to the life of the one practising it; of course a
reduction in the quality of life is the intention of the ascetic in any case. Indeed,

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the monks often only adopted asceticism because they saw Christianity in terms
of warfare with the devil (Lietzmann 1953:166) for which they sought strength,
paradoxically in bodily weakness. They wanted a life that would be hard and
difficult; for them it was an essential part of the struggle with evil.
What both asceticism and simplicity accept, particularly the former, is
individuality. The very word “monk” comes from the Latin monos (alone or solitary)
(Knowles 1969:9). Interestingly the former is often practised in community for
the sake of mutual support, and the latter for the sake of sharing, either with
Church or what is seen as the one human family. Both seem to be more fulfilled
in reference to others. Monastics do however often find a problem in enforced
uniformity, generally feeling that diversity is good (Workman 1927:227, 332).
Asceticism tended to assume that the Kingdom of God was within (Workman
1927:23), so that all was secondary to the individual, whether state or Church,
despite the need for mutual encouragement (Sider 1982:33), discernment and
help. This was particularly true in the early individual asceticism in the Egyptian
desert (Workman 1927:23), and so in the desire for suffering, even martyrdom
(Workman 1927:325), but even in the later monastic communities, essential
individualism meant that the lack of usefulness to the rest of humanity was
irrelevant (Hannah 1924:50).
Excessive individualism may also be seen in that one of the problems of the
practice is the development of two sorts of Christians, and a double ethic. Clement
of Alexandria saw the real disciples as ascetic, giving up all, but for the rest there
would be partial renunciation if at all (Matura 1984:164). Such divisions still
occur, if not in the same way, but must be questioned in the light of texts such
as Galatians 3:28. The call to all Christians is the same, to loyalty to Jesus, and
certainly not to non-conformity for its own sake (Eller 1973:64).
It requires extreme individualism to deny one’s rights over the body (Hannah
1924:79), also neglecting how others such as relatives may feel at suffering and
a possible breakdown of health. Yet from the other side, asceticism neglects the
rights that others have to be helped. It seeks only the benefit of the individual.
It is egotistic, even selfish, even as self-indulgent as gluttony, so can be seen as
idolatrous (Kantzer 1989:39). Thomas à Kempis said that mortification is useless
without love (Workman 1927:262). In this he is reflecting the more practical
attitude of the Western Church (Hannah 1924:87). Likewise the Benedictines
encouraged work, although not primarily to be useful; they decried idleness
(Workman 1927:262). Asceticism may even be irresponsible to oneself as it can
cause dependence and a loss of dignity (Munby 1956:37). It may even lead to a
breakdown of physical health, which as Wogaman (1977:47) points out, will lead

160 Have This Mind
to a decline in spiritual health. Suffering, whether forced or voluntary, is likely to
be dehumanizing.
It is hard to see how such an “egotistic motivation of asceticism” can be
consistent with aspects of Christianity such as that of grace and naturally of
baptism (Lietzmann 1953:181), which although it shows death with Christ, also
means identification with the community, although the related idea of adoption
as children of God means that people as children of a loving Father have no need
for private possession (but also means that they are not given rules, but rather
principles for living). What asceticism does however is show that self-fulfilment
may lie not in personal expansion but in limitation (Strohm 1978:191), but it
is hard to see that a real humanity is possible without at least a minimum of
possessions which give some dignity (Munby 1956:37).
While this extreme form of asceticism can be said to be irresponsible, simplicity
may be done from a feeling of responsibility, although even the latter may of
course lead to some neglect of family, even of Church, as most purchases are made
not for self but for others such as the immediate family (Walter 1985:23). Some
may even need to give away less rather than more, so as to better provide (Foster
1987:75). Of course simple living may also be carried to excess; in this case it may
well lead to an attitude of pride, and a preoccupation with economy, even to the
extent of wasting time, which cannot be right (Davis 1984:45).
Part of the attraction of simplicity is however that it can be done to some extent
without necessarily involving others at all, so is nevertheless still individualistic.
Dammers (1982:190) gives some guidelines for practice which he claims to keep
as an individual. In this it can perhaps be said to balance both the individual and
the community.
An objection to the standpoint of voluntary self-limitation is that it will affect
culture, which requires a measure of affluence. It must however be asked which
is ultimately more important, the care of the poor, or culture; and secondly, how
integral Western culture is with non-Christian materialistic values. The world
rather needs influencing away from such, which must involve a measure of
poverty. In any case, there will be no real appreciation of the plight of the poor
without some identification with their situation.
Evangelistic concern. Any act of evangelism involves a measure of self-denial
in that it must cost at least a minimum of time and effort to speak to another.
Likewise of course listening to the gospel does cost, and Jesus was definite when
he said that accepting the gospel was costly. At perhaps a deeper level, in order to
speak to and confront society and its sin, it is necessary, at least to some extent, to

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distance oneself from it and its motives and interests (which in the modern West
is materialism) (Surin 1985:400). This should not be surprising in view of the
fact that Jesus himself had to deny himself (Lietzmann 1953:126) and to limit
his glory to come to earth for us, and particularly in his death experienced the
costliness of salvation.
It is therefore not surprising that limitation is necessary in order to present the
gospel. The friars adopted asceticism simply to facilitate involvement in service
and preaching. Unlike the monks who saw their calling in seclusion and liturgy,
their lifestyle was for the benefit of others (Knowles 1969:115). Likewise “to the
Jesuits, all renouncing was simply a means to an end” (Harnack 1913:109). They
sought dominion over the world.
It is perhaps the poor who are most likely to respond to the gospel (Fuller &
Rice 1966:33). In imitation of Christ’s example, and from the precedent of the
seventy who preached in Israel’s villages (Samuel & Sugden 1983:140), many have
made themselves poor in order to identify with the poor and so present the gospel
to them (Bonk 1986a:443, Boff & Boff 1987:48, Scott 1980:246). Of course total
identification is never possible as Tolstoy pointed out (Thielicke 1977:379), but
many have believed that the attempt must be made in order to bridge the cultural
gap, and also to validate the message. A rich person cannot preach the gospel of
love to a poor person except by sharing and self-limitation (Bonk 1986a:437). Of
course in a richer area, austerity may be beneficial in that it may lead to respect
and credibility, but it can also be counter-productive as it can lead to despising the
gospel, and will not lead to identification but to the opposite, losing contact with
the people that are to be reached. A similar problem occurs for those in business
who can only succeed if their lifestyle matches the expectations of their clients. If
austere they will fail in business (Webber 1979:24).
It is clear that wealth has caused problems for the evangelistic pursuit of the
Church. It has alienated the Christian rich from the poor (Paget-Wilkes 1981:54,
Catherwood 1975:132). It has caused problems among the missionaries such as
embarrassment at their affluence (Bonk 1986a:439), suspicion of locals at the
almost inevitable thefts, callousness, in addition to the problem of preaching such
aspects as the need for unselfishness (Bonk 1989:178). It has meant that following
the example of the missionaries has become totally impossible economically so
that conversion is unlikely (Bonk 1986b:384). Even mission methodology often
seems dependent not on the Spirit, but upon technology (Bonk 1986b:385).
Bonk points out that missionaries have in fact tended to see a problem in the
selfishness of the locals, not in their own lifestyle. Then it has caused problems
for the hearers, who have been willing to respond out of a desire for wealth and

162 Have This Mind
to get charity from the Church (the so-called “rice Christians” or the “cargo cults”
(Bonk 1986a:454), leading to a reaction against the gospel when giving has been
less generous than hoped for. The Church has been perceived as unwilling to
help the poor, so naturally, its message is questioned (Paget-Wilkes 1981:42). An
attitude of envy, exacerbated by proximity, has hardly been conducive to good
relationships (Bonk 1986a:447). The Church itself has been perceived as moneycentred,
and has suffered from an inability to distinguish Christians from other
foreigners (Bonk 1986a:444).
The missionary enterprise has also suffered from other money related
difficulties. Escobar at Lausanne pointed out that Church leadership has often
been from the upper classes, and the very type of training, not only its cost,
biased against the poor (Paget-Wilkes 1981:38). Its often hierarchical structure
likewise leads to a lack of communication. It is perhaps significant that the base
communities of Latin America are congregational in structure, contrasting with
the Catholic structures (Paget-Wilkes 1981:50, 102). Bonk (1986a:451) thus
points out that the very status both of foreigners and Church dignitaries causes a
lack of communication.
Missionaries themselves have been aware of the problems caused by discrepancy
but have perhaps been even more aware of a further problem, that of the sheer cost
of keeping them in another country. Because of their lifestyle, they were proving
too affluent for the field but also too expensive for the Church to maintain (Scott
1980:31). The 1982 annual cost of the American missionary was $34,000, which
contrasts greatly with the per capita GNP of $120 in Ethiopia. This further leads
to a belief that it is impossible for third world countries to themselves send out
missionaries (Bonk 1986a:438).
A further difficulty is the connection between capitalism and the gospel,
in that capitalism, and particularly colonialism, is perceived as oppressive, and
that the missionary is seen as benefiting from, even contributing to the system,
and causing the problems of the poor (Wogaman 1977:29). Likewise there is
a suspicion that capitalism is using the gospel both to legitimize itself and also
to aid its oppression. Missionaries themselves have suffered from an inability to
see the problems of the over-developed West and the mechanisms of oppression
(Bonk 1986a:451).
Such problems are of course most severe between first and third worlds,
although are also pertinent within countries. In England, the wealth of the
Church, particularly the Church of England, alienated the poor (Paget-Wilkes
1981:54). Even the results of the gospel caused many related problems. The

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Methodists became prosperous by their diligence and so lost touch with the poor
(Paget-Wilkes 1981:60).
The negative results of the discrepancy between rich missionaries and poor
locals should not obscure the fact that wealth does have some positive aspects
which aid the communication of the gospel. It has enabled health, security,
technological aids, prestige, all of which have been helpful (Bonk 1986a:448-9).
Latourette points out that Western prosperity has led to an optimistic attitude
which has encouraged the mission enterprise (in Bonk 1986a:440), as well as
making it practically possible. In particular, modern technology and medicine has
enabled survival in difficult climates. Good bodily health is in any case beneficial
to continued spiritual health (Wogaman 1977:47). Not least, a desire to limit
affluence has not led to any real identification, but has even been received with
suspicion (Bonk 1986a:441), and treated as hypocritical when it is known that
the missionary can live at a higher standard. It may even be questioned as right
to live at a low level if one of the results of Christianity and the Protestant work
ethic is in fact prosperity. The gospel can be perceived not only as giving eternal
benefits but also as a solution to the immediate problems of poverty.
As a Christian lifestyle should in general lead to prosperity as adopting a
“work ethic” (not that Christians should be rich as “children of the king”, as is
sometimes alleged), such prosperity can provide a powerful incentive to become
Christians. These points are however perhaps more of a challenge to the lifestyle
of modern Christians, who have often lost a desire to live moderately and without
waste. Moreover, as Bonk (1989) cautions, the excessive affluence seen in Western
Christians can well have the opposite result in repelling people from Christianity.
It should also be noted, with caution, that the “work ethic” with its high value on
avoiding waste, can lead to a tightfistedness, an unwillingness to give to the poor.
Social concern. The realization of the severity of poverty has caused many
people, not only Christians, to re-examine their own lifestyles and to cut down
their consumption thus freeing a portion of their income for charities and also thus
making resources available for the poor (Sider 1984a:153, Paget-Wilkes 1981:116)
(with perhaps an associated belief that they too should self-limit in consumption
and in procreation!). The desire is to be in solidarity with the deprived, whether
their deprivation is spiritual, material or both, in order to benefit them. As Ghandi
said, there is enough for need but not for greed, or likewise Nyerere, who said that
the problem is not poverty, as resources are available, but the division between
rich and poor (Dammers 1982:45, 60). Austerity can be seen as good if it enables
charity, production or social action, but even the limitation of consumption itself

164 Have This Mind
is beneficial in that it should reduce inflation and so help the poor (Dammers
1982:185). Nevertheless, George (1987:209) advocates using saved money
positively, preferably by a religious rather than a secular organization.
Whereas the desire for riches produces loneliness (1 Tim 6:9) (Osei-Mensah
1980:277), self-limitation can enable real community, friendship and a deeper
life in relationship with others. In fact in view of the limitation of resources, it
can be seen as essential if harmony in the world is to be established. “We must
recognize that having more than enough can be a form of stealing from those in
need”; as desires lead to warfare, peace and harmony will require a limitation of
them (Wilkinson 1985:88).
It is not insignificant as well that a decision for self-limitation also reduces the
need for personal security, which can be expensive and which itself takes resources
from the poor (cf Yoder 1987:6f). Indeed personal austerity must reduce the
incidence of crime, which is encouraged by the ostentation of riches (González
1990:136).
Of course, while simple living is often done for the practical reason of concern
for the poor, asceticism for religious reasons can be criticized as not helping.
The “primary object” of the Benedictine rule was “to benefit the souls of the
monks” (Hannah 1924:42). What is interesting however, is that at the same time,
while aiming to make good men, it left aside the question of usefulness; almost
paradoxically, it benefited society greatly (Hannah 1924:78). This was because
work was a vital part of life for them. “Far more impressive than Benedictine
austerities have been Benedictine services to mankind” (Hannah 1924:84). The
world and the poor benefited greatly, even though for them this was definitely a
by-product, as for them this world was passing away.
Charity to the poor is helped by self-limitation. This is often criticized as the
money is often seen as wasted by the poor or finds its way to the rich. However
there can be no demand for sacrifice on their part if the givers do not practise
some austerity themselves (Dammers 1982:139). As Boerma (1979:50) says, it is
important whether “blessed are the poor” is said by a rich or a poor person. Giving
without visible sacrifice cannot be a good example. It is also seen as ineffective
unless widely practised (Dammers 1982:189), but surely it is better to do some
good than none. Although austerity may well provide an example to others, as
the rich tend to blame the poor for their problems, the influence of an example
will be limited (Holman 1978:258). It has even been said that giving to others
implies the goodness of wealth, so it is wrong to deprive oneself, but as Paul says
(2 Cor 8:13) the intention of giving is not to cause a burden, but compassion and
a measure of equality.

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Of course charity in itself may be ineffective against the real causes of poverty
and may well be counter-productive by reducing the economy of the giver (Osei-
Mensah 1982:124), and even causing unemployment (Dammers 1982:184) and
lack of incentive in the receiver. Austerity for the sake of production, as in the
Protestant work ethic, on the other hand, can stimulate production and benefit
the poor. Wealth used in this way will benefit all (Dammers 1982:185). This lies
behind the comment of Foster (1987:45) who says that divestment is a poor way
to help, but that it is a high calling for Christians to be involved in commerce.
The adoption of simplicity need not actually mean a limitation of growth in
itself because of the poverty in the world (Dammers 1982:134), which requires
production to satisfy, although at the same time it must also be recognised that
growth needs to be limited for the sake of the environment because of generations
yet to come. Here however, it is the consumption of the rich, not the poor, that
must be curbed.
A further motive for self-denial is that wealth can then be used to further
political change to benefit the poor by working against oppressive structures.
Simplicity by itself avoids the real issues of economics and politics (Dammers
1982:183), and restricts the understanding of poverty to the economic, whereas
it has a far wider meaning such as limitation of freedom, deprivation, etc (Lee
1986:116). Simplicity can, however, be helpful by freeing time and resources
which can then be used in combating these.
In fact political action probably presupposes a personal decision to limit one’s
own wealth because the results of that action may well have that effect. In general, of
course, wealth leads to acceptance of the status quo (Boerma 1979:80), a common
reason for austerity in the sub-apostolic Church (González 1990:98). There tends
to be acquiescence in the system. On the other hand, of course, suffering also
tends to lead to acquiescence, but this is not by choice but by impotence.
As a corollary to this, it must be noted that if limitation is in any way a valid
lifestyle, there is a strong implication that human government as well should have
limited powers. The totalitarianism of some forms of socialism which demands
absolute authority, must be rejected; it is perhaps pertinent to note Comblin’s
comment (in Berryman 1987:121), “the only good power is a limited power.”
Significantly, Richard (1997:65) cites Johnson’s view that possessions are always
an indication of power. The fact that Jesus did not “grasp” at deity (Phil 2:6)
would indicate that although riches are not wrong, they should not be sought for
as a means of power.
Very pertinent to the idea of poverty out of concern for others is the question
of personal responsibility to Church and family. Although personal austerity and

166 Have This Mind
charity is an action that can be taken alone without involving others as would
political action, Christians have responsibility to their churches before the world
as a whole (Gal 6:10), and as Jesus made clear (Mk 7:9f) to their families. It would
not be right to give away assets to others so that they suffered. A family has first call
on resources (cf Synnott 1978:178), and it is wrong to cause them to live austerely
unless they are willing (cf Paget-Wilkes 1981:114). “We dare not prescribe specific
models for others” (Sider 1982:33). Likewise there is a responsibility to save for the
family’s future, although as Taizé says, “The accumulation of reserves for yourself
or for your children is the beginning of injustice” (in Dammers 1982:204). It
could also be seen as a denial of trust in God, but on the other hand saving is right
when possessions are seen as a trust from God (cf Hall 1986:201). This is after all
a motive for conservation.
Particularly when it is appreciated that the world is totally unable to provide
for its present population at the standard of living enjoyed by the majority in the
Western world, simple justice demands that the rich limit their consumption to
what the world could provide for them if its resources were to be apportioned
equally. Obviously, as the rich are a numerical minority, the amount that they
would have to reduce would be quite considerable, while the benefit to each of the
poor would not be so great, but nevertheless such a move is essential if equality is
to be practised, and the envy and strife that results from transparent inequality is
to be removed.
It is obvious that population growth is exacerbating this problem, although it
must be borne in mind that in fact the bulk of the world’s resources are consumed
by a very small proportion of the world. Of course if it were the case that resources
were apportioned equally, growth in population would become more serious
than it now is; at present one more person among the poor makes little overall
difference.
This is of course a complex question, involving the whole debate between
capitalism and socialism, and the belief that production, which provides for all,
would drop if all were equal. However, from a Christian perspective, the fact that
the majority are in fact receiving less than equality would suggest can provide a
motive for their voluntary self-limitation.
Personal austerity, as well as providing an example of a lifestyle different from
capitalistic materialism (Sider 1982:28), can be a sign of repentance from past
oppression as well as showing that future oppression will not be carried out, as
the purpose of oppression is to produce wealth for the oppressor. Self-limitation
is not only valid because it releases wealth and food which can then benefit the
poor, but it also can be an acknowledgement that past deeds have contributed

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to poverty. Moreover it is a convincing demonstration to the poor that there is
no intention of deliberate further oppression, insofar as it would be pointless
to people who were limiting themselves. Naturally of course this is usually only
really valid and effective if done by a community, insofar as oppression is often
communal, but even limitation by some ought to reduce this, unless of course
others in the group then take advantage for their own benefit, which is however
perhaps likely. Nevertheless the basic point here is not so much the physical effects
of self-limitation, but what it intends to show, so certainly self-limitation should
not be rejected simply as it will not physically benefit the poor. It has other values
as well.
In the Bible, self-denial was practised as a means of worship, a means of drawing
close to God. In this regard, it was a sign of contrition for past sins which would
separate the worshipper from God. This is particularly appropriate, because not
only in the people who fast or sacrifice thereby demonstrate that their relation
to God is more important than their natural substance, but that they are also
denying sin, which is often committed just for the sake of personal gain. It is not
without significance that the Bible records the nature of the first sin as a grasping
for possession, even after infinity. As Forrester and Skene (1988:116) believe,
personal moderation is the clearest way to show a commitment to the Kingdom.
Environmental concern. An argument for simple living which is becoming
more persuasive in the light of growing pollution and resource depletion is that it
is necessary to restrict consumption now for the sake of the future. The concern
is eschatological, which is again consistent with the motive of Jesus, “who for the
joy set before him endured the cross …” (Heb 12:2). As McDaniel (1987:350)
records, if all consumed resources at the rate of middle-income Americans, total
reserves of petroleum would be used up in six years, and timber, copper, sulphur,
iron and water in less than one year. (This would also apply to population.
Procreation may be limited also for the sake of the future.) This aspect has actually
been more commonly appreciated outside the Church than within it (Bockmühl
1977:23), perhaps because of Christian dualism or too much identity with
society’s values. It is an application of the ideal of stewardship carried to a more
logical conclusion in the light of limited resources. Here it must be pointed out
that personal consumption accounts for 70% of the gross national product of the
UK (Nankivell 1978:104), so that personal austerity can be effective.
Dammers, who started the Lifestyle movement, initially practised austerity
for the sake of others. His motto was “Live more simply that others may simply
live.” However realizing the threat to the environment of the Western lifestyle,

168 Have This Mind
he changed this to, “Live more simply so that all of us may simply live.” There is
a need to appreciate not only the needs of the world of humanity (such as by a
world citizenship (Dammers 1982:107)) but the needs of the world. A curbing of
consumption now can give hope for the next century (Dammers 1982:138).
Western affluence on the other hand is often perceived as violating nature as
well as causing lack. It is of course a short step from this to the idealizing of a
third world lifestyle as closer to nature as a better balance of the elements of life
(cf Nankivell 1978:84) and so closer to God, and only a small step further to a
pantheism which is indeed seen in some environmentalist writings. This motive
will cause hesitation, even if action is still taken. As Eller (1973:40) says, Jesus
calls for loyalty to himself, not to the environment.
Allied to the concern for the environment is desire for beauty. An excessively
exploited or polluted area is not beautiful but ugly, so that austerity may be
practised for the sake of beauty so can be seen as the will of God who desires not
only mere survival but also beauty (Matt 6:24; the lilies are clothed). Poverty is
not just a matter of life and money, people desire to live in dignity, not just exist
(Osei-Mensah 1980:279). On the other hand, the cultivation of beauty in life, the
expression of culture can be expensive, so that there is some contradiction with
the practice of austerity for the sake of beauty. Christians have however often felt
that some aspects of culture have to be rejected (Williamson, in Pobee 1979:17,
cf Synnott 1978:180). They can be too expensive for a suffering world. Perhaps
the issue is between the allowing of natural God-made beauty at the expense of
human culture.
Nevertheless, Dawson (1984:20) says that it would be wrong for the Church
to sell its property for the sake of the poor, despite the great cost of time and
money to maintain them and of course the capital tied up in them. He believes
that they supply a need to the poor in an expression of religious feeling. Selling
would destroy not create wealth. There is of course the additional point that many
of the assets are unsaleable. They can only be used for religious purposes.
Asceticism is done almost totally from eschatological motives, benefit in
the hereafter, although the immediate impetus may be from obedience to what
is supposed to be the will of God. Particularly as asceticism is often due to
emphasizing the spiritual over the material, it is not then surprising that its goal
is a spiritual hereafter. It may then be accused of rejecting the present in favour
of the future, a loss of balance. There is here a sharp discontinuity between the
present and the future; otherwise of course poverty must be seen as good, but not
even the most convinced ascetic sees heaven as other than a place of plenty!

Self-limiting in possessions
169
Certainly it is obvious that “there is no point in bearing a cross if you don’t
believe in a resurrection” (Croucher 1986:55). There was a hope of repayment
(Mk 10:30), a belief that those who suffer now will be blessed (and vice versa)
as in the belief of Chrysostom (1984:61), that sin had to be personally paid for,
either in this life or the next, so preferably now.
It was perhaps the decline in the Roman empire that led to an emphasis on an
eschatological hope which contributed to the emergence of monasticism (Avila
1983:130), perhaps in a belief that half-measures delayed the parousia (Lietzmann
1953:130). Seeing the parousia as delayed thus provided an impetus for asceticism
(Workman 1927:24). Interestingly, at the same time, it has been suggested that a
belief in an imminent return of Christ was the reason, at least to some extent, for
the selling of property by the Acts church (Hinkelammert 1986:157), but surely
the reason here was to help the poor, not simply to give possessions away.
One of the reasons for the monastic withdrawal from the world is that service
to it is seen as wasted as it is passing away. The monks had no aim in this world
(Harnack 1913:55), so that any benefit to it is incidental to their focus on the
next (Hannah 1924:84).
Such drives a big wedge between the present and the future which must be
questioned. Riches could be viewed negatively if the world was temporary (Hengel
1974:84), but if there is any continuity between the future and this world, this is
not the case. Most today would feel that the hope of heaven, or even of a coming
millennium (either pre- or post-millennial), need not inevitably mean hostility
to wealth or economic development (Schmidt 1987:34) in principle, although of
course other considerations will qualify this.
Simplicity is of course also practised for reasons of benefit. This may be from
the belief that it is immediately beneficial either in a healthier life or for the
sake of freeing resources for others, but probably the prevalent modern notion
is eschatological, limitation today in order to conserve for the future. Dammers
(1982:13), for example in his advocacy of simplicity, refers to the four horsemen
of the Apocalypse, poverty, population, pollution and profligacy, which unless
restrained will destroy the world. The difference is of course that the future that
will benefit is definitely a continuation of the present. Simplicity may well be
done with an eye on heaven as well, but this is unlikely to be where the emphasis
lies. Certainly it cannot, like asceticism, be accused of rejecting the present.
Conclusion. It is hard to accept that asceticism, despite the fact that it was a
common practice in the Church for a long time, can be correct from a Christian
view. Simplicity, on the other hand, is not only acceptable, but probably essential

170 Have This Mind
unless poverty is going to be ignored completely. Despite the fact that one can
be seen as an extension of the other, asceticism could be seen as an example of
something good being abused by being carried to excess (Prior 1965:13). Not
only the practice, but the reasons for it have become completely different.
Thus Foster (1980:74) sees asceticism and simplicity as essentially incompatible;
he says (1980:69) that asceticism is duplicity not simplicity. By this he means
that simplicity rejoices in God’s provision rather than denies it (Eller 1973:42),
and knows contentment; at the same time the Christian simple life is a positive
affirmation, not a negative rejection (Eller 1973:43). In any case a total rejection
of things cannot be Christian; for Jesus, the good life was in relation to God not
in rejection of things (Eller 1973:31). The Bible rather affirms that possessions
are good; Solomon was given wealth; Canaan was a land of milk and honey.
Moreover, hatred of self can hardly be consistent with Jesus’ command to love the
neighbour as oneself. Griffiths (1985:127) notes that asceticism is a burden which
is not present in simplicity and generosity.
Simplicity also affirms the value of work (Dammers 1982:188), whereas sloth
may be a motive even for asceticism. Work can enable people to provide for
themselves (Osei-Mensah 1980:276), and so not be a burden, whereas ascetics
can be, and were accused of being parasites in society.
Likewise the Bible does not see that it is right to give to excess; Taylor (1965:60)
sees the Biblical principal of tithing in this light, putting a limit upon giving. It
is thus wrong to cause one’s own poverty, which is what asceticism actually seeks
to do. Simplicity, rather than asceticism is consistent with a value put on health,
education, or culture if not carried to excess. Modern society has real benefits for
all, as affluence has enabled service, practical compassion, some freedom from
hunger, the raised status of women and many other benefits (Nankivell 1978:85).
A measure of consumption gives freedom, a good thing (Owensby 1988:172).
Wilson (1971:106) remarks that many who say that they want a simple life do not
realize its implications. Nevertheless, many of the advantages of modern society
enhanced when coupled with a personal simplicity. Simplicity should in itself lead
to better health (as should Christianity, an interesting connection with “prosperity
teaching”). In any case it is impossible to be totally ascetic and remain in modern
society (which is why the early ascetics fled to the desert).

10
Kenōsis for the poor
Much of the material in this chapter is taken from my earlier books. In some of them
I approach the question of poverty in the context of the specific theological paradigm
being discussed (Williams 1997, 2003), while in others I provide a more specific
treatment of approaches to poverty (Williams 1998 and 2001b). Here I want to deal
specifically with the idea of kenōsis as a paradigm.
As soon as limitation is mentioned, most people, at least in a Western world
which is so enmeshed in materialism, will naturally think of material deprivation,
and so poverty. The idea of kenōsis is very naturally connected to this, insofar
as it is a limitation; the difference is that adoption of kenōsis is by choice, a selflimitation,
while deprivation is not accepted voluntarily. The former is adopted as
a means to an end, the latter is usually an end itself.
When confronted with somebody in poverty, there is a choice, reflecting the
fact that Jesus acted by his own choice, in his case of the path of kenōsis. A person
may choose either to ignore poverty, or to act to seek to alleviate it (ignoring
the third option of deliberately exacerbating it!). All of these are in fact kenotic;
even the first is a direct limitation of action. More obviously, a positive response
automatically involves a measure of self-denial, of kenōsis; action costs time, energy
and resources.
The early Church, just as that of today, was naturally confronted with need,
and naturally tried to do something about it. When the infant church in Judea fell
into need, Paul appealed to the churches that he had established to come to their
help. As fellow Christians, they had a responsibility, but more than that, Paul used
the example of Jesus to motivate their generosity.
For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet
for your sake he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich (2
Cor 8:9).
171

172 Have This Mind
This verse is naturally associated with the more famous kenōsis passage of
Philippians 2. Paul’s point in 2 Corinthians is simply that Jesus adopted the
poverty of kenōsis as a response to the human need of poverty. Indeed, although
Jesus’ incarnation is often seen as enabling a spiritual salvation, human need
has several aspects and must not be seen just as a spiritual matter, but includes
material lack. God is concerned about the material; indeed this is obvious from
the very fact that he created, and even more so, that that Jesus became incarnate;
both of these are acts of kenōsis. Although the very existence of poverty may be
attributed ultimately to God’s self-limitation, he has also acted to deal with it, also
in kenōsis.
Even for God, although it is impossible to diminish him at all, his kenotic action
involved a cost to him. In this case, in a Christian approach to the poor, there
should be no hint, as in much secular “aid”, of investment which looks primarily at
a hoped-for return, although admittedly a reward after death has frequently been
a motive for charity, Clement saying that our riches are given for others so that we
may have a reward in heaven (1 Clem 16:3, 32:1). Nevertheless giving does bring
a reward to the giver; the recorders of the incident of the rich young ruler (eg Lk
19:18f) see that the result of his giving would be more beneficial to him than to
the poor, who hardly rate a mention. Likewise, as Pinnock (2001:101) points out,
God does gain from his kenōsis, although not materially but in relationships; in
the case of Jesus, the ultimate result was his glorification. Even negatively, it must
be pointed out that Sodom was condemned because it refused to help the poor
(Ez 16:49).
Poverty is of course not to be seen in an exclusively material sense, but neither
does it exclude the material; the plight of humanity is multi-facetted, with its
aspects interacting and reinforcing each other. Spiritual poverty leads to, and is
often exacerbated by, material lack; the two are definitely linked. On the one
hand, successful evangelism and church building are difficult until the needs of
the stomach in a community are met. But on the other, religious conviction can
both motivate and demotivate economic activity and contribute to its success
or failure. Adeney (1984:130) cites the example of a Mexican village which
experienced prosperity after mass conversion, and the sociologist Max Weber (in
Andreski 1983:84) says that the growth of capitalism in China was hampered
by “a lack of spiritual foundations”. He also suggests the existence of the socalled
“Protestant work ethic”, in which particularly Calvinists were motivated to
industry and frugality in a desire to demonstrate their election (Poggi 1983:66).
Examples could be multiplied.

Kenōsis for the poor
173
Thus Jesus’ incarnation is directly linked to an attack on poverty. Indeed,
explaining his ministry (Kodell 1983:16) at its commencement in his own home
town, Jesus quoted from the Book of Isaiah:
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me to preach good
news to the poor (Lk 4:18).
The giving of good news to the poor is then intimately linked to the gift of
the Spirit. The relief of poverty is more than just a human action, but is enabled
by the Spirit. In particular, the kenōsis by which Christ acted was through the
Spirit, which implies that Christian kenotic action is likewise dependent upon his
action; it is otherwise an impossibility.
It must just be noted here that the incarnation is a manifestation of the
“economic” Trinity. Here the word “economic” does not refer to matters of money
and wealth, but to the distinct workings of the Persons of the Trinity in the world.
Yet the economic Trinity does have a real application to the usual use of the word,
by providing a parallel to Christian action. It is after all a response of the love that
is the very nature of God, the compassion in the face of human need, that sent the
Son to live and to die. Such compassion is a fitting example of the love that should
motivate Christian action for the poor.
What is clear is that in no sense can Jesus be seen as content with the situation
of poverty, although he did accept it for himself for the benefit of others. This is
similar to Paul, who also accepted the state he was in (Phil 4:11), yet was zealous
in his action for others (cf 2 Cor 8). Thus although the Christian response to
human need has often been quietist, such as under the influence of a premillennial
eschatology which sees the solution as just given by God in a coming millennium,
it cannot be justified to just cast the problem on to God. On the contrary, even
though it would be possible for God to eradicate poverty completely, he has not
done so. He respects the consequences of human freedom, even if they do generate
poverty. Augustine’s comment is well-known; reflecting on the fact that sin is a
possibility, not prevented by God, although he presumably could have done so, he
said, “it is far better for people to have sinned and to have been redeemed, than
never to have sinned at all”. Part of that goodness is when people act for good, to
alleviate poverty. The response of Christians to God is a trust in his grace, but this
is not merely a passive acceptance, but includes an encouragement to act.
What is important is that Christians, as Christians, do something for the
situation that the world finds itself in. Jesus himself, both in his teaching (Matt
25:31f), and in his condemnation of the Pharisees (Matt 23:1f), and several of

174 Have This Mind
the New Testament writers (eg 1 Jn 3:17, Jas 2:14f), to say nothing of the Old
Testament prophets (eg Mic 6:8, Is 1:12f), insist that faith must lead to action.
However, of equal, if not greater importance, is that action seen to be taken will
benefit the spiritual work of the Church. Idowu (1965:4) believes that one reason
the Church grew so rapidly in West Africa was in gratitude for, and in embracing,
the faith that motivated the liberation of the slaves. Likewise today, the Church is
often in the sad state of being rejected because it is not seen to be doing anything
in the face of serious social problems.
The perfect world is not achievable, at least not without the direct intervention
of God, but that is no excuse for Christians not to do whatever they can to improve
it, as they seek to follow the example of their Lord.
The imperative of action
Of all the problems that confront humanity at the start of the third millennium,
it is arguable that the issue of poverty is one of the most pressing. This may not
seem to be obvious to those enjoying a comfortable Western lifestyle, but for
those caught up in the experience of lack on a daily basis, it is a problem that
overshadows all others. For those who are desperately poor, it becomes a minor
concern that the environment is being destroyed by human activity when such
activity can result in feeding oneself and one’s family for a few more months or
even days; it has often been said that environmentalism is a luxury of the rich. It
is of little concern what kind of government is in power when there is insufficient
money to buy even the most basic of medicines for a sick child. It is of no concern
that the population of the world is mushrooming when another baby can be a
measure of security in old age, or can provide a bit of extra labour at very little
cost. And these are all vital and significant concerns; there are many issues which
concern people today that will likewise lose significance in the face of material lack.
The role of women, the development of technology, even the study of theology,
all lose much of their importance when the needs of the stomach insist on being
met, to say nothing of course of the desire for new clothes, cars, videos and so on,
which seem so crucial for well-fed Westerners.
It is hardly surprising that many people are driven to find solutions to the
problem, and dedicate much time, energy and of course money to the alleviation
of suffering; what is more surprising is that so many ignore the question altogether,
being content to live out their own lives in isolation from the suffering elsewhere. It
is even more surprising again when Christians feel able to have the same attitudes

Kenōsis for the poor
175
as those who make no claim to be servants of Jesus Christ. One can only hope that
in general it is due to ignorance of the state of many others, even of those who
share allegiance to the same Lord.
A very common attitude is that while a measure of charity and even social action
is acceptable, the Christian emphasis should be on evangelism and “saving the
souls of the lost”, particularly under the influence of pre-millennialism (cf Webber
1979:175). The gift of eternal life is felt to be so precious that it overshadows
mere temporal suffering, so that even diverting money from evangelism into the
direct relief of suffering may well result in criticism. It is commonly argued that
the Church must deal with spiritual needs, but may ignore physical needs; while
few will however oppose its action in charity, it will be criticized heavily if it
becomes at all “political” (as noted in Nicholls 1985:37).
However, very many Christians are vitally concerned. For them the question
is not whether the poor should be helped, but how. It is here that a very major
problem arises, for a great variety of approaches have been adopted by Christians,
and these are, on the surface at least, mutually inconsistent, and even seemingly
contradictory. This obviously ought not to be, if their concern for the poor is
motivated by relating to the one Lord, and if they are inspired by one Holy
Spirit. I have argued elsewhere for a multiple approach to poverty, based on the
office of Christ (Williams 1997:287f), and on the action of the Trinity (Williams
2003:90f). My concern in both cases is to see types of Christian action as aspects
of an overall approach. The incarnation is God’s solution to human need, which
includes kenōsis; thus human action, specifically against poverty, should likewise
be kenotic, seeing the action of Christ as fundamental paradigm.
Jesus as example
The kenōsis of Jesus was done for our sake, primarily for our salvation, so is
understood in terms of the atonement. The subjective theories of the atonement
(which are emphatically only one aspect of a more complete understanding
(Williams 1997)) suggest that the example of Jesus impressed people who then
changed their way of life, enabling God to forgive. In this case, the example of
Jesus prompts the action of people; in particular, his giving in kenōsis motivates the
response of God’s people in giving. This aspect may thus be termed “prophetic”
because the function of a prophet is one who tells the way of God and demands
a change from those who hear. In the same way a Christian approach to social
disharmony must include a prophetic element, a demand to change. This has

176 Have This Mind
two aspects; as in Old Testament prophecy there is a demand to change, and as
in the ministry of Jesus there is an example to follow. These are complementary,
a proclamation in deed and word. This is indeed the purpose of the “ kenōsis”
passage in Philippians 2. Paul is using the example of Jesus to support his appeal
to that church demanding that they modify their attitudes and their actions. His
appeal is particularly strong just because he can hold up the visible example of
Jesus.
In the case of proclamation, the group addressed will mainly be the rich rather
than the suffering poor. Firstly this is because the rich may be seen as the prime
cause of the situation, an assessment in keeping with that of the Bible, where
almost totally the meaning of poverty is linked to oppression (cf Hanks 1983),
although it must not be forgotten that there is a significant strand in the Bible,
for example in Proverbs, which links poverty to indolence and sloth. The Old
Testament prophets however almost uniformly address those in power, those with
riches, with a demand to change. In the modern situation, the poverty of the third
world is frequently linked to structural causes, the world economic order, and
the poor, although often willing to work, and indeed working to exhaustion, are
prevented by the system from bettering themselves. This is not to say that there is
no laziness among the poor, but often they cannot work without a minimum of
resources being available to them.
Secondly, and closely connected with this, the rich are addressed because they
are the ones who have the ability to affect the situation. The poor, almost by
definition, are impotent and unable to change their situation, although there is a
growing awareness that if the poor are “conscientized”, made aware of their rights
and their ability to alter the situation if they act together, much can be achieved.
Nevertheless, short of often violent revolution, it is the rich who must do the
changing.
Probably for most Western Christians, the prophetic aspect is not just a
demand to pass on, but is to themselves as well. They are called to imitate the
example of Christ’s kenōsis in their own lifestyle, to limit themselves for the sake of
the poor. Gandhi once said that the earth produces enough for everybody’s need,
but not for their greed (Schumacher 1973:26). This aspect of a prophetic ministry
is available to anyone, and indeed is an essential prerequisite for proclamation
without hypocrisy. Here the proclamation is rather by deed or by the example
of a simplified lifestyle. Christians, more than others, not only have a motive for
simplicity, but acknowledge in their trust in God that affluence is not needed.
Christians, aware that they bear the image of God, have an obligation to live in a

Kenōsis for the poor
177
correct relationship to God, the world and to their fellows, as God sent his Son to
restore a relationship with a fallen world.
For this reason, the modern situation of great disparity provides the necessity
for a personal self-limitation. It cannot be right to live so affluently, particularly
in close proximity to deprivation, particularly when the world does not contain
sufficient food or other resources for all to live at American standards; this
comment is particularly pointed when read in the context that it does produce
enough for all to live! Such a voluntary step will immediately dampen down the
forces of envy in the poor, although it will not remove the desire for betterment.
Moreover it is an action that can be taken instantly, whereas other action takes
time to be effective. In any case, even if by some miracle, the living standards
of all in South Africa could be rapidly raised, this would not solve the problem
of disparity, which would only shift to its borders. In a sense the problem is of
affluence, not of poverty.
Emphatically, a simplifying of lifestyle should not be from a motive of sloth.
The example of Wesley is appropriate; he urged earning as much as possible
while at the same time giving as much as possible. He maintained his lifestyle
at a constant expenditure even when his income rose dramatically. A motive of
industry is appropriate for a Christian not for personal comfort, but to help others.
A simplified lifestyle will also be the means of helping others in the conservation
of resources for posterity and the reduction of pollution, as a sacrifice even for
nature as well as, and for, humanity.
The issue of charity
Kenōsis in itself is not an act of charity, but it is motivated by, and enables it. God’s
kenōsis is obviously done as part of an act of giving; God gave his only Son for us.
Christ gave himself for us, even giving up his life. It has then naturally long been
a custom for Christians, as for those of other religious traditions, to give charity
to the poor. However, particularly recently, this ancient practice has been severely
criticized on two counts. Here it may well be suggested that Western prosperity has
been the result of a number of factors, but that significant among these has been
the effect of religion in inculcating attitudes conducive to an escape from poverty,
such as the “Protestant work ethic”. Again, it must be remarked that Paul used the
example of Jesus’ kenōsis to affect attitudes: “have this mind among yourselves …”
(Phil 2:5). Firstly there are those who see the solution to poverty lying in work and
industry; they tend to feel that receiving charity will demotivate the poor, and so

178 Have This Mind
charity to them will be counterproductive to a real solution (Chilton 1985:106f).
This comes from a belief that it will actually aggravate the problem by causing
dependence, or “rice Christians”, and will ultimately widen the gulf between rich
and poor. Although giving to the poor is the dominant response of the disciples,
a frequent demand of Jesus, and indeed the only obligation laid upon Paul, it
must be a constant source of sadness to God and his followers that the world is
still such as to need charity, that the gulf between rich and poor is indeed still
widening. Alternatively it is criticized because it may simply salve the consciences
of the rich, and may even support or legitimize unjust structures (eg in Samuel
& Sugden 1983:108). It may well generate a sense of pride or power in the giver,
and humility or resentment in the recipient, which will actually increase mutual
hostility.
However, as grace is a central idea to Christianity, so giving must be seen as
vital to relieve poverty and for societal reconciliation. With Clement, many believe
that riches are given to the rich just so they can be given away (eg Basil, who says
that otherwise God is unkind (Avila 1983:50), or in the modern world, Jacques
Ellul (Foster 1987:73)). Indeed riches can be seen to be as much a test as poverty;
just as poverty may provoke theft, so if the rich spend too much, that too can
be seen as theft from the poor. An emphasis on grace implies that the recipients
are dependent, yet giving is counterproductive if it inculcates an attitude of such
dependence as leads to apathy in the recipients. Rather the grace of God should
be seen as the motive for good works in thanks for what God has done, and in the
same way Christian giving may well provide what is necessary for fruitful industry
to begin, so be an incentive rather than a dampener to self-help.
The system referred to is of course the prevalent free market capitalism. This
sees the solution to poverty in productive work. It has been seen as based on
a Christian world-view, and the right over the material that God gave in the
“dominion mandate” of Genesis 1:28. Here it must immediately be said that this
dominion could never be absolute, but limited; moreover a kenotic attitude to the
material will certainly involve restraint.
On the other hand, others are convinced that the solution to poverty lies in
a more equable political structure (Stavrianos 1981:31). These feel that the only
way that this can be achieved is through political action, usually the introduction
of socialism. It is pointed out that very often the poor do work hard, even to the
point of exhaustion, and more than the rich, but that without adequate resources
and technology, this is ineffective (Hunger 1985:14).
However many who advocate a change to socialism reject any charity from
outside, as they feel that political reform is most likely to come from the poor

Kenōsis for the poor
179
themselves, and is not likely to occur if the poor receive even a portion of what
they want from charity. Nevertheless, it is not likely that industry and good
intentions will in most cases be adequate to raise the poor without considerable
outside help. Critics here point out that the first world did not need outside help
(eg Bauer 1981:99); however their raising was in fact often at the expense of the
third world, and took much longer than the hoped for rise of the third world.
It was in a different situation altogether. It may also be observed that prosperity
in the West can perhaps be attributed not so much to an economic theory but
to technology and to division in labour. This latter is kenotic as a restriction of
the activity of each individual; it can even be said to reflect the nature of God’s
creative action, so in this it is effective.
On the other hand a socialist approach to poverty necessitates a large and
wasteful bureaucracy, and usually fails to motivate work adequately. The loss of
freedom in totalitarianism and the inevitable corruption in any human system
naturally again resulted in a reaction, the collapse of communism in eastern
Europe in the early 1990s. Incidentally the compulsion in such a system is hardly
consistent with the choice implicit in a kenotic attitude.
The constraints of space of course make it impossible to give a detailed critique
of these opinions here (for an appraisal of the issues, see Williams (1998)).
Each is severely criticized by the other extreme; not that only the extremes are
possible, but there are infinite varieties, Schumacher (1973:238) outlining eight
major variations. Much more could be said on the issue; what must be noted is
that committed Christians are to be found throughout the economic spectrum,
convinced, often on the basis of their faith, that their approach is the only real
solution to poverty. In this case, it must be questioned whether charity is adequate;
certainly it is noteworthy that apart from a few instances, such as the feeding of
the five and four thousands, Jesus did little to help the poor directly; he was more
concerned with changing people. The kenotic example of Jesus is then more than
simply an inspiration for giving, but involves other aspects.
An integrated approach to poverty
Thus although charity must be essential, it is inadequate by itself, and an effective
approach to poverty involves a combination of charity with other methods. This
follows from the fact that Jesus’ action against poverty was kenotic, as this was
not just an act of charity, but has other aspects. In particular, in his kenōsis, Jesus
did not just give, but identified with needy humanity. Thus the believer will seek

180 Have This Mind
identification with the poor. This, as has already been said, will include a measure
of economic self-limitation on the part of the rich. “Solidarity with ‘the other’ is
always related to some form of kenosis, of letting go” (Richard 1997:189). Again,
economically, a union will mean a breakdown in the barriers created by a sense
of absolute private property, a concept which was in any case rejected by the early
Church. Seeing all property as God’s, and our relationship to it as stewards, must
mean that we cannot believe in absolute ownership, no matter how valid it is in
law. At the same time, of course, a measure of sharing of assets does serve to break
down barriers between individuals and groups (cf 1 Tim 6:9); as in other areas,
the practice of kenōsis generates relationships. On the other hand, the desire for
acquisition generates loneliness.
A situation of poverty is likely to mean deprivation in the areas of education
and probably in health so that the poor themselves are not always able to articulate
their case with authorities. Although there is a need for conscientization of the
poor so that they will not accept their situation passively but will understand
what rights they may well have and be able to stand up for them, they are often
in need of someone who will represent them and put their case so that changes
can be put forward. This is not to say that the poor are themselves incapable, but
are prevented by their situation from acting. Here total identification, as Freire
urges (Holman 1978:270), would be counterproductive as it would lead to the
representative also becoming impotent. In his kenōsis, Jesus did not just become
human for us, but being totally human, also remained God. A representative
must do likewise, keeping a foot in both camps. Identification for representation
need not mean a severing of other links; on the contrary, these links may well be
necessary.
Thus, as with the mystical union with Christ, this identification is not an
absolute absorption. Indeed it is impossible, as missionaries have found, for total
identification to take place; differences will always remain, as it is impossible to
completely shed the security of belonging to a different group, so perhaps a better
term would be “communion” as in the central rite of the Christian Church. It is
significant that the Philippian hymn speaks of the “likeness of men” (Phil 2:7).
Again, this communion of rich with poor cannot then be one way, as the
term implies. The poor receive materially, but they must also change more in
conformity with the rich. In the economic sense this should include an adoption
of the ethos of the so-called “Protestant work ethic” which was such a large factor
in the prosperity of the first world, with a high value placed on industry, frugality,
and the rejection of waste. At the same time, however, the poor frequently have
an attitude to material things which needs to be given to the rich. The fact that

Kenōsis for the poor
181
there is a communion with the poor means that the rich should reject aspects of
greed and individual enrichment, a rejection which must also be maintained in
the poor. Giving is of little value if it is wasted, or lines the pockets of the rich in
the third world.
In particular, the concept of “communion” means that independence is
rejected. This is an integral part of capitalism but not of the Protestant work ethic.
In any case the rich first world needs to be aware of how dependent it is upon
the third world for its supplies. The third world cannot be written off. However
a realization that independence is impossible does not necessitate an attitude of
dependence that refuses to do what it can for itself.
In addition to the secular economic systems of capitalism and socialism, there
have emerged variants of these that are distinctly Christian in motivation. On
the one hand, the proponents of liberation theology believe that the solution to
poverty lies in a revolutionary change in the world economic order to a socialist
one. They believe that poverty is largely due to the prevalent capitalist order. Hanks
(1983:x) points out that the Bible, although noting other factors, almost totally
identifies oppression as the cause of poverty. It is here a very relevant observation
that advocates of political change are often prepared to deny themselves, to give
up much, to be kenotic, for the sake of their struggle. There is an identification
with the poor, an intimate participation in their sufferings; this is very much in
keeping with the ideas of kenōsis, although many Christians have rejected the view
often taken in liberation theology that violence is a justifiable weapon in the goal
of replacing unjust social structures.
The belief is that it is necessary for Christians to work to replace sinful
structures by those which are more just. In particular a Christian cannot support
a free market system as it is often practised. Pricing at a level suggested by the
market means that the poor will pay prices unrelated to value to them but related
to demand, while the seller will be able to make profits which again are unrelated
to the effort of production and which may well be unreasonably high, leading
to a growing gap between rich and poor. So while naturally much of liberation
theology is disputed, it is of great value in pointing out that action is necessary
out of Christian love to radically change an economic and social system which
impoverishes large sections of the world for the benefit of a comparative few.
Although an individual can do much to alleviate suffering, what can be done
alone is obviously limited. Real change requires action by a group. For example an
individual or a firm may pay a good wage, but the problem of low wages requires
action by all the employers. Thus structural evil likely needs to be remedied by a
form of political action.

182 Have This Mind
Nevertheless, at the heart of this is still the change in the individual, as the
structures are made and maintained by people, and it is noteworthy that the early
Church, without direct political action, was effective in transforming the structures
of society. It may be disputed whether individual conversion can lead to a perfect
society, but they will certainly improve it, and of course bear eternal benefits for
the converted. Even Christianization, as a poor second best, will produce benefits
for society.
On the other extreme from liberation theology, advocates of what is called
“reconstructionism” or “theonomy”, such as Chilton (1985), believe that there
should be a re-establishment of the Old Testament social order. Here it is
noteworthy that Jesus did not just limit the attributes of deity, but this act was
in order to adopt humanity, and specifically a Jewish one. Thus whereas charity
in a general sense is necessary, the main responsibility of a Christian must be to
those of common faith (Gal 6:10). Giving is out of gratitude for what Christ has
given, giving back to Christ who can be seen in a needy neighbour, an imitation
of the giving of God. It is clear that in the Old Testament, charity was to Israel,
and in the New Testament, examples of giving such as in Acts 4 or 2 Corinthians
8 were for the needy in Christ, so really took the form of sharing rather than
charity as such, and certainly this is the obvious understanding of injunctions
such as in 1 John 3:17 “… his brother in need …”. Nevertheless the comment
of Justin is appropriate, that there is a necessity to be charitable to strangers and
not only to the Church, and that such charity was the means of conversion of
the barbarians (Davis 1984:66), and of course is shown by such passages as the
parable of the Good Samaritan. It should be that gifts in the Church are less likely
to be wasted insofar as Christians should have better attitudes to what they have
than non-believers, and should have a further advantage in enabling Christians to
be a better witness to those around them.
A related question to the fact that God has limited his action is whether
Christians should also limit their action. Moreover, the work of the Spirit is
limited to the Church. How far is action to be directed solely at those in the
Church, with all the dangers of the production of “rice Christians”, those who
make a confession because they want charity which is only given to Christians?
Or should charity be indiscriminate, just on the basis of need and a common
humanity? Paul of course does say that preference should be given to those in
the Church, but not limited to them (Gal 6:10). On the one hand, if the Son
was indeed the agent of creation, as would seem to be indicated in Colossians
1:16 and 1 Corinthians 8:6, then he does benefit all, believers or not. Moreover,
despite some who insist, from an extreme Reformed perspective, that the work of

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Christ in redemption was limited only to the elect, it would seem that it was more
universal. Christ died for the sins of the whole world (1 Jn 2:2). This is not to
say that salvation is universal; even if forgiveness is available to all, the receipt of
eternal life is contingent upon a relationship to the risen Christ, enacted by faith.
Without this, forgiveness is ineffective.
Theonomists also hold that a capitalist system is the only one consistent with
the Bible, and so it is inevitable that any tendency to socialism produces poverty.
It is not hard, and indeed has often been done, to justify each extreme from the
example of Jesus in his incarnation; my concern in this book is however specifically
with the aspect of Jesus’ self-limitation.
If that was not enough diversity, other Christians reject both approaches as
“political” and not in keeping with the ethos and methods of the New Testament
and the early Church. Not that such seek to ignore the question of poverty. Some
on the contrary feel that while a worldwide solution is impossible due to the
sinfulness of humanity, a regenerate Church should be able to live in a way which
eliminates poverty within itself (Barclay 1990:65). Taking the Acts church as an
example, they feel that a form of sharing should be practised for the benefit of
Christian poor. Possibly this can then serve as an example to the rest of the world.
This can be said to ignore the real problem; some however go even further and,
citing the example of Paul (Phil 4:11), believe that the Christian attitude should be
of personal contentment, of accepting the state of either poverty or riches as God’s
will, and then not seeking to change it. Again there is a latent idea of living so as
to be an example to others, that they too should also be content. Again, a cursory
glance at Philippians 2 is enough to demonstrate that Paul’s appeal to Jesus’ kenōsis
was primarily to produce the attitude which strengthens community.
Such a brief survey is only intended to point out the tremendous diversity that
exists among Christians who respond to the question of wealth and poverty. Each
approach is far more complex both in terms of motivation and practice than is
indicated here (again, see an appraisal in Williams 2001b). But is such diversity
good and right? Whereas it does serve to illustrate the concern that does exist
in the Church, is the body of Christ guilty of such inconsistency as will, on the
one hand, make for ineffectiveness, with the benefits of one approach cancelling
out another, and on the other, cause ridicule from those who already mock at an
excessively divided Christendom?
From a Christian perspective, diversity cannot be seen to be automatically
wrong. We worship a God who would appear to delight in variety and change,
one who created a world rich in species of plants and animals, many of which,

184 Have This Mind
regrettably, humanity is rapidly driving to extinction (cf Osborn 1993:17), often,
significantly, a result of attempts to escape from poverty.
Personal self-limitation
Finally, there are two other very different courses of action, both driven by Christian
convictions. Although neither is done primarily to help the poor, the intention of
providing an example can in fact form part of the reason for such action. On
the one hand, in common with other religious traditions, some have adopted a
simple lifestyle (Dammers 1982), and in its extreme, asceticism. Motivation for
this is not just in imitation of Jesus, but can include concern for the poor, for the
environment and for the conservation of limited resources; in the early Church
there was sometimes also a feeling, taken from Greek dualism, that the material is
inherently evil and should be avoided.
On the other hand, seemingly paradoxically, it must be observed that others,
typified by such as Copeland and Hagin, in a very recent phenomenon in the
Church, believe that their status as Christians, as children of God, entitles them
to claim from God. Christians have asked God for his blessing in prayer since the
Church began, but only sometimes have they felt able to claim bodily healing,
and even more rarely has the claim been extended to material benefits, but such
is indeed today practised by a significant group of Christians. I have dealt with
what I feel is a perversion, albeit with aspects of benefit, elsewhere (Williams
2001b:195f). Nevertheless, it is a perversion, which means that in a sense it has
correctness, and indeed this teaching has some consistency with kenōsis. While it
is not correct to see wealth as a right in this life; it is given by God eschatologically,
so in the next. This is exactly what the process of kenōsis involves, for Jesus’
humiliation was succeeded by his glorification. Thus in union with him, poverty
will be succeeded by riches. Of course a person’s poverty may be solved in this life,
but not inevitably, no matter what techniques of prayer and claiming are employed,
and where poverty is relieved, it is an anticipation of what will be received as of
right in the future. Jesus could therefore connect the blessedness of the poor with
the Kingdom (Lk 6:20), which is only fully realised in the future. For the present,
as he said, “you will always have the poor with you” (Matt 26:11).
Human self-limitation, in the adoption of a simple lifestyle, can well be
beneficial to others insofar as it frees resources for their use. The direct activity
of charity presupposes at least a measure of loss to the giver. It is hardly to be
questioned that any equality can only come from a measure of redistribution of

Kenōsis for the poor
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wealth. Christ came to share his eternal life with believers. However much the
poor work, their poverty will never be resolved by that alone. It must also be
clear that much of the problem of poverty has not in fact been the situation of
the poor themselves, but that they perceive their lack when compared to the rich,
and envy naturally follows. If the rich were prepared to limit themselves, much
of the problem would naturally disappear. It is noteworthy that the Protestant
work ethic did not only motivate industry, but also personal frugality. Certainly
therefore, the action of God, and his nature as Trinity, can well show that this is
a valid aspect of an overall approach to the needs of the poor. It must however
be commented here that the self-limitation of God was not to the extent of total
non-involvement. He did act adequately, indeed more than adequately, in the
sending of his Son and Spirit, and continues to act in providence. There is no
justification here for self-limitation to the extreme of asceticism.
Seemingly at first paradoxically, an attitude of self-limitation is also appropriate
for the poor. Particularly if they see the rich being enriched still further at their
expense, it is easy to understand the temptation to give up, to be idle, and then,
ironically, to be castigated by the rich, who then say that the cause of poverty is the
laziness of the poor. When the poor perceive that they have no hope of catching
up with the rich but on the contrary the gap between rich and poor is increasing,
then they naturally not only want to stop their labour, which ultimately does them
little good, but also they are tempted to acquire what they need from the rich by
stealing it, and may even positively seek to unseat the rich by force. Such use of
force, whether by poor against the rich, or by the rich in their desire to protect
themselves against the poor, is only counterproductive, as it uses resources, so
in effect causes more poverty. Jesus after all did not “grasp” at equality with the
Father (Phil 2:6), but he did work because he was adequately motivated.
The issue of poverty, and so of possessions, immediately involves the question
of rights. On the one hand the rich feel that they have a right to what they have,
but on the other the poor also feel that they have a valid claim on it because of
their poverty. This issue is a distinct aspect of the act of kenōsis. Significantly,
what happened of course is that the Son did not perceive equality with the Father
as something to be grasped at, but limited himself (Phil 2:7). He was prepared
to give what he had, even though he did have rights over it. Moreover, he only
exercised his divine power occasionally.
On the contrary, the usual human attitude is to see property as an absolute
right, such that nobody else has any rights over it at all. The point must be that
the rich should not perceive their wealth as something that they have intrinsic
rights over, but that in fact the poor do have a valid claim on it. Such a conception

186 Have This Mind
of property, not as absolute, but given for use, indeed for the benefit of the poor,
was a common idea in early Christianity, such as in Basil (Avila 1983:50), but
has got lost in the modern world. This again motivates a self-limitation. It must
be stressed that if the rich did voluntarily limit their standard of living, even if
the poor did not benefit from the excess, it would in fact mean that the poor
could be motivated to work, having at least the possibility of catching up with
the rich. Far from the lifestyle of the rich being a problem, it can then be part of
the solution. The onus is on the rich to so present a culture and lifestyle that it is
worth emulating. The poor, then far from wanting the absolute affluence that is
currently vaunted by the rich, would then limit their own desires also.
The limitation of resources
Action against poverty is essentially a matter of the distribution of resources. This
must also be seen against the background of a limited world. In the world which
God has made, limitation is a part of existence. It is inherent in God and in the
things that he has made and done, so it is hardly surprising that humanity has to
imitate God’s self-limitation in a number of areas.
Indeed, more than the need of self-deprivation as an action against poverty, it
has become increasingly obvious over the last few decades that people, particularly
affluent Westerners, just have to limit themselves and moderate their consumption
of the resources that are available to them. Firstly this is necessary due to the fact
that the world itself is limited, and that there is simply not enough for everyone
to live at the level enjoyed by the Western world and particularly by the United
States. The progress made by technology is of course impressive, such as in the
so-called “green revolution”, which has multiplied crop production and in the
development of alternative technologies which have solved a number of problems;
there is no longer concern about how to dispose of horse droppings in major
cities! Nevertheless the extent of the modern dilemma is breath-taking, even in
a very literal way when considering problems such as air pollution. This, and
associated problems such as the “hole” on the ozone layer and global warming
are horrifying, and perhaps more so when it is appreciated that the major cause
of these is the developed world, while the less developed “two-thirds” world adds
very little to the situation. If all polluted at Western rates, the world would rapidly
become uninhabitable. There is currently a real concern at the rapid development
of India and China. The message is unmistakeable; there has to be a curtailment

Kenōsis for the poor
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on the part of the rich segment of the world for the sake of the rest and the
environment.
Perhaps the other side of that coin is even clearer, because the Western world
is consuming resources at a colossal rate, which just cannot continue. Now of
course prophecies of the imminent exhaustion of key minerals, such as oil, have
been frequent, and just as frequently the time said to be available before the
total depletion of them seems to pass without serious catastrophe. However, it
is obvious that sooner or later, again if there is no self-limitation on the part of
the West, a crisis will develop. Humanity just has to note that God deliberately,
in his self-limitation in the act of creation, made a world which is fundamentally
limited. He could have made a bigger one; although of course that would only
have delayed the problem.
Nevertheless, it may well be argued that the world and its resources, although
limited, are in fact adequate. It is only that a segment of the world is consuming
excessively that is generating a problem. This highlights the second, closely
related, reason why it is necessary for Western people in particular to limit their
consumption. They are simply grabbing too high a proportion of the available
resources of the world; a figure often quoted is that the United States, with 6%
of the population of the world, is consuming 40% of its raw materials (Hall
1986:13). This is particularly serious in the light of the limitation of the world, as
it is just not possible for everyone in the world to live at American standards; the
world cannot support them.
What is significant at this point is to observe the result of the current disparity
in consumption. Visible inequality inevitably leads to envy and often to conflict,
certainly to a loss of harmony. It is therefore necessary, if people are to relate to
each other in a satisfactory way, for there to be less discrepancy in lifestyle. Selflimitation
is again seen to be necessary for adequate relationship. It may also be
suggested here that self-limitation on the side of the rich is necessary as a sign
of repentance; much of modern affluence has been at the expense of the poor
(Stavrianos 1981:31). Poverty, so often, is due to wealth.
It must be repeated here that the resources of the world are still adequate.
The need is not for asceticism, which may be seen as self-limitation carried to
such lengths as to be a perversion. In any case, asceticism is often practised due
to a belief in the dualistic nature of the individual, so as to benefit the soul at the
expense of the body. This in fact leads to a loss of relationship, not just with the
material, but often also between the ascetic and other people. it is no accident
that ascetics are often hermits. Nevertheless, of course, it is obvious that although
the extreme suffering of asceticism is not called for, the self-limitation that is

188 Have This Mind
necessary must, as it always does, lead to a measure of suffering. However the
benefits will again make that suffering worthwhile. Such can motivate a more
responsible lifestyle, particularly as Christianity also points out the fact that selflimitation
is not permanent, but that there is a hope of blessing in the afterlife.
Just as God’s self-limitation is not permanent, but will end at the parousia, so that
of Christians will also end.
While it is affirmed that the resources of the world are still adequate, this
highlights the other area in which self-limitation is particularly necessary. If
human population continues to expand, the resources of the world will at some
stage fail to be adequate to support even the barest level of human existence.
Here self-limitation is necessary not so much in the rich areas of the world,
in which population is basically stable, but in poor areas, which are where the
greatest increase in population is being experienced. The question of population
limitation is thus intimately linked to that of the limitation of resources, for it is
because of a rapidly increasing population that the questions of resources and of
pollution become more urgent. Thus if there was a greater degree of equality in
the area of possessions, which would mean that the richer areas, more stable in
population size, were limited in wealth, then it is likely that the dynamic growth
in population would also abate. The question is a complex one, but one factor is
that people in the third world seek to have many children as a measure of security
for their old age. This means that if human relationships were better, so that all
felt secure, there would in fact be less motive to procreate. Once again, there is a
link between self-limitation and inter-human relationships.
Of course the need for security is only one factor in population increase, but it
does mean that there is little desire for self-limitation in procreation. Even where
contraceptives are available, they are often not used. Quite simply, unless there
is a desire for self-limitation, then population will continue to soar. The same is
true of another reason why population increases, teenage promiscuity. Again there
is no desire for the restriction of relationship to just one partner; a lack of selflimitation
leads to a population growth.
Despite the very obvious need for a curtailment of population growth,
and indeed its reduction, this is another area where God has given humanity
freedom. He does not restrict people at all, even if it has been suggested that he
has used natural disaster and even disease, notably AIDS, in this way. Actually,
on the contrary, it has often been suggested that in keeping with the “creation
mandate” of Genesis 1:28, a religious duty is to procreate as much as possible
(Davis 1984:120). However, this must be taken in context; although a rapid
multiplication in population was appropriate at the time of writing, this does not

Kenōsis for the poor
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mean that it still is. On the contrary, it may well be argued that God’s desire is not
unlimited multiplication, but only to a limit. The population of the world should
be adequate and no more. The world should be “filled”, but not to overflowing
(Moss 1982:38).
More fundamentally, the limitation of population is in imitation of the God
who limited his own creativity. God could have created more but chose not to;
likewise a Christian attitude should be that even where it is possible to procreate
more, this should not be done. Obviously, once again, just as God’s self-limitation
involves a measure of suffering, so the restriction of what is a very powerful human
desire for procreation also involves suffering, but nevertheless is necessary.
What would be hoped for in this regard is that the measure of suffering
that widespread self-limitation entails would be accepted, whether motivated
economically or religiously, as the alternatives involve even more suffering (but
in the future, so irrelevant to a world-view that seeks only personal benefit). On
a human level there is the possibility of the curtailment of individual freedom by
a socialistic compulsion to restrict population, as is successful in China, but this
does involve great suffering in an individual level. The only other possibility is the
almost inevitable consequences of overpopulation in poverty and disease which
will then reduce population in any case.
In this case, personal consumption has to be curtailed, and procreation limited,
in order to avoid a catastrophe which must occur sooner or later (Meadows
1972:25f).

11
Kenotic stewardship
Mention the word “stewardship” to the average Christian, and I am sure that
he or she will immediately think in terms of giving, with the particular aim of
supporting the local congregation. This is especially the case for churches which
by origin and conviction are independent of the state and its support; some
established churches did not have the same need, as Hall (1990:63) points out.
Most Christians, in their practice of stewardship, will also extend this to support
of their denomination as a whole, and probably to the wider Church, which
will then mean para-church organisations such as missionary societies. They will
probably then want to extend their idea and practice still further into a measure
of charitable giving to the poor. However, the concept of “stewardship” is very
commonly given a still wider meaning of care for the environment. It is this latter
that I wish to concentrate upon, although what is said will impinge on the more
restricted ideas of the subject.
The idea of giving immediately involves power, for what is assumed is that
the giver has power to give. Any form of giving presupposes that a person has the
authority to give. It would hardly be acceptable to give what belongs to another!
Likewise it involves the freedom of choice, the ability to choose to support one
thing rather than another, or not to give at all. It is these two points which relate
to an idea which has interested me considerably in recent years, the idea of Jesus’
kenōsis, as described in Philippians 2. Jesus, in his incarnation, was limiting his
own power, and doing it by his own free choice.
There are three basic approaches to the extent of our authority over things,
which usually manifests as the question of how much should be given. These are
that of an OWNER, that of a TENANT, and that of a STEWARD. These may
be seen as the authority to do whatever we like with what is owned, secondly as
a limited obligation to the owner, but freedom in respect of the property, and
thirdly as the obligation and authority to care for the property of the owner.
190

The authority of an owner
Kenotic stewardship
191
Genesis 1:26 relates the authority over material things to humanity being created
imago Dei, “in the image of God”. Under the influence of a Greek world view
which denigrated the material, the image was interpreted as spirituality for many
centuries. Christianity has then tended to understand salvation as “spiritual”
only, so either to withdraw from the world, or ignore it as irrelevant, effectively
to dominate it (Hall 1990:102). It is not far from this to the usual modern
understanding of the image, which is that it signifies human authority. Kings
set up images of themselves in conquered provinces as a sign of their rights over
them (von Rad 1961:58). Unlike the idea of spirituality, seeing the meaning of
the image in this way affirms the value of material things; Hall (1990:57) notes
the comment of Archbishop Temple that Christianity is the most materialistic of
all the world religions. In any case, the incarnation of Christ is his identification
with the material world, even if he is also distinct from it. While Hall (1986:27)
sees a tendency for Christians to be against the world, he feels that this is a form
of docetism.
At the same time, the Biblical view of humanity as in the image of God, and
so in a way transcendent, can drive a wedge between humanity and the world.
At the extreme, while humanity is enslaved to nature, having to eat and breathe,
the goal can well be seen as independence of nature, just as God; this implies
domination. Moltmann (1988:8) comments that humans tried to become like
God (a reflec tion of the fall narrative), by domination of nature, instead of by
goodness and truth. This is exacerbated by an over-emphasis on the omnipotence
of God since the Renaissance (Moltmann 1988:7), which may be particularly seen
in Calvinism. White (1967:1206), in his justifiably famous and influential article,
traces the Western attitude to the environment to Christian monotheism. This is
in contrast to what has been seen as a better view in other religions, which have
seen people not so much as over the creation, but as a part of it, with an attitude
of seeking harmony with, rather than dominion over it. White (1967:1206) refers
to Buddhism “as very nearly the mirror image of the Christian view”.
The granting of dominion does seem to reflect Genesis 1; it has been taken
to mean that people have a God-given absolute right to do what they desire with
material things, and even animals and plants. Humankind was given real power
over the earth; von Rad (1961:58) comments that the words of Genesis 1:28 are
very strong. It has then been felt that people have total authority over the resources
of the world. However, this exercise of dominion has resulted in problems such
as excessive population growth, pollution and over-exploitation of resources,

192 Have This Mind
both animate and inanimate, and even more strikingly in the exploitation and
oppression of other human beings. Richard (1997:18) comments that while
technology makes people more interdependent, it also causes alienation. Already
the effects of human power are seen in the spoiling of the very quality of life
that it was intended to benefit. It is only necessary to cite the pollution of the
atmosphere through human activity, especially vehicle emissions, which is having
a direct effect not only in very breathing in big cities where asthma is on the
increase and it is even necessary to use masks and oxygen, but also in climate
change and raised sea levels through global warming. It is results such as this
that have heightened concern that the dominion mandate is not being exercised
in conformity with the intention of God. God surely desires to care for what he
made, so “either we image God in our loving rule of the earth or we forget that
task in disobedience” (Walsh & Middleton 1984:65).
This is not to decry the obvious benefits of technology for human wellbeing.
Richard (1982:23) notes that this has advanced sufficiently to alleviate
human needs, but that the will to power drives people far beyond this point.
Unless there is a measure of restraint, or kenōsis, the ultimate result will be selfdefeating
(Heidegger, in Richard 1997:25). It is surely obvious that the ideal for
human civilisation is sustainability. Of course, in the absolute sense, this is not a
possibility, simply due to entropy and the inherent inefficiency of action. Without
external intervention, such as a re-creation by God, the world will inevitably
grind to a halt. However, although some have argued that Christians as citizens
of heaven, and believers in a coming parousia, need not be concerned about this
world, it would seem right to care for it and make it last as long as possible. This
dramatically contrasts with the increasingly held view that new things must be
bought on an ongoing basis even though what is replaced is not worn out. With
such an attitude, things are just not intended to last; the result is accelerating use
of resources and increasing amounts of rubbish, much of which is quite usable.
Surely rather a Christian ideal is to reflect as far as possible other aspects of the
nature of God, specifically his aseity and eternity? It is not for nothing that the
result of the atonement is the offer of eternal life, and that the desire for eternity
and the rejection of death is a fundamental aspect of being human.
Concern for the world must demand self-limitation. In itself this is not contrary
to dominion, insofar as authority includes the right not to exert authority. This is
after all what God has done; an action of his omnipotence is to refrain from acting
in an omnipotent way; his freedom includes the ability to limit that freedom. This
is seen in the action of Jesus, who consistently rejected the use of the power that
was available to him by his nature, from the rejection of the temptations, through

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the limitation of miracles, to remaining on the cross. He acted as he did in order
to enable salvation, so increase relationship. As his kenōsis, we self-limit for the
sake of enhanced relationship, which includes that with the material world.
Certainly the result of a belief in absolute authority must lead to questioning
this interpretation of the idea of the image; what however must matter more is
fidelity to the Bible. Here Anderson (1984:153) cites Borowitz’ opinion that
although dominion is clearly a Biblical idea, the modern application of dominion
is an imposi tion on the Biblical texts and really reflects a secularization. I have
argued elsewhere (Williams 1993) that particular attention should be paid to the
original context of the dominion mandate; it is so different from the modern
situation that dominion authority must definitely be qualified today. The Genesis
command was given in Eden, so in a state of harmony; humanity cared for, not
exploited it. Westermann (1984:159) points out that the command to rule must
be read in the context of the ruling of sun and moon in Genesis 1:16, which
means control and order, not exploitation or using at whim; this is an appropriate
comment in that Jesus is the Word of God, the logos.
In particular, if God created by an act of self-limitation, this would indicate
that as in imago Dei, humanity should also limit the exercise of its authority.
People should seek to imitate God, but in his kenōsis! Birch and Rasmussen
(1978:113) comment: “Except for Genesis 1, this theme of human domination
is found in the Old Testament only in Psalm 8. In both instances exercise of
dominion is accountable to God; it is not license for human indulgence.” It is
for this reason that “rebellion” is such an apt picture of human sin, for rebellion
is the appropriation of the authority of the overlord. The authority to subdue of
Genesis 1:28 (radah) is usurped into rebellion (marad). In fact, in our sin, and the
spoiling of the image, dominion was also spoilt. The ground no longer yielded
fully (Gen 3:17, 4:12). Is this why Jesus died on a tree (Gal 3:13, cf Deut 21:23)?
Thompson (1974:232) interestingly comments that as a corpse was accursed, its
presence would defile the land; he cites also Numbers 35:33f. The curse is then
part of the effect of sin that had to be atoned for. Thereafter, the land would yield
(Lev 19:25).
That dominion cannot be absolute is also indicated by the fact that in the
attempt to exercise unrestrained dominion, which is effectively sin, human
dominion was actually lost. The land produced unwanted things such as thorns
and thistles. Immediately after the grasping at divinity, so God’s dominion, came
its loss, a just result for sin. Genesis 4:12 gave the judgement “it will no longer
yield to you”, because the ground is cursed. Here it is also significant that the text

194 Have This Mind
proceeds to the institution of the Sabbath, a restriction of human activity and a
recognition of God’s continued right over time.
Moreover it must be immediately noted that Genesis also indicates where the
absolute authority lies. Humanity’s authority is present, but only to do the will of
God; it is the authority of an agent, and therefore limited, not absolute; God has
not just withdrawn, but exerts his dominion through others. The Old Testament
understanding of kingship is not of absolute power, as elsewhere in the ancient
near east, but that of a servant. The authority that this represents is similar to a
situation which pertained in the ancient world, where a vassal king was anointed
to demonstrate that he had the authority of his superior, acting on his behalf, and
that he had the duty of obedience. He also paid annual tribute. Here Philippians
2, which outlines kenōsis, echoes Isaiah 53, which describes the servant of God.
The authority of a tenant
An appeal to creation can however give another possible model, for the right of
ownership of the world could be understood as divided between God and people.
Creation involved frequent division, such as between light and darkness, sea and
dry land, and even in humanity, between the sexes. The idea of the Sabbath likewise
is a separation. Westerners have a predilection for division, for compartmentalising
the whole into distinct parts. Such a model is therefore attractive; some things are
God’s and his alone, others are for people.
Mention the word “stewardship” to the average Christian, and I suspect that
he or she will immediately also think of tithing, the practice based on the Old
Testament of giving 10% of income to God’s work. The tithe is God’s portion,
over which he maintains dominion. This practice tends to suggest that the role
of a Christian is that of a tenant. In this case the responsibility of a Christian is
just to control the available assets so that the tithe can be paid. Do we have an
obligation only to pay such a tithe, which means that the rest is for our own use?
If tithing is practised, the result can immediately be to feel that once the tithe has
been paid, then God has no say in how the other 90% is utilised. Essentially, the
belief can be that we have full dominion over that portion, but does this mean
that we have full rights over it, freely choosing what we do with it?
This would also bring in the issue of far Old Testament law is applicable to
Christians, and whether tithing should be before or after tax. It is clear from the
New Testament that Jesus rejected the Pharisaic practice of legalistically tithing
every last scrap of income (Matt 23:23). More fundamentally, the idea of division

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of ownership between God and people falls foul in the text, for Genesis gives no
indication of such a scheme of power-sharing.
That we do have obligations is the theme of one of the parables of Jesus, one
was so important that it occurs in all three of the synoptic gospels (Matt 21:33f,
Mk 12:1f, Lk 20:9f). It is often understood that its point is that the tenants
refused to pay the owner the fruit due to him, basically the rent. They presumed
on full rights over the property.
But is this an adequate understanding of their role? Was it limited to a rent?
Despite the assumption of many commentators that the occupiers of the property
were tenants in this sense, this is doubtful. The word in question is geōrgos, which
just means one who cultivates. The parable was almost certainly based on Isaiah
5 (Cole 1961:184), where the stress is on fruitfulness, and the idea of tenancy is
absent. In any case, the implication of somebody who rents can hardly be applied
to God, who is described as a geōrgos in John 15:7, but the idea of cultivation is
readily applicable there. The obligation of the geōrgoi was to seek the fruitfulness
of the property, and so not limited to paying a rent. This naturally involved the
responsibility to care for the property, as it still belonged to the owner. The geōrgoi
were not tenants, but stewards. It is significant that the parable is followed in Mark
and Luke by the story of tax payable to Caesar, who had rights over everything
if he demanded; his image was on all the coinage! Here the giving of the fruit
was an acknowledgement of ownership. Indeed, rather than rent, this is rather
the meaning of the tithe; God has rights over all the property, but requests only
a token. There is a similarity here to the gift of the Spirit to us as a token of our
full inheritance later. Here Morris (1974:285), on the basis of the Talmud in Baba
Bathra (35b, 40b), points out that if a landlord was absent from a property for an
extended period, its occupiers could claim ownership; by sending servants, he was
also claiming his right of possession. Incidentally this gives a significant reason for
the incarnation; God is asserting his ownership over the world.
Biblical stewardship
In contrast to these other ideas, the dominion of humanity need not be seen as
involving ownership of the material, but of having a form of stewardship over it, a
view which balances authority with dominion (Walsh & Middleton 1984:59).
The figure of the steward is common in the Bible, and significantly, particularly
so in the parables of Jesus. Uniformly, the figure was one who was given a position
of considerable status and power, but one who at the same time carried considerable

196 Have This Mind
responsibility. Unlike a tenant, the steward has a total obligation to the property
of his master, with no real right of use for his own benefit. Hall (1990:66) quotes
Wyclif: “God loans us lordship, but it is not ours: a human being is improperly
called a lord, but is rather a steward of the supreme Lord”. 1 Peter 4:10 refers to
the stewardship of Christians in the context that everything that has been received
is a gift (charisma). Although this need not mean that the gift is not absolutely
owned, the implication, as in the section on the charismata in 1 Corinthians, is
that they are given specifically for the benefit of others.
A steward was someone given authority over the possessions of a master, caring
for them for his benefit. He was not a mere slave, but made responsible decisions
(Hall 1990:32). What is important to note is that even if the steward was given
total control over the possessions of the master, he had to render account; the
use made had to be in accordance with the master’s desires; he represented that
master (Hall 1990:34). The master expected a reasonable return on what had
been entrusted to the steward; idleness was condemned. He was expected to be
trustworthy (1 Cor 4:2). Even if the steward benefited from the arrangement, he
was also condemned if any of the goods of the master were embezzled for his own
use; great authority means great responsibility (Lk 12:48). It is significant that the
Greek for “steward” is oikonomos, from which we get the word “economy”. The
obligation of a steward was to be economical with the goods of his lord.
Is this what the church member has in mind when stewardship is mentioned?
I want to suggest that it should be, although the actual belief is probably rather
different. Particularly if the church member thinks only of giving money, that is a
restricted view of what is meant by the idea of stewardship.
The dominion of Christ
It is always good Christian theology to seek understanding of an issue in relation
to Christ. Thus it is in the incarnation that clarity over human dominion can be
found. The other Old Testament text that refers to dominion, and hints at the
idea of the image of God, Psalm 8, is quoted several times in the New Testament,
and always applied to Christ (eg 1 Cor 15:27, Heb 2:6-8 cf Hall (1986:75 f)). It
is significant that at least some early Christians saw dominion fulfilled in Christ
not in humankind as a whole. He is therefore the paradigm for how our dominion
should be understood. Hall (1990:43) understands him as the paradigmatic
steward, fulfilling the role as well as the more traditional ones such as prophet,
priest and king.

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Christ has dominion over the material, as seen in healings, and such acts as
the feedings of the multitudes and stilling of the storm, but it is certainly never
harmful. He did not permit his disciples to call down fire from heaven (Lk 9:54)!
There was no ascetic rejection of technology either, as practised by some of the
groups emanating from the Anabaptists, such as the Amish. Jesus even worked as
a carpenter, and encouraged his disciples in their fishing on occasion.
Just as human dominion, that of Jesus relates to his being appointed as agent of
God, anointed as Messiah. As such, he is the image of God (eg Heb 1:3 (charaktēr),
2 Cor 4:4 (eikōn)); Grenz (2004:619) points out that the Septuagint used eikōn
for its translation of Genesis 1:26. Jesus himself said that “he who has seen me has
seen the Father” (Jn 14:9). It hardly needs saying that he is a better image of God
than the rest of humanity; although humanity is in imago Dei, that image was
marred by sin. This does not apply to Jesus, who was without sin (Heb 4:15). As
sinless, and as agent, he was fully obedient to God (Jn 6:38). It must also be noted
that, as the book of Hebrews (7:9) points out, he also paid tithes to Melchizedek,
the priest of God, and therefore to God himself.
Philippians 2:5-11 relates his role in the world. Most significantly, Jesus, is
described there as in the form of God (morphē), so in imago Dei in the full sense
(Martin 1983:107f). But although he had the right of dominion over the creation,
he did not “grasp” (harpagmos) at it (Phil 2:6)). Hall (1986:186) says that it is the
fact that the Lord is crucified must transform the idea of his dominion. Grenz
(2004:620) suggests that Colossians 1:15f indicates that it is actually in his death
and resurrection that Jesus most clearly emerges as the image of God; similarly
Hebrews 1:1f identifies Jesus as the image in his saving work. It was in this that he
cared for the world; stewardship is a “theology of the cross” (Hall 1990:118).
Philippians 2 does not only indicate the form that dominion should have,
but then also that any idea of stewardship as simply paying a tithe or rent is not
appropriate. The essence of a tenant is that he or she is actually foreign, so does
not really belong, being present only for a while. In contrast, the passage indicates
that Jesus became fully human, a thought reflected in the prologue of John, his
own “hymn to the incarnation”: “he came to his own home” (Jn 1:11). Jesus
was not in the world as a tenant, but as part of it. Philippians 2 describes the
incarnation as “in the likeness of men”; this is not being over humanity, but being
with it, “Emmanuel” (Hall 1990:206).
What needs to be stressed is that the mission of Jesus was accomplished on
earth not by the exercise of raw power in dominion, which would no doubt have
been possible, but through the self-limitation of kenōsis. Even in his life, he could
obviously have done far more and benefited far more people if he had done more

198 Have This Mind
miracles. Even the fact that he ministered for a mere three years, limiting his time,
is strange if the main value is human benefit and relief of suffering. Yet any benefit
from the exercise of power could only have had a temporary result, negligible
beside what he did achieve by his kenōsis.
In this case, despite the appearance of inconsistency, it may well be suggested
that the action of the image of God in Christ’s kenōsis gives a good indication
of what dominion is intended to be. Human activity is obviously not simply an
imitation of what Christ did, but ought to be consistent with it as a paradigm.
Martin (1983:115) draws attention to 2 Corinthians 3:18, in which the believers
are described as transformed (metamorphoō; the word comes from morphē) into
his “likeness” (eikōn, the usual word rendered “image”). Self-limitation, kenōsis,
should be the way in which humanity, as in imago Dei, exercises dominion; a
tremendous contrast to force, exploitation and oppression. The kenōsis of Christ is
explained by his becoming a slave, doulos (Phil 2:7), but a slave of God; Christ is
then obedient to him, and receives his authority by relating to him. People should
likewise be in subjection to God, and in this have dominion; it is not absolute
freedom, but the authority of a servant, a steward.
It may be added here that the context of Philippians 2 is of an appeal to the
Church, and that Christian giving, as in 2 Corinthians 8:9 and in the early chapters
of Acts, focussed on the body of Christ, even if this was never to the exclusion of
other needs (Gal 6:10). Hall (1986:35) remarks that the word oikomenē, related to
“steward”, refers to the civilised world of the day, in distinction to those outside,
the barbarians. Even Christian concern for the world must be secondary to its care
for the Church.
Dominion by kenōsis
It would not be right to press the details of the experience of Jesus into prescriptions
binding upon all people, even Christians, but it is surely valid to make a couple of
observations, especially from the experience of crucifixion, which is the extreme
of kenōsis. After all, Jesus, and many after him, described the Christian lifestyle
as taking up one’s cross (Matt 16:24). It is obvious firstly that the whole life of
Jesus, but particularly his death, was a rejection of comfort and the acceptance of
suffering. Thus in our imitation of Christ, we must limit ourselves, which includes
our use of the world’s resources. So perhaps, just as Jesus was fixed to the cross, we
should limit our mobility? After all, transport is a major cause of global warming.
As he accepted suffering, we should restrict our comfort. Even more, perhaps our

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tendency to costly hypochondria is condemned by Jesus’ refusal of the drugged
wine, even at the height of his pain. This stands in striking contrast to a western
lifestyle that embodies an unending search for comfort and pleasure and spends
a fortune on the search for relief from even minor pain. Incidentally there was no
rejection of pleasure as such; Christianity does not reject the necessities of life in
an ascetic way. Indeed Jesus even got into trouble for his eating and drinking (Lk
7:34)!
Thus, on the one hand, kenōsis can be seen as a qualification of dominion,
preventing unbridled excess. However, on the other, that kenōsis is even to be seen
as the means of that dominion. Not only does the example of Jesus demand that
the dominion that humanity has be curtailed, but it is also the case that the very
same dominion is often exerted by means of self-limitation, paradoxical though
that seems.
Modern dominion is largely by means of technology, the multiplication of
human ability by machine. Just as God appointed Jesus, and then Christians as his
agents of dominion, limiting himself in kenōsis to give us authority, so our agents are
often machines. However the use of technology also involves kenōsis; the creation
of a machine naturally limits its maker and user. People achieve dominion over
the environment by subjecting themselves to machines, which exert power. An
example of this is the motor car. While its use enables a person to travel distances
beyond his or her natural strength, and in times certainly otherwise impossible,
the decision to use a car does involve restriction, and in a number of ways. A
person is naturally limited to the occupation of that particular space, freedom is
surrendered, at least to a degree to the will of the driver, and possibly also to the
reliability of the machine. There is a loss of freedom as pertains to routes, and
certainly much of the experience and, it must be said, enrichment, that would be
gained by walking, must be surrendered. The same is true in the use of any other
machine.
Pannenberg (in Galloway 1973:21) has even drawn attention to what might be
termed “demonisation”, in which instead of being a servant of the humanity that
made it, the machine takes a measure of control, and makes the human being into
its slave. Everybody, at least in the western world, is to a degree enslaved to that
technological wonder, the telephone, which insists in no uncertain terms that it
has to be answered. It is interesting, albeit sad, how irresistible a ringing telephone
can be. The fact of slavery is particularly obvious at 2am! The situation has even
deteriorated with the advent of the cell phone, for the demon is not safely left
at home. Its only redeeming feature is that it is usually possible to see who is
phoning and to reject some of the calls. But generally the demon disrupts lectures,

200 Have This Mind
meetings, conversations, insisting on its rights. To make the slavery even clearer,
there is hideous pressure to sport the latest model of phone, with a fashionable ring
tone. Such slavery cannot be right, and cannot be really Christian. Christianity is
liberative, even from the imposition of law. Indeed Christianity has done much to
remove slavery from the world, as in the efforts of Wilberforce, or at least alleviate
it as in the case of Onesimus in the little epistle of Philemon. The situation is of
course different when slavery is by choice (cf Deut 15:16f), as was that of Jesus.
This slavery is not only acceptable, but right.
Pannenberg probably also had another aspect in mind, whereby the machine
can well be a tremendous benefit in saving time, but as soon as it goes wrong,
the pressure becomes immense to either repair or to replace it. The human being
becomes the slave of the machine, at least for a while. I am also suspicious that the
omnipresent computer actually absorbs more time than it saves, and results in the
use of more paper, and like the phone, how much time is lost learning how to use
it! The computer is also responsible for some loss of freedom in that data on just
about anything is so readily available; if nothing else, much of the guesswork in
all sorts of areas is gone.
Most people readily accept these aspects for the benefits that the machines
give, but the point must remain, that to get the benefits does require at least
a measure of self-limitation. The principle is however valid even without the
machine, because human dominion does depend on cooperation between people.
A solitary individual is relatively impotent, and even unable to survive in many
environments for very long, but people working together are able to do far more
than the increase of numbers alone would suggest. It is by no means an accident
that the other main idea of the meaning of the image of God is plurality (Barth
1958:183f), for it is this that enables dominion. People working alone just cannot
make all that society as a whole can provide. As much as technology, the secret
of modern prosperity lies in the division of labour, where each person does only
one or two jobs for society, but where the work of others supplies what is then
not done. Civilization involves the yielding of much individual freedom for the
sake of all. Dominion thus requires subjecting ourselves to each other. The cost of
dominion also manifests at the wider level, where the demands of mass production
may produce efficiency, but the loss of freedom and so of interest also produce
boredom and dehumanisation.
Thus the system requires kenōsis. Even at the basic level, in order to live
together, a husband and wife must give up a measure of their personal freedom;
each becomes a slave of the other. This is paralleled insofar as Jesus became a slave
to the Church, so we are slaves to Christ (Eph 5:23f). The relationship between

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the sexes, as between humanity and the world, is then not domination, or
identity, but cooperation (Hall 1990:207). It is because of this loss of the freedom
that western society values so highly that so many are outside of any permanent
relationship. This is true even at the basic level, such as with a husband and wife,
who support each other, but vastly more in the interplay of civilisation, and then
between humanity and nature.
This also implies that stewardship cannot then be limited to the action of
individuals, but is the action of community (Hall 1990:132f); in fact ecological
damage is not so much due to individuals, but to the systems and the communities
in which they act.
Stewardship by kenōsis
God, and Christ, exercised their dominion by acts of kenōsis. By creating people
with free will, and through the atonement, they gained in relationships that they
would not otherwise have had. Their kenōsis then enabled deeper relationships
between people, so their dominion. Through this they also achieved their aim
through the agency of others. This is surely the will of God’s church also, both
to do the will of God, acting for him, and to develop relationship between his
people. If kenōsis is the means of relating to the creation, it is also the way of
achieving these goals.
It surely goes without saying that kenōsis is to enable care for each other, care
for the Church. The essence of stewardship is the whole ordering of life, not
just of money (Hall 1990:41). It is then hardly surprising that the context of
the Philippian passage lies in an appeal by Paul for unity in the Church, as this
demands an attitude of self-limitation and of humility; a healthy relationship
always implies mutual self-giving and service. Immediately prior to the “hymn”
comes the direct appeal, “let each of you look not only to his own interests, but
also to the interests of others” (Phil 2:4). The hymn explains how this is done;
the kenōsis of Christ was primarily in the interest of the Church. It follows that
a Christian lifestyle involves care for what he has made, and for others in the
Church, acting as stewards. It must be added that Philippians 2, in stressing the
incarnation, affirms humanity as a whole, and therefore the whole of creation.
This gives a unity to humanity and the world, and thus a responsibility to care
for it (Hall 1990:127f), and this well before the modern appreciation of its interconnectedness;
by caring for others and the environment we actually care for
ourselves as well.

202 Have This Mind
It also goes without saying that this implies material giving. What it does not
demand is tithing. Kenōsis was done to give authority and freedom, the antithesis
of a legal requirement. Indeed, the early Church recognised that keeping the
law was not necessary for Gentile converts. They were rather to be led by the
Spirit, who would undoubtedly lead people to give, as indeed was seen on several
occasions in the early Church, notably in the koinōnia in the initial chapters of
Acts, and in the gift from the Macedonian Christians to the poverty-stricken
Jerusalem church (2 Cor 8-9), which is motivated by the example of Christ (2
Cor 8:9). In this, as in other matters, the Old Testament law can serve as a guide,
even if it is not a requirement. It is likely that the practice would go beyond it; as
Jesus said, the righteousness of his disciples must exceed that of the scribes and
the Pharisees (Matt 5:20). It is in bearing each other’s burdens that we fulfil the
law of Christ (Gal 6:2). The essence of stewardship is then not dominating others,
or a passivism, even if extended to the mere payment of a tithe, but involvement
with others.
One way in which dominion was exercised in Eden was the naming of the
animals, effectively respecting their nature and their roles (Blocher 1984:91).
Kenotic stewardship in the Church therefore includes a respect for the roles of
others, acknowledging their gifts and nature, not imposing our will, but giving
freedom for their ministries. It is this that Paul expounds on in his analogy of the
body (1 Cor 12:4f).
It is in this goal of increased relationship and mutual support by kenōsis that
the dominion over the environment becomes relevant. It means that the necessary
activity for living then becomes less than totally demanding. As nature became
increasingly subject, time was freed from the need to obtain the necessities of food,
clothing and shelter. This could then be available for inter-personal relationship,
and for relating to God. It would once again be demonic if work became so
demanding as to exclude such facets of a full humanity; doubly so if the results of
such frenzied activity is further exploitation. It may be added here that dominion
over the environment can be expressed directly in worship of God, such as by the
building of cathedrals or the production of music which is specifically intended to
help others in their relation to and worship of God.
Conclusion
From the medieval classic The imitation of Christ by Thomas à Kempis to the
modern bracelets popular among Christian youth ascribed WWJD, “what would

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Jesus do?” the message is clear. It is this which the hymn of Philippians 2:5f takes
as its starting point, as the writer, whether Paul himself or another whose work
was adopted by the apostle, seeks to encourage his readers and to develop their
Christianity. “Have this mind among yourselves, which you have in Christ Jesus”
(Phil 2:5). Yet he goes on to explain what this means in terms which would have
made sense to Thomas à Kempis, but which seems so contrary to the attitude
of most modern Christians so caught up in the world-view of the twenty-first
century. The mind of Christ Jesus, which is to be manifested among his followers,
was a mind of self-abasement, service, and humility, of kenōsis (Phil 2:7), such a
contrast to the aggressiveness and self-seeking which is the rule of modern life. It
was only possible for Jesus to become incarnate, human, by an act of kenōsis, and
it is then by kenōsis that a person becomes really human, because it is by this that a
person can fully relate to others and to the world, so becoming fully personal.
It must finally be observed that not only is kenōsis the means of stewardship,
but its result is dominion. The Philippian hymn closes with the exaltation of the
crucified Christ as Lord, to whom every knee will bow (Phil 2:11). Jesus had
achieved final Lordship through an act of kenōsis. All authority had been given
to him (Matt 28:19); his dominion is fulfilled (Moltmann 1985:227). The same
principle holds with his followers, who are saved through kenōsis insofar has they
receive grace, effectively admitting inability to save themselves. They are then
exalted as adopted children of God (Rom 8:15), and will rule with Christ. The
loss of dominion through the fall is overcome.

12
Kenotic warfare: Christian action
against aggression
It is a sad comment on human nature that warfare has been a feature of life from
time immemorial. It is almost certainly true to say that there has never been a day
without a war being fought somewhere in the world. Much of what passes for
history is a chronicling of aggression between groups, tribes and nations, resulting
in conquest, subjugation and slavery of one by another. The Bible itself witnesses
to this, warfare filling the pages of the Old Testament. If it is not a feature of the
New, it is only because its peace was enforced militarily by the Romans, who
would suppress any rebellion without hesitation or mercy.
But this seems hardly consistent with Christianity. Warfare seems so obviously
a result of sin that Christians can hardly approve of it. How can it be compatible
with following the one known as the “prince of peace”, who promised to give
his peace? If he did want to change the nature of human society, he rejected
the usual human approach of force. Although he did claim that overwhelming
military might was available to him, access to “more than twelve legions of angels”
(Matt 26:53), he did not use it. Rather than exploit the chance that he had of
establishing an earthly kingdom that might have been available to him on his
triumphal entry to Jerusalem, when he could have accepted the kingship and use
what was overwhelming popularity, he chose instead the path that led to the cross.
Pilate seemed to have recognised the possibilities for rebellion that rested in Jesus,
and justified the crucifixion on those grounds. However sarcastically, he executed
the “king of the Jews”.
Jesus’ path to the cross has, in the area of warfare as in other human activities,
given an example for Christians to follow. Indeed he commanded Christians to
“take up your cross”; Macgregor (1953:73) remarks that no command is repeated
more often in the New Testament. It is hardly surprising that Christian history
204

Kenotic warfare: Christian action against aggression
205
has had no shortage of those who have believed that taking Jesus as Lord demands
an acceptance of a principle of non-violence, even the non-resistance of evil. His
example in kenōsis, and of course also his words, most notably in the Sermon on
the Mount, have been the inspiration for Christian pacifism. Ellis (2001:125)
comments that this is probably the only policy consistent with kenōsis, and that an
apparent lack of success is not due to the concept, but that it has never really been
followed. What other way could there be when the Master himself taught people
to love their enemies, to turn the other cheek, not to resist the aggressor? The
message of the Sermon on the Mount would seem to be crystal clear, even though
it has always been subject to qualification, such as seeing turning the cheek as
refusal to respond not to aggression, but to indignity (Bainton 1960:61). The
words of Jesus cannot be seen as empty when he carried them to a consistent
fulfilment in his actions on the cross. He accepted the evil done to him, refusing
to resist, refusing to do what would have seemed to be possible to the Son of
God, resisting evil more directly, and obliterating it with divine force. And the
sentiments expressed by Jesus find an echo in other parts of the Bible as well. If
by his action, Jesus enabled reconciliation with God, imitating his model should
achieve reconciliation between people as well; war becomes superfluous. Such was
the case in the early Church, healing the tremendous divide between Jew and
Gentile (Eph 2:11f); the same Spirit who did that can heal similar divides today
(Barry 1987:71). His choice of humility in kenōsis, of non-resistance, has, for
many, justified a rejection of warfare, an adoption of pacifism. God adopted kenōsis
for the sake of giving freedom; it is hardly consistent with it to apply force. The
Russian Molokans embraced pacifism for just this reason, as did Tolstoy (Bainton
1960:195). But was this also just a special case? Is it that Jesus could only follow
a personal stand of non-resistance because of who he was, so that the cross was a
unique action because of Jesus effecting atonement (Davis 1993:213)? The Jews
did not consider imitating God impossible (Bainton 1960:62). Or was it only for
“special” but not ordinary Christians (Hornus 1980:188), a common medieval
attitude, where clergy were exempt from war (Bainton 1960:84)? Or was his
action acceptable because it did not actually harm anybody else? Notwithstanding
the pain and distress caused to his mother and disciples, of course.
However, Philippians 2 presents kenōsis as an example to be followed; does
this apply to warfare? This was the stance of the early Church, significantly
in a situation of what could be severe persecution. At that time, Christian
participation in war was not countenanced (Bainton 1960:53); there is no
evidence of Christians in the army before 170 AD, although there was increasing
participation thereafter (Placher 2001:195, Bainton 1960:68). Hornus (1980:eg

206 Have This Mind
118) chronicles the attitude of Christians in the pre-Constantine church, who in
general refused military service. He particularly cites the opinions of Tertullian,
Cyprian, Hippolytus, and Martin of Tours (1980:146), the latter of whom gave
his book its title, pugnare mihi non licet “It is not lawful to me to fight.” Justin
assumes that all Christians are pacifist (Placher 2001:195). This is an attitude
shared by many today, notably, of course, Quakers, Mennonites, and, outside of
orthodox Christianity, Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Although a pacifist attitude is not absent in the ancient world, as in the case
of Socrates, who said that it is better to suffer wrong than to inflict it (Bainton
1960:39), it is striking that the early Church attitude was distinctly contrary
to both their Old Testament predecessors, as the events of the Jewish rebellions
against Rome show, and to the existing worldview, as exemplified by Rome. The
teaching and example of Jesus is the only explanation for this contrast. Hengel
however cites Zechariah 4:6, “not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit”, as
epitomising the attitude of Jesus (Cronin 1992:199). Macgregor (1953:16) points
out the progressive nature of Biblical revelation; he cites the repeated words of
Jesus “You have heard that it was said to the men of old … but I say to you …” (eg
Matt 5:21). “Blessed”, he said, “are the peacemakers” (Matt 5:9). It is then highly
significant that the early Church is often held up as a model for the modern
(Bainton 1980:66), which should then include its pacifism.
The adoption of this attitude may be supported by the observation that
self-limitation would remove a lot of the cause for aggression. Warfare is often
motivated by the desire for acquisition of what is possessed by the other.
What causes wars, and what causes fightings among you? Is it not your passions
that are at war wih your members? You desire and do not have, so you kill. And
you covet and cannot obtain; so you fight and wage war (Jas 4:1-2).
For Christians, such a desire to acquire for its own sake must be contrary to the
attitude of Jesus, and a refusal to display what one has, also in imitation of him,
must also reduce the temptation to aggression. The ancient Cyreniacs avoided
warfare by adopting poverty (Bainton 1960:28). If there is self-restraint, then the
desire is largely undercut. This is of course not to say that self-limitation would
immediately remove all aggression. Wars are fought over pieces of ground that
are actually next to worthless. However, a refusal to live ostentatiously, to parade
wealth, can go a long way to reduce that temptation, even if it does not eliminate
it. A longing to acquire is a part of humanity, the opposite of kenōsis.
It was this that was specifically repudiated by Jesus in his path of kenōsis.
Whereas Jesus refused to grasp at equality with God (Phil 2:6), sin was due to
a lack of humility, from a desire to be like God, to acquire equality with God.

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Warfare and aggression are manifestations of that same sin. Even if they sometimes
aim to resist evil, they do it through evil, seeking to cast out devils by the devil
(Matt 12:24) (Macgregor 1953:69).
At the same time, Jesus effectively repudiated most of the reasons for which
people go to war. He undercut the basis of the existence of his own people in his
attitude to the law, and effectively rejected their culture. Paul could confidently
exclaim a couple of decades later that there is no longer any Jew or Greek (Gal
3:28). He rejected that great call of today, for freedom, by taking the form of a
servant (Phil 2:7), so that Paul could continue that there is no longer slave or free.
(I am not aware of any wars fought over that third great division in humanity also
overcome in Christ, that between male and female!)
Christian pacifism
In addition to the command and example of Jesus, the early Church also justified
their rejection of warfare on other grounds. A common feeling was that it was
wrong to defend one state, when for Christians, as citizens of heaven, belonging
to one country is no longer relevant (Hornus 1980:98). The prohibition of blood
(Acts 15:20) was often interpreted as against bloodshed (a medieval archbishop
obeyed this by warring with a club rather than a sword (Bainton 1960:104)! Any
killing can well be seen as infringing the right of God over life; a person does not
have the power to reverse what has been done. More particularly, it went against
God to harm his special creation (1980:115); they were also concerned that they
might kill fellow believers (1980:112). And of course belonging to the army of
the day was associated with paganism (1980:14). The sacramentum, or oath of
allegiance that a soldier took, was usually seen as contrary to the sacramentum to
Christ in baptism (1980:134); a Christian could have no divided loyalty.
Pacifists feel that confronted with the choice between violence, so causing
suffering, and allowing suffering, they are compelled to the latter (Davis
1993:211), even if it seems unjust. It is better to suffer evil than to do it (Cronin
1992:108). Augustine, despite his advocacy of the just war, said that a Christian is
one who “prefers to endure evil so as not to commit it rather than to commit evil
so as not to endure it” (in Hornus 1980:220). He accepted the loss of possessions,
life, rape, as the only ultimate value is heavenly, but urged fighting for justice
(Bainton 1960:95). A response of force to force can never transform the aggressor;
this, rather than simply restraint, must be the Christian goal (Ellis 2001:125). It is
this point that also causes hesitation about the prison system.

208 Have This Mind
Some of these points have fallen away in the modern context, although the
basic one of obedience to Jesus’ words and example is still valid. Other issues
have arisen; Quakers have sometimes supported their pacifist stance by insisting
that obedience to the “inner light” renders military discipline impossible (Bainton
1960:158). Particularly in the modern situation, spending on arms can be seen
as stealing from the poor; Davis (1993:228) however feels that even such colossal
expenditure must be seen in the context of what is spent on other things such as
alcohol.
Even in the more traditional churches, many have felt that anything other than
pacifism is an evasion of the plain intention of Jesus. Of course, evasion is very
often an option that can be adopted. In his youth the author was always set upon
a career in aircraft engineering, but when his degree was done, the most profitable
career would naturally have fallen in the military arena. The moral problem was
evaded by taking a different job at a lower salary, which did not have the same
moral problem attached to it. Yet there were many who saw no inconsistency in
coupling a Christian stand with the development of armaments. He was also glad
that he was born at such a time and in such a place that he was not confronted
with any form of military conscription. When teaching in Swaziland, there were
those with him from an America pursuing the Vietnam adventure whose motive
for being there was at least partly from a desire to avoid the “draft”. His closest
brush with the problem came in the closing years of apartheid, when white South
Africans were compelled to carry arms against those referred to as “terrorists”.
Those with permanent residence were expected to participate on threat of the
withdrawal of residence, but such threats were not consistently carried out,
fortunately, as he ignored the demand.
And he has never been in a situation where his child or wife was in such a
situation of danger where it would seem that the only way of resolving it would be
physical violence. What would Jesus do in such a situation? This has commonly
been distinguished from the question of war; although the early Church rejected
warfare, it certainly followed the New Testament in seeing the value of the
military for police purposes, giving law and order (Hornus 1980:32). Christian
opposition to war was not just opposition to Rome (Bainton 1960:75). Secrétan
suggested that the early Church could support this action of militare, but not
when it became active warfare, bellare (Hornus 1980:158). Martin of Tours even
stayed in the army for two years, only taking his stand when he was called upon
to kill (Bainton 1960:78,81). Participation in militare can be seen as part of the
obligation of “rendering to Caesar” (Matt 22:21), or the support of the state (Rom

Kenotic warfare: Christian action against aggression
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13:1f), but which can also be withheld when the demands of the state become
unacceptable (Acts 5:29).
The demand of justice
Perhaps an immediate reason for force is the feeling that there has been injustice.
If a person feels that he or she has been treated unfairly, the natural reaction is
retaliation, and that this is only just. If this is not done, of course there will be
injustice. By following the path of kenōsis, Jesus himself suffered injustice, which
may well be the lot of anybody trying to follow his example. But, on the other
hand, what he achieved by his suffering was the reconciliation of the love and
justice of God; justice for others was achieved, yet without them suffering. But
in fact, Jesus’ action was not a total abrogation of justice even for himself, as he
was later glorified (Phil 2:10). His kenōsis was not a surrendering of power, but its
self-limitation, and then only temporary. Christians can be confident that their
adoption of kenōsis likewise will not result in ultimate injustice. Paul can urge the
disciples not to avenge themselves; he quotes Leviticus 19:18, in the war-like Old
Testament, “vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord” (Rom 12:19).
Part of the motivation for participation in warfare is that it is also morally
questionable for a person who has refused active participation in warfare to accept
the benefits of the sacrifice of others; this is also unjust. It is of course difficult not
to benefit without actually leaving the country, so perhaps the moral issue does
fall away. Pacifists also generally suffer for their stand, sometimes from the law,
sometimes from those around; their stand is never easy. There is also a sense that
this argument has a parallel in the act of Jesus for salvation, which is a gift from
the sacrifice of another; of course Christian discipleship can very often involve
considerable personal sacrifice and suffering.
The justification for force often rests in a motive of love and justice for
those being protected, at least allegedly. Extreme pacifism however rejects this;
Hauerwas rejects the right to violence for the sake of justice; he was influenced by
the Mennonite Yoder (Cronin 1992:106,108). Macgregor (1953:67) interestingly
observes that Jesus’ claim to fulfil the law comes in the context of the Sermon on
the Mount. However, would it not be wrong to stand and not resist an intruder
who is intent on stealing, on harming one’s children, on assaulting one’s wife?
Objections to a pacifist standpoint do of course become much more pointed
when applied to a personal situation of aggression. A policy of non-resistance is
much easier to advocate in the impersonality of warfare, especially in its modern

210 Have This Mind
practice, but not so easy for a woman, or even a man, confronted with a thief or
a rapist. Early Quakers could kill a burglar, deliberately choosing evil, but not a
soldier acting in good conscience (Bainton 1960:160). Acceptance of the situation
is in a sense participation in the sin. The same is true for somebody witnessing a
personal assault.
Is it not wrong to “turn the other cheek”, when the cheek belongs to somebody
else? The Sermon on the Mount does not speak of protecting others, but of
injury to oneself (Bainton 1960:63). Pacifism can be a rejection of the love for a
neighbour, indeed done from self-interest (Charles 2005:601). It is not acceptable
if it comes from cowardice or from a desire for tranquillity (John Paul II, in Davis
1993:218). Kenōsis is acceptable for oneself (Davis 1993:213), but we do not have
a right to demand it of another; this would in any case be inconsistent, as kenōsis
cannot be imposed (Ellis 2001:125). Abraham, the example of faith, fought
(Davis 1993:215), but it was not for himself, but for Lot; indeed he refused the
spoils (Gen 14:23). The question however arises as to what should be done; the
natural reaction is of aggression and harm to the villain, which in itself involves
wrong. Thus although Ambrose and Augustine believed that it was the obligation
of Christian love to defend the innocent, it should only be in proportion to the
offence (Charles 2005:596).
But if this is true, does this not also apply to warfare, at least when the motive
is to defend others from aggression? Macquarrie (1978:47) notes the hesitation of
Bonhoeffer, who says that there is no reason to suppose that Jesus was concerned
with political freedom.
The “just war”
Objections to pacifism are not difficult to find. It seems obvious that evil and
aggression should not just be ignored but must be deliberately confronted and
overcome. The argument for a just war centres on the suffering of the victim,
especially when they are innocent. It makes their relief the highest motive.
Should not the evil of a Hitler be resisted in the name of the goodness of God?
Pacifism, in the real, fallen world seems impracticable; Augustine rejected any
hope of perfection on earth (Bainton 1960:91). Luther, in a sharp distinction
between “real” Christians, and others, even nominal believers, and Niebhur in
his recognition that groups of even committed Christians behave differently from
individuals, thus say that force in society remains essential (Bainton 1960:216).

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The attitude of the early Church is often dismissed as due to a connection
between war and idolatry, or an unenlightened eschatology (Bainton 1960:67).
Surely the words of Jesus could only be applicable in a hyperbolic fashion, an
expression of an ideal (Davis 1993:211), an exaggeration of a more reasonable
approach to evil, or perhaps only valid as a kind of interim ethic, expressed only
in anticipation of the imminent end of the world? Macgregor (1953:33f) does not
hesitate in rejecting these options, insisting that they are intended to demonstrate
to the world what a Christian stand really is, to provide an example of a Christian
lifestyle. War may well lead not to the reduction of evil, but its increase, provoking
brutality (Davis 1993:228). Weakness is certainly no guarantee of the removal of
aggression, as the Jews under Hitler discovered (Bainton 1960:265). It is then
morally wrong to do nothing, to ignore the suffering of others. Bonhoeffer, the
German pastor and theologian, became convinced that it was better to try to kill
Hitler than to acquiesce in the evil that was done, so participated in the plot to
assassinate him. He followed a policy of implementing the lesser evil; this is often
seen as a justification for war (Macgregor 1953:14), although in a situation of war,
all restraint is quickly lost and tremendous evil results.
It is this which underlies the theory of the so-called “just war”. This was not
just a response to the political acceptance of the Church by the Roman empire
after the conversion of Constantine, but certainly that event made a just war policy
a possibility. But with Constantine, not only did the state accept the Church,
but effectively the Church accepted the state; thereafter it became acceptable for
a Christian to participate in violence that was government sanctioned (Hornus
1980:11), with the proviso that the cause was in fact “just” (Davis 1993:214). And
with the situation that in many wars, both sides claimed “just war” legitimation
(Ellis 2001:123)!
However, this was giving a legitimacy to the state that many Christians would
not sanction; rather the existence of any state is not the optimum for God, but
only a concession, as the story of the establishment of the monarchy under Saul
makes clear (1 Sam 8:6f). The state is a second best, only tolerated because of
human wickedness, which is also of course the root of war itself. The Anabaptists
felt that the New Testament inaugurated a radical new order, and that government
is only necessary for sinners (Bainton 1960:153).
It is the connection with the state that accounts for the presence of divinely
sanctioned warfare in the Old Testament. The early Church distinguished this
from the New (Hornus 1980:52), and often interpreted it spiritually, so not
justifying physical war. Certainly the New Testament, and many of the fathers,
even Tertullian, who definitely opposed warfare, used military metaphor (Hornus

212 Have This Mind
1980:73). More likely the difference is that after Christ, God’s dealings were
with the individual, whereas before him it was with the nation; there is no
“Christian state” at all comparable to a theocratic Israel. It is also the case that
the Old Testament wars, at least those sanctioned by God, were not so much
for political reasons; David was condemned for his census, which was aimed at
assessing his military potential (Bainton 1960:46). Rather they were against evil
and unbelief. Even the New Testament does not enjoin pacifism against these
(Bainton 1960:64). Ambrose, one of the earliest advocates of the just war, felt
that it was permissible as the enemies of the time were Arian heretics; he still
supported pacifism in private concerns and for the clergy (Bainton 1960:90). This
is the logic behind a third attitude to war (Bainton 1960:44), that of the crusade,
but this has been effectively discredited; in any case, again, there is no such thing
as a Christian state which could do this.
The arguments for a just war put forward by Augustine and reiterated for
centuries thereafter were of course in the context of a sacral society, an identification
to a large degree of Christians with the State. With the secularization of the last
couple of centuries that is no longer the case. Christians, as Christians, are no
longer identified with the political agenda of the saeculum. They need feel no
obligation to defend the state, and the Church does not need defending in the
same way. For Kierkegaard, all are neighbours (Richard 1997:171). Politically,
they are free to refuse war, an attitude commonly castigated as fatal to the state;
Bainton (1960:262) cites opinions from Celsus to Machiavelli and Nietzsche.
Celsus mocked the assumption of pacifism by Clement of Alexandria, saying that
if all acted in that way there would be lawlessness (Placher 2001:195).
This is not to say that early Christians rejected the state. Rather they appreciated
the law and order, and peace that it gave. However, although it may well have a
“moral duty of self-defence” (Charles 2005:593), this does not mean that it should
be defended by military means. Rather, it should be supported in other ways, such
as through prayer, as Tertullian urged (Charles 2005:593). As Origen insisted,
Christians do fight, but by prayer (Bainton 1960:83). Christians are no longer
forced, with the early monks, to follow the path of Jesus only by abandoning
the state, and so human society completely (Bainton 1960:89). It is no longer
an issue as it was for pacifists of the early modern era, who took a variety of
attitudes towards participation in society and especially in government (Bainton
1960:152).

Modern warfare
Kenotic warfare: Christian action against aggression
213
As well as with the passing of the “Christian state”, the traditional arguments for
a “just war” have come under severe questioning with the unique situation of the
modern world; it has really collapsed in the modern era (Macgregor 1953:97).
In common with so many other aspects of life, the means of warfare have altered
dramatically over the last century or so. The obvious change has been in the
weaponry employed, but there has also been a fundamental shift concerning the
people who are involved. Macgregor (1953:77) remarks that modern warfare
particularly depersonalises; this would further negate a kenotic attitude which
rather seeks wholeness and the full personhood of the other.
Previously wars were fought between armies of soldiers, and their action was
not primarily directed at those not in the armies. The course of events often did
not affect the rest of the populations until one side won a victory and there could
well be raping, looting, and many other things, of the civilian population. But
they were often not involved directly in the actual fighting. That changed with
such tactics as the use of concentration camps designed to remove the support of
the actual combatants by sympathetic civilians. Then developments in weaponry
were also such that whole populations could well be the intended targets of
warfare. Particularly with the advent of aerial bombing, it was not only military
objectives which were targeted, but deliberate attempts were made to inflict
damage upon those not directly involved. Especially in the Second World War,
bombing was carried out of whole cities. If originally this was done to damage
capacity to wage war by destroying transport infrastructure and the manufacturing
of munitions, a secondary motive was to undermine the morale and courage of
the whole population. Subtly this seemed to become the main purpose on both
sides, from the blitzing of London to the carpet firebombing of Dresden. The
climax of this was the dropping of the first weapons of the atomic age firstly on
the Japanese city of Hiroshima, and then on Nagasaki. The moral justification
of these horrendous acts was that by so doing, the war would be shortened, and
the loss of life, both of Japanese, and particularly of American invaders, would
actually be reduced. The possibility of dropping the first bomb onto a military
target was hardly considered, and even the idea of a demonstration of the power
of the weapon in an unpopulated area merited only a ten minute discussion in
a tea break (Kennedy 2005:41); in fairness, it does seem that Japanese scientists
believed that the bombing of Hiroshima could not be repeated as they thought
that the Americans did not have sufficient radioactive material.

214 Have This Mind
The advent of such weapons of mass destruction, to be added to by biological
weaponry, and the threat of the extension of the chemical warfare used in
the trenches of the First World War to civilian targets, has modified the old
argumentation about pacifism. There have been some who have argued for
the elimination of such terrible weapons, simply because of their destructive
capabilities, but who feel that so-called conventional weapons are morally more
justifiable. Certainly the use of both nuclear and biological agents could well
have an effect far wider than the designated target, which would naturally involve
non-combatants, and moreover could well have far-reaching effects on the entire
biological interaction of the world, even of the extinction of much, if not all,
of life. Some feel that their use can never be “just” (eg Hollenbach, in Davis
1993:221). Paradoxically, however, nuclear weapons have been justified as causing
peace, by deterring aggression. Attacking a nuclear power would be tantamount
to suicide. For very many years the threat of nuclear war and of “mutually assured
destruction” kept the peace between superpowers, and naturally no other nation
would dare to attack any of the few nations with nuclear capability.
The willingness to sacrifice: the suicide bomber
Yet it was not long before even possession of those weapons did not guarantee
victory, with the Americans withdrawing from Vietnam and the Soviet Union
from Afghanistan. In such cases it was clearly seen that military might and
economic strength did not guarantee victory. Even the use of massive amounts of
conventional power had not been effective against comparatively ill-equipped but
determined opponents, even if that power had been used against civilian as well as
military targets in an attempt to undermine the will to fight.
In more recent years these David and Goliath scenarios have been extended
even further with a new feature of warfare, the emergence of the suicide bomber.
Here the practicalities of the situation has again commonly meant that the targets
are not military, which simply because of their very nature involves high security,
but “soft” civilian targets: buses, trains, shopping malls. Again, their use cannot
satisfy the traditional criteria for a “just war”. Significantly most modern examples
are motivated by Islam, and can be seen as a “crusade”; ironically Western action is
caricatured as being by “crusaders”, a harking back to the tragedies of the Middle
Ages, but hardly appropriate when applied to the modern secularized West.
Now warfare is being waged not just by a small and poorly equipped army but
by individuals who are prepared to give their lives against what would otherwise

Kenotic warfare: Christian action against aggression
215
be overwhelming force. Of course much of the power of this form of action does
lie in the pain and destruction that the bombs cause. In this sense there is little
difference from more traditional warfare, or even from an Hiroshima. The intention
has again been to inspire fear and destroy the will to fight. But what makes this
method so effective is the means by which it is done, the willingness to sacrifice
that enables the delivery of the weapon in otherwise impossible circumstances.
A willingness to sacrifice oneself, as in the Japanese suicide bombers in World
War Two against American ships, is proving almost impossible to prevent and
confront. The power of these methods of warfare, for that is what it is, lies in the
willingness to sacrifice. And is this not where the power of Jesus’ action lies (cf 2
Cor 12:9)?
The power of sacrifice
It is this which adds sense to what Jesus was doing in kenōsis, and particularly
on the cross. Sacrifice must be an aspect of a Christian response to aggression,
to give up what is wanted by the aggressor for the sake of peace. By refusing
to retaliate, the aggressor often ceases aggression. This alone has often proved
effective; “a soft answer turns away wrath” (Prov 15:1). The cross “disarmed the
principalities and powers, triumphing over them” (Col 2:15), even if the final
victory was only achieved in the resurrection. Jesus deliberately acted in a way that
could be effective where conventional warfare and the use of force have failed. His
choice to go to the cross has been effective in changing human activity. Humanly
speaking he could not confront the strength of either the Jewish or the Roman
systems of the day, but by his willingness to empty himself, to sacrifice even his
life, he successfully overcame both of them.
Jesus’ action was therefore not the same as the otherwise highly commendable
practice of some in a situation of warfare who chose not to participate in the
action, but to do what good they can in it. Such people as the Quakers who,
as convinced pacifists, volunteered to serve in a situation of war, but without
contributing to the war effort. They even served as stretcher bearers in the horrors
of the trenches of the first world war. Their action, although sacrificial, was not
primarily intended to solve the problem of war, but only to help in it.
But by choosing the path that he did, that of sacrifice, Jesus could be accused
of inaction, of not doing good, of ignoring the pain of others. Not only did he
refuse to confront aggression and injustice directly, to the anger of the Zealots,
the revolutionaries of his day, but by going to the cross he refused to continue the

216 Have This Mind
great works that he was doing. If he had not allowed himself to be crucified, he
could have continued to do great good for the hungry, the sick, the sufferers in
body and mind. By his deliberate choice, he perpetuated their suffering. It seems
that for Jesus, there were more important things than the alleviation of pain. It is
not just a rejection of this world in confidence of the next; in fact the acceptance
of kenōsis is rather an affirmation of this world.
In a sense, Christ can be likened more to the prisoner who embarks on
a hunger strike to force compliance with his or her demands. What Jesus was
doing was perhaps even closer to the adoption of passive resistance, or of the civil
disobedience as practised by such as Gandhi or Martin Luther King, which has
been in itself so effective in the right circumstances; Placher (2001:196) feels that
they achieved. more than any other movement. Hornus (1980:213) suggests that
an attitude of positive nonviolence was the stand of such as Tertullian and Origen;
they called it patientia, but it is an active response, not a quietist acceptance.
Macgregor (1953:32) sees this as Paul’s attitude, “overcome evil with good”
(Rom 12:21), as following his Master’s injunction to love enemies, not ignore
them. These do avoid the destruction and especially the loss of life, that a bomb
produces; this is a contrast to the action of Jesus, for the only damage and loss of
life was to him. His action was constructive, the giving of life, not its taking.
In all these cases, whether those in traditional warfare, of passive resistance, the
suicide bomber, or Jesus, the intention of actions such as those is to change the
minds of those who set the policies that were seen as wrong. But unlike traditional
warfare, which so typically simply results in a desire for revenge, a growing spiral of
destruction, and the hardening of attitudes, the power of actions such as those lies
in the willingness of people to sacrifice, even their lives, for the sake of changing
minds.
What Jesus was doing was not just accepting evil, and certainly not avoiding it,
but positively turning it into good, just as Paul promises (Rom 8:28). In fact war
has always produced a good side along with its horrors. There are countless stories
of those who have gone into situations of great danger, of those who have risked
for others. War memorials everywhere are emblazoned with that wonderful text,
so unhappily wrenched from its context, “greater love has no man than this, that
a man lay down his life for his friends” (Jn 15:13).
Is not change in people one reason that Jesus had for going to the cross? Is not
the “joy that was set before him” (Heb 12:2) the great “cloud of witnesses” of the
previous verse, who could not be there without the sacrifice that Jesus was prepared
to make? It was certainly not the selfish hope of paradise through martyrdom that
is at least part of the motive behind the modern bomber; after all, Jesus had this

Kenotic warfare: Christian action against aggression
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already before he embarked on his journey of kenōsis. His motive was to benefit
others, which would be by changing them, for which the forgiveness of sins
through his death was an essential part. The Philippian hymn uses the example of
Jesus as a motive for the improvement of the attitude of the Philippian Christians
who would read it. They were already converted, but the example of Jesus is often
presented as motivating a response in others to repent as part of their acceptance
of Christ in conversion. Certainly this can go far to meeting the issue of war, for
in many cases, the problem is indeed simply that of aggression, an attitude that
has to be changed if war is to be avoided.
But Jesus was not just giving his life to remove aggression, laudable though
that is. He died to encourage others to imitate his policy. Much of the power of
passive resistance and of the suicide bomber is when the numbers of those who
are taking these actions multiplies. The effectiveness of actions of such as Gandhi
to change people depended on the participation of a mass of people. Part of the
power lay in the sheer numbers who acted. By his example, others were motivated
to imitate, and ultimately the desired effect followed. In the same way, the effect
of the example of Jesus is multiplied through the imitation of his example by his
followers. Jesus was effective not only in changing the mind of the aggressor, but
also in giving an example to follow; the purpose of Jesus’ kenōsis, as the Philippian
hymn indicates, is that his followers would share his mind.
Where the action of Jesus differs from that of passive resistance is of course that
as in the case of the suicide bomber, his actions went to the ultimate, to death,
where passive resistance usually does not. The hope, as in the hunger strike, will
naturally be that the result would be achieved before the ultimate cost is paid,
and there is always a chance of the authorities resorting to forced feeding to avoid
the power of sacrifice. This is because the action of Jesus is not just intended to
change people by example; for this, as in passive resistance, death is not actually
necessary. Rather by going to the cross, Jesus was also atoning for sin, and for that
death was needed, for “the wages of sin is death” (Rom 6:23), and he took that
death as a substitute, so that sinners might live. But more than this, in accepting
that atonement, and uniting with him, people again change, not by the force of
an external example, but by an inner regeneration. Non-resistance in itself cannot
remove aggression, but conversion, which results in love and peace in the fruit of
the Spirit (Gal 5:22), both can and does. In non-resistance, Christians do not just
remove aggression, and although they cannot enable reconciliation with God as
Jesus did, they can actively portray Christ as the answer to it.
The sacrifice of Jesus, like that of the bomber, was not intended to just help
in the situation, but definitely to cause change. But there is a most significant

218 Have This Mind
difference. The power of the suicide bomber lies in the destruction that it produces,
and in the difficulty of its prevention, but not in its sacrifice; that is incidental and
unfortunate. For Jesus, the power of what he did lies not in destruction, but is
constructive, the gift of new life. It was the power of sin that was destroyed. Of
course, to do this, his death was essential, for only by the shedding of blood, by
the giving of his life, could there be forgiveness (Heb 9:22).
Thus the action of Jesus was not pacifism, and certainly not in the sense of
passivism (Macgregor 1953:11). In fact, Jesus most definitely took action, both
in incarnation and in the cross, doing what was the best to confront evil, but
without doing it in a way that was itself evil. It is this principle which should
be the paradigm for a Christian response to aggression. His action was more
than trying to do good in the situation, but aimed at changing it. What Jesus
was doing was not just avoiding conflict, but positively enabling good. Bainton
(1960:17) observes that the Hebrew shalom bears both nuances, indicating both
absence of strife and positive prosperity; likewise the Greek eirēnē has a root idea
of “linkage”.
Practicalities
In imitation of Christ therefore, the usual practice would seem to be of nonresistance,
but also of attempting to take positive action in reconciliation. The
attacker should positively be helped, and in particular towards a new attitude. The
question is of course, how this is to be done.
This is never easy. What does the person do who is about to be raped? Can the
example of Jesus who advocated turning the other cheek, and who gave himself up
to his tormenters, be followed? Is physical assault on the rapist the only practical
solution? Jesus did once take up a whip to clear the Temple, as opponents of
pacifism are fond of pointing out. It must be observed that what was endured by
Jesus was far, far more than people are called upon to suffer, especially bearing in
mind that it was not only the physical and mental anguish but the spiritual, in
that he experienced separation from his beloved Father. There are, after all, always
worse fates that can be experienced. It must also be remembered that there is a
promise in the scriptures that no temptation given is impossible, but God will
provide a way out (1 Cor 10:13); and here the temptation can well be that of
direct retaliation.
And the second part is even harder. What can be done in a positive sense?

Kenotic warfare: Christian action against aggression
219
It would be nice to be able to lay down practical rules and guidelines as to
how these very real issues are to be dealt with, but that is not the way of God.
Christian ethics have an inherent flexibility, as the basis is not a written code, as in
the Old Testament, but sensitivity to the leading of the Spirit. And yet this leading
does not come in a total vacuum. The Old Testament law does not have to be
obeyed in a legalistic sense by Christians, but it still gives a very clear indication
as to the mind of God, such that a person must be very sure of his or her leading
before acting in a contrary manner. But such is possible. Jesus, although on the
whole acting as a good Jew, did feel that it was right to disregard the Sabbath on
occasion. Peter and John, although generally law-abiding, had to affirm that it was
necessary to “obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29).
It is here that the example of Jesus in his kenōsis does provide a clear guide
for Christian action. But just as his action was motivated and enabled by the
Spirit (Heb 9:14), so must be the imitation by his followers. It is the action of
the same Spirit who enabled what Christ did to interpret the example of Christ
into the direct practicality of a situation. It is noteworthy that the Philippian
hymn is introduced by the little phrase “any participation in the Spirit” (Phil
2:1), where the word “participation” translates the Greek koinōnia. It is in fact this
community, whether between individuals or nations that should be the goal of
Christian action, and where correct response is such a vital matter. It is that which
is guided by the Spirit whose “fruit” is peace (Gal 5:22), and so the harmony of
eirēnē.

13
Concluding with worship:
acknowledging kenōsis
Why do I write books? I must admit that when I visit a library I sometimes look
at that very first page, the one that only the librarian is really interested in, the
record of how often a book has been out. It is a strong disincentive! So very often a
book has been out only once or twice, and has perhaps been in the library for ten
years. Of course I am talking here of the “weightier” works, ones such as this, and
not those of popular fiction. Maybe one day I will turn my hand to those? But for
now, why bother with the less popular ones? One reason is that I am in fact paid
to do it as a professor; it is part of the job, and essential to academic progress to
publish regularly. But many academics do not, and as my wife points out, even
if I were not paid to do it, I seem to be an “addicted scribbler” (or key striker).
It is deeply satisfying to research and develop a theme, and really an enjoyable
experience.
However, the essence of writing is that somebody else reads it! It is always a
thrill when somebody says that they have read something of mine, an even bigger
thrill when they say that they enjoyed it, but especially good when they say that
it helped them. That is really the point, that I write because it will be helpful.
Which of course begs the question; how does a piece of writing of this nature help
anybody? What profit is it to investigate the nature of God? I have always sought
to do this with an eye on application, as is, I hope, obvious from this book. It is
my conviction that good Christian practice, a lifestyle pleasing to God, must be
firmly based on correct belief. Thus the more we know of God, the better will
be our lives. Which is why I am a theologian. The modern Christian world is
concerned about how a Christian should live, but it seems that in the majority
of cases, that concern finishes there, and is not really based upon our belief. The
focus is on how we relate to each other, but not on how we relate to God. Both are
220

Concluding with worship: acknowledging kenōsis
221
important, but whereas so often the interest starts and finishes with the former,
it can only be really correct if it rests on the latter. Our concern with relating
properly to each other is, or should be, an aspect of what should be the Christian
focus, relating to God.
I write therefore, not just as part of a job, not just as an intellectual exercise,
not just to help people to relate better to each other, but as an act of worship. As I
write, I have often been conscious of God, and of his enabling, or inspiration. It is
indeed an act of my worship, and my prayer is that this book, as my others, might
help Christians to worship in a way which is more acceptable to God, because
this worship will be based on a deeper knowledge of God. With such a motive, it
does seem to be appropriate to conclude this book in a more devotional way, and
to try to apply the theme of kenōsis in a more direct way. What then is “kenotic”
worship?
It goes without saying that Christian worship must be definitely Christocentric.
From the very beginning of the Church, and even before its Pentecostal inception,
Jesus had worship offered to him (Matt 28:17). Writing to the emperor Trajan,
Pliny reported that the early Christians worshipped Christ as God (Foakes Jackson
1914:55). The worship of Christ follows automatically from a realisation that he
is fully and truly divine, and indeed that realisation is in itself an act of worship.
Then firm in his opposition to the subordinationist ideas put forward by Arius
and his followers, the great Athanasius fought and suffered for his belief in the
total divinity of Christ; one of the factors that convinced him was just the fact
that Jesus was worshipped, such as in the doxology of 2 Corinthians 13:14.
But it is one thing to affirm that Jesus, as God, must be worshipped, but the
nature of that worship must also be related to who he is. One of the horrendous
features of the Baal worship against which the prophets of the Old Testament
thundered was that is was done through cultic prostitution. This followed naturally
from the fact that Baal was a fertility deity, and so his worship naturally followed
the practice of fertility, so stressed the sexual.
Christian worship cannot then be of an arbitrary form, but must relate in an
appropriate manner to the nature of the Christ who is worshipped. At its heart,
worship is “worthship” a celebration of the worth or value of who he is. Such a
precept can stand a considerable amount of development. For example, because
Jesus is divine and therefore spirit, worship must be spiritual (cf Jn 4:24). Because
he is human, it can use the material and the human; such practices as the Lord’s
supper flows from this, using the very human action of eating and drinking in
worship. Because he is the logos, the Word of God, Christian worship must be

222 Have This Mind
logical, and so be rational and understandable. However, I want to take two related
aspects of who he is, applying them to the method of worship.
The first idea is that of kenōsis, the self-emptying of Christ (Phil 2:7), the drastic
action of incarnation essential for our salvation. The very act was in essence an act
of the worship of his Father, obedience so that his great plan of creation would
not be thwarted by sin. Through his act, the second creation was enacted and the
Father was glorified. Thus worship should reflect the action of kenōsis.
It is then most appropriate that the act of worship that most Christians see
as fundamental, that of the Lord’s supper, is essentially kenotic. Christians do it
simply because it is the one act of worship that Jesus himself commanded: “do
this in remembrance of me” (1 Cor 11:24). But even in obeying this, one of his
last commands, what is done is a reflection of who he is: “do this in remembrance
of me”. Christians have discussed, even argued about the significance of what he
was doing in the Upper Room, but it is clear that Jesus wanted to remind them of
himself and his life’s work, so what is done is an affirmation of the kenōsis of Jesus.
In his self-limitation, he would soon not be there with them. Although this was a
limitation overcome by the Spirit, they must be reminded of his kenōsis. And how
could it be anything else when the central elements reminding worshippers of
him were the humble foods of bread and wine? And of course broken and poured
out! Not that Jesus identified himself with them, but what he was saying was that
in them was a likeness to himself in their very humility. There is, as whenever we
think of kenōsis, a recalling of Philippians 2, where Paul speaks of the “likeness”
of a man. And in the act of eating, what are we doing except acknowledging our
dependence on food for very survival, and therefore our own humility, our own
kenōsis. But then if we combine those thoughts, we affirm that just as the elements
of bread and wine become part of our very being, so we are in union with Jesus
himself. This is the expression of our Christianity, and so that in union with him,
our life is, like his, expressed in kenōsis.
The act of kenōsis should not be seen outside of its basis in the Trinitarian
nature of God. It is one of the perplexing developments in theology that whereas
consideration of the Person and work of Christ has filled Christian minds and
action, it has so often been detached from its Trinitarian framework, and so
suffered accordingly. Kenōsis must of course be fundamentally Trinitarian, as it
must be in the context of equality to the Father (Phil 2:6), and although not
explicit in the Philippian passage, must presume the incarnation through action
of the Spirit (Lk 1:35). Indeed that same Philippian passage lies in the context of
the action of the Spirit (Phil 2:1, a verse essentially Trinitarian).

Concluding with worship: acknowledging kenōsis
223
In this case, every aspect of worship, as any Christian action, should be
Trinitarian, which then gives the second aspect of worship. Without trying to force
a framework upon this, there will be a foundation for the action, resting on the
nature of the Father, an act reflecting the Son, and a process reflecting the Spirit.
This is precisely what worship must be, because it is only really possible in the
context of our relationship with God, so our salvation. This means that it must be
firmly based on what God has done for us. This rests on the nature of the Father,
that of love. If he had not loved us, there would surely have been no salvation.
Then it depends on the act of the Son, in his incarnation, his identification with
us, his sufferings and death, all aspects of what we have been speaking of under
the heading of “kenōsis”. Then it demands the continued action of the Spirit,
applying the work of Christ, and conforming us to his nature.
Specifically, Christian worship is then kenotic. This is based on an appreciation
of the nature of God as fundamentally kenotic, from the act of creation through
the actions of the Son, and then in the way that the Spirit works. Secondly, just as
Christ acted in steps of kenōsis, so the Christian life will naturally involve events,
perhaps better “crises”, when specific decisions of humility, of obedience to God
are taken; these are life-changing events indeed. For many, salvation can be linked
to a specific decision to follow Christ, for some there are one or more events of
deeper commitment. More commonly, the Christian life is a gradual process of
growth, becoming less of what we want, more of what God intends.
It is this that is fundamental to worship, emptying of oneself in kenōsis, the
conformity to the nature of God, itself kenotic. What does this mean?
Acknowledgement of creatureliness
Any worship is at its heart a praising of the one who is worshipped. It is an
expression of subordination, of inferiority, contrasting this to the nature of God.
When Christ emptied himself, he was assuming the nature of a creature, and as
such dependent upon God.
Worship then starts with the acknowledgement that there is indeed an other,
that there is in fact a God who is worthy of worship. This in itself can well be
a major step. It may well be true that the majority of people in the world do
acknowledge the existence of some form of Deity, and this is even still the case
in the modern West, but especially in the latter case, life goes on with little or
no effect from this belief. For all practical purposes society is secularized, and
increasingly explicitly, people are atheistic.

224 Have This Mind
This Being is then one on whom we are completely dependent. We cannot
create ourselves, cannot even really provide for ourselves. It was Schleiermacher
who stressed that religion is at its heart an acknowledgement of dependence upon
God. In fact, we often fail to appreciate that we are in so many ways dependent
beings; it is perhaps obvious in our need for some necessities, such as air, as is
immediately clear to us if we just stop breathing for a minute or so! But as human
beings we are totally dependent upon our interaction with others for our very
survival. A really solitary person, cut off from others, finds it hard to survive, but
we are dependent upon the work of others for our daily necessities. This interaction
with others is at the heart of being human; it is not surprising that Barth saw this
as the meaning of being in the image of God. There is surely no room here for
a self-satisfied arrogance, but rather a demand for humble acceptance of what is
done for us, in short, for kenōsis.
But worship assumes not only that there is indeed a Being, but that this
Being is one to whom we can relate. We are not Deists, believing that there is
indeed a God, but one who created the world but then takes no further interest
in it. The very fact of incarnation indicates that this is not the case, for that was
God involving himself in his world. We do not believe, as is the case in African
traditional belief, that after God created the world he can only be contacted by
means of other beings, in that case, the ancestors. Again the fact of the incarnation
again demonstrates that we can have direct access to God through Christ, and do
not need other intermediaries. One of the themes of the book of Hebrews is just
this, that Jesus is our High Priest, through whom we have access to God. And of
course the incarnation, by which we know that we can relate to God, was an act of
kenōsis, so it is appropriate that our response to this is similarly that of kenōsis.
Then not only can we relate to God, but he has a legitimate demand on us.
He made us, and put us in his world, so he has every right to say what we should
do with what he gave. More than this, Christians affirm that Christ paid the
price for us to redeem us from sin and death (1 Cor 6:20). As such, because
he purchased us, he has rights over us a second time. It is not for nothing that
salvation is sometimes seen in terms of a new creation (2 Cor 5:17). Once again,
the appropriate response to this realisation is the humility and obedience of
kenōsis.
These aspects are firmly based on the Trinitarian nature of God. The Father
is the ultimate source of all that there is, so in worship we acknowledge this.
The Son is the one through whom the world was created, and the one through
whom salvation was achieved, so in worship we acknowledge this. The Spirit is the
one though whom the gift of life is mediated (Gen 2:7), the one through whom

Concluding with worship: acknowledging kenōsis
225
our continuing relationship with the source of all is mediated; so in worship we
acknowledge this.
It was in response to the obedience of Christ’s kenōsis that “God highly
exalted him” (Phil 2:8), and in response to our worship, acknowledgement of
our dependence, we also become “highly exalted”, with the rights and privileges
of adopted children of God (Rom 8:15). In our kenōsis, our acceptance of
dependence, God gives us rights.
Acknowledgement of failure
Even in our appreciation of being created, of dependence upon God, and of the
fact that he has a legitimate demand upon us, comes the realisation that we have
not lived up to this expectation. We have not done what we ought to have done,
and have done what we should not have done. This of course does not mean that
we have failed in every respect, but it does mean that we have failed to reach the
standard that God has set for us in his creating.
In fact, we do not even have the ability to do much of what we would like;
Jesus graphically said that we cannot add to our height, or to our length of life
(Matt 6:21). Despite all our efforts, and even indeed a measure of success, we do
ultimately fail. We all eventually die, and come to the end of the creatureliness
that God has given to us. Unless something is done for us, the work of God
in creation is ultimately wasted. And it has to be done for us; we cannot save
ourselves, cannot do anything worthy of our salvation; it must be an act of God’s
grace (Eph 2:8).
The only response to this is that of repentance, acknowledging failure, a second
expression of kenōsis. It is always humbling to admit defeat, of having to be willing
to accept help to do what we cannot do ourselves. Our pride so often compels us
to keep on trying to do what we really realise is impossible.
Again, this act of repentance is firmly based on the Trinitarian nature of God. It
is the holiness of God the Father that sets the standard for our lives; in worship we
acknowledge this. Then it is through the work of the Son that we can be justified,
declared to be holy ourselves, through this that our failures are atoned for; in
worship we acknowledge this. It is through the work of the Spirit, transforming
our minds, sanctifying us, that we can become more holy in practice. Without
this, we are condemned to keep on failing; in worship we acknowledge this.
In response to what must have seemed to be the failure of Jesus’ work on earth,
his death on the cross, came the acceptance of this by the Father. The second stage

226 Have This Mind
of his exaltation was being “given a name which is above every name” (Phil 2:9).
The same is true for us, that in acknowledgement of our failure and repentance
comes God’s exaltation of us. He gives us a name in his adoption of us as his
children. Perhaps the best-known parable of Jesus is that of the “Prodigal Son”
(Lk 15:11f), who despite having been endowed with resources and ability, failed
to use them properly. It was only on his acceptance of failure, his repentance, that
the turning point came, and he was acknowledged as son, in effect being given a
“name”
Acknowledgement of impotence
It is a rare person who is content simply to acknowledge failure, and not try to
succeed instead. We are driven to improve ourselves, and to help other people
improve their situation. And very right it is; Jesus commanded us to love our
neighbour as ourselves, which obviously means care for our neighbour, but also
implies care for ourselves. Now there is much that can be done in both regards,
simply from the human ability that God has given. We must recognise that the
quality of human existence has improved dramatically, at least over the last century
or so. We are warm, well fed, healthy, comfortable in many ways. At least some of
us. Even if we very often close our eyes to the evidence of great hunger, poverty
and disease in other parts of the world, it is still there. And at least for now. It
is increasingly evident that the lifestyle of the affluent West is not sustainable.
For most of us, if we give this a thought, it is with the hope that technology
will provide the answers to increasing problems of resource depletion, new and
virulent forms of disease, pollution and so on, before life as we know it becomes
impossible. Quite a long while ago now, a book Limits to growth (Meadows et
al 1972) caused a temporary stir in its prediction of apocalypse, but was soon
forgotten. And we must also be aware of the increase in other forms of suffering.
We may well be well fed, and have conquered many forms of disease, but for many,
modern life is so full of stress that it engenders its own particular problems. The
optimism characteristic of the nineteenth century died with millions of people in
the horrors of the first World War, and has not been replaced. We seem impotent
to really make the world as we would like.
And for every individual comes the approach of the final enemy. Although
there are a couple of cases where people have escaped death, such as Enoch and
Elijah (Gen 5:24, 2 Ki 2:11), it lurks on the horizon of everybody’s existence. For
millennia we have tried to defeat it, from the attempts of the ancient pharaohs of

Concluding with worship: acknowledging kenōsis
227
Egypt to modern ideas of freezing the body in the hope of a technological solution
to death being discovered in the future. We may have succeeded in prolonging life
expectancy a little, and certainly improved the quality of life, but ultimately we
are again impotent.
We even find it difficult to worship God as we would like. The religions of
the world are replete with suggestions as to how God should be worshipped, and
equally replete with rejections of many of them. Even in modern Christianity,
the variety seems endless, from ancient liturgy to the free practice of glossolalia,
but how many really feel that they have found a way of worship that is totally
adequate and satisfying. In this as in other areas, we are really impotent.
The last thing that Jesus told his disciples before he ascended into heaven was
to wait for the power from on high (Acts 1:4), and just ten days later, they did
indeed receive this in the coming of the Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost.
God provided the ability that the disciples need to be transformed into a Church,
more than this, an effective one, as the book of the Acts of the Apostles chronicles.
There, as elsewhere in the New Testament is the description of the power of the
Spirit working through the early Christians in a variety of ways. Moreover, praise
be, that was not limited to the early Church, but the Spirit still acts today; and
those through whom he does act are quick to acknowledge that the power to
do what is done does not lie in their innate human talents, but is the power of
God working through them. And with the power that they needed to pursue
their Christian lives also came the defeat of the ultimate enemy in union with the
resurrected Lord, and the promise that even if this current world is not sustainable,
Jesus would come again and in his parousia would be the end of this world and a
re-creation.
Hardly surprising. God, in his omnipotence, does not need us; even if he has
chosen to limit his power in kenōsis, he has in no sense abandoned it, and even
that limitation is only ever temporary. All is by grace, whether the overcoming of
death, the establishing of a new world, or the ability to worship. Even our serving
God and our fellow human beings is not so much our duty, but a privilege that
he gives. Perhaps this just rubs in the realisation of our own impotence? If this
is the only solution to impotence, the only valid reaction, once again, is that of
humility, of kenōsis.
Again, this act of humility is firmly based upon the Trinitarian nature of God.
It is God the Father who is the source of power, who rather is power in himself;
in worship we acknowledge this. It is God the Son who, as in the case of the
apostles, calls and appoints us to serve in the way that he desires; in worship we

228 Have This Mind
acknowledge this. It is God the Spirit who equips, inspires and empowers in the
work to which we are called; in worship we acknowledge this.
The Philippian hymn thus concludes with the exclamation of triumph and
of the power of God in Christ, that “at the name of Jesus every knee would bow
… and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord” (Phil 2:11). In short, it
concludes, as it should, with worship.

14
A sermon: kenotic marriage
(a shortened version of this chapter was delivered as the sermon on the occasion of the
wedding of my daughter Sara on 10 January 2004)
There cannot claim to be any originality in going to Ephesians 5:23 for a text
for a wedding sermon. It must be one of the most common passages chosen to
inspire a newly-wed couple as they set off on their life together. It is a common
Biblical theme to draw a parallel between the life of a Christian and the life in
a marriage. Both are fundamentally relational, two of the closest relationships
possible in this life. It is perhaps only the bond between a mother and her child
that can be considered closer, and of course this as well can parallel the Christian
life, seeing that the life of a baby is uniquely dependent on that of the mother; the
eternal life enjoyed by a Christian is likewise not an inherent attribute, but is truly
the life of God himself.
The Ephesian passage can tell us a lot about being a Christian, which is after
all what its author intended. Everybody can relate to the picture that is given,
and indeed there is much that can be said with great profit. Who would run a
marriage on the basis of a great list of rules and regulations which have to be
obeyed? And yet how many see the Christian life in just those terms, as a set
of moral imperatives? How can it be that most enter the married state with the
intention of producing children, while so few see that it is one of God’s primary
desires that Christians work to bring others into his kingdom. After all, it was
Jesus’ parting words to his followers to go and to make disciples (Matt 28:19).
But parallels can and should work in the opposite direction as well. By looking
at what did for his Church, we can learn a lot about how married couples should
treat each other. Here we can go to that other wonderful passage in Philippians
and see what Jesus did, and take to heart the reason that Paul had for including
this passage in his epistle. “Have this mind among yourselves, which you have in
Christ Jesus” (Phil 2:5). Although this has such a wide application, influencing
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230 Have This Mind
every part of our Christian lives, it can and should be applied to the married
state.
The heart of the passage is the “emptying”, the kenōsis of Christ (Phil 2:7). Is
it not natural to apply the idea of emptying to the marriage? One of the things
that most girls do before the wedding day is to “empty” themselves, to starve
themselves and get slim, so that they will look their very best on the big day. And
it is by our imitation of Jesus’ kenōsis that we will be our best.
That is something that is done for the sake of her partner, just as Christ
emptied himself for the sake of his Church. But just as the emptying of Christ was
not a single act, but was a process, involving a number of stages, so marriage also
involves a number of steps of emptying.
He left
The first thing to note is that Christ left his heavenly home, and the fact that it was
indeed a home. There was no compulsion on him to do that, and his pre-existent
life could hardly have lacked. I say this because there is no fundamental reason
why people have to get married, that there is no shame in not being married.
His life was complete in itself, and indeed there is no fundamental lack in the
unmarried state. Paul actually points out that entering into the married state gives
problems, that there are immediately divided loyalties. The Catholic Church is
greatly criticised for its stand that the clergy should be celibate, and indeed there
is good Biblical reason in the Pastoral epistles to indicate that it is right for a
minister to be married; certainly there are pastoral advantages. Nevertheless the
point is that the unmarried state can enable a greater devotion to God. I say
“can”, for in practice it is often more likely to lead to greater devotion to oneself!
Marriage can, and should, be a wonderful remedy for introspection.
But it must be noted that he did leave, and that it was a decisive and a real
step. It was not a try-out, done to test whether it would work, but a total and
once for all decision. Once it had been done, there was no going back. So many
people seem to think that if the marriage does not seem to work in the way that
they want, that they can just return to the state that they were in previously.
It can never be done; even if divorce might seem to be an option, it is actually
impossible. A person can never escape from the marriage completely.
At the same time, it was decisive in that it had not followed a period of
experimentation. Jesus had not tried being incarnate on previous occasions to
see if it would work. On the contrary, it was a once-off total commitment, and

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after it he was different. This is not to say that Jesus had not been involved with
humanity before the events at Bethlehem; many suggest that he had a long series
of pre-incarnate actions, and even that the “angel of the Lord” was in fact the
Christ. Certainly the language of such as in Judges 6 equate the nature of the
angel with God, yet also distinguish them in a decidedly Trinitarian manner. But
once he was incarnate, there was permanence, no more sudden disappearing, as
from Gideon. Even in the post-ascended state, Jesus remains totally human.
Then again, Christ did leave. There was no running back to his heavenly Father
when things started to get a bit tough. There was no asking his Father to bale him
out! Even in the Garden of Gethsemane, when the full extent of his commitment
to humanity pressed upon him, there was no idea of leaving. Perhaps one of the
advantages that my wife and I had was that before we had been married for a year,
before the honeymoon glow had faded, we had left for Africa. It is hard to run
home to mother when it requires a journey of ten thousand kilometers!
What did remain was a measure of heavenly support, and I am sure that both
sets of parents will provide this, but to support the couple, not one of the pair. It
is blatantly obvious that God’s help, in fact the “helper”, the paraclete, was totally
present with Jesus right throughout his earthly ministry. Of course, there is no
way of escaping from one’s parents; we carry them in our genes for the rest of our
lives, ten thousand kilometers notwithstanding. It is a little late on the day of the
wedding, but every prospective bride and groom should take a close look at the
parents of the intended spouse! It was not just in an idle way that Jesus could say
that “he who has seen me has seen the Father” (Jn 14:9).
But again, it was most definitely support and not direct action. The married
couple is independent of the parents, perhaps for the first time. The bride is really
given away by the father. Jesus did not expect God just to act, but on the contrary,
God acted through him. This means that as long as the married couple is not
doing something that is actually totally wrong or stupid, the parents should keep
out of the relationship. Jesus may have been doing the will of his Father, but
he was not a robot. The way in which he was obedient was ultimately up to
him. There is an infinite variety of ways in which the marriage can work, and
even if the sensible couple does seek the advice of decades of experience, the final
decisions are their’s.

232 Have This Mind
He identified
The first step is dramatic, but in fact it is taken by most people sooner or later
whether they actually get married or not. Nearly everybody does eventually sever
the immediate connection with their parents. But the next step is far more drastic,
because Jesus did not just leave heaven, amazing though that is, but he became
human.
What must be realised here is that the second step would not have been possible
unless the first was also done. He could not have become human while remaining
in heaven. And a marriage cannot work properly if one or both of the couple does
not really leave the parental situation.
Of course just the same is true of the relationship with God in salvation. There
is no way that a person can be Christian, receive the life of God, without leaving
the previous life. Sins just have to be forgiven, which is why Jesus came, to die to
take them away.
But then the complement of this is that there is no real Christianity if all that
happens is the forgiveness of sins, but there has to be an identification with God,
a receiving of his life. There is no real marriage unless the couple actually become
married! And that means that they identify with each other, and live each other’s
lives.
The theologians make a lot of hay at this point as they discuss what it actually
meant for this identification to take place. The fifth century Church became
embroiled in controversy as it tried to understand how Christ could be both fully
human and fully divine, and how these related to each other. Eventually a formula
was arrived at, the statement of Chalcedon, which can be applied with profit to the
marriage relationship. In particular, it was realised that there had to be a rejection
of both Nestorianism, the effective dividing between the two natures, and of the
submerging of one nature in the other. In the case of marriage effectively the
same applies; there should not be excessive division nor the submerging of one
personality, his or her life and ambitions, in those of the other. In the case of
Christ, the solution involved the communicatio idiomatum, the interaction of the
two natures. It had been the equivalent idea of perichōrēsis, the interpenetration
of the Persons of the Godhead, that had enabled a solution of the Trinitarian
problem. It is this that means that the Persons could be distinct and yet be totally
equal. This is naturally directly applicable to marriage in that by interaction and
sharing, the two can maintain their individuality and yet be equal. In the case of
Christ the natures could again be distinct, yet interact so closely that there is real

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unity of the Person of Christ. It is this that requires that to interact with humanity,
the divinity of Christ had to empty itself in kenōsis.
In the words of the fourth Gospel, the “Word became flesh” (Jn 1:14). This
was then not just a taking of flesh as a kind of clothing, which would indeed
be Nestorian, but an identification as the two natures interacted. In marriage
therefore, the husband “becomes” the wife, and shares her particular aspirations,
emptying himself so that this becomes a reality. This is far from a chauvinistic
thought, as the same reality occurs in the opposite direction as well, the wife
lowering herself towards maleness. Paul is saying effectively the same thing in
Ephesians 5. Perhaps the wonder of this is that in this process, the sexual identity
of each is not lessened, but enhanced. This can indeed be seen in Christ in that it
is possible to see what humanity should really be like due to the effect of the divine
upon it. And is it suggesting too much to see the divine expressed more fully due
to the human? After all, the divine did choose humanity to express themselves
most clearly in the imago Dei.
He gave
There are some understandings of the atonement that see it enacted simply by
means of the incarnation. Because Christ became human, humanity became
divine and therefore eternal. Ideas such as universalism flow naturally from an
understanding such as this, but as the Bible can hardly support an idea that every
human being will be saved, it must follow that the atonement involves more that
just incarnation.
Rather the Philippian passage declares that the kenōsis of the second Person
did not reach its depths with the assumption of humanity, but that the exact
manifestation was of lowliness even by human standards. Even if it has been
argued that “servant” is actually a term of respect, seeing that it was the title of
the Old Testament king, it can hardly be divorced from the idea of service; that
was after all the reason for the institution of kingship. Thus the Christ did not
come simply to be identified with humanity, but to serve them, to give his life and
energy for their benefit.
In a sense it is easy for the married couple to identify with each other, but in
imitation of the kenōsis of Christ, each seeks to serve the other. Such a commitment
is total; in the case of Christ his desire to serve humanity led him to his death.
There is a sense in which this death seems to be a total tragedy, for after all there
must have been far more lepers to heal, much more teaching to give, many more

234 Have This Mind
thousands who needed food. It was even a negation of the greatest gift of all,
that of life itself. Yet it was that action of Christ, in obedience to his Father, that
resulted in the greatest benefit to humanity. “Greater love has no man than this,
that a man lay down his life for his friends” (Jn 15:13); the text, so often applied
to the sacrifice that soldiers give in a situation of war, applies much more directly
to Jesus himself. More than this, it highlights the point that the giving of his life
was something that he chose to do, for he knew what he was about to do and
why he was doing it. The kenōsis of Christ was not in any sense forced upon him
but was a voluntary act. It was no inherent diminution of his ability, but done by
choice, out of love for us. The parallel to marriage is clear; it is never forced, or
should not be, and the giving, the emptying, is done out of love.
This action of Christ must also tell us that even in marriage, there are times
when the necessary action is not the one that seems to produce the greatest benefit
at the time, but that sometimes the good has to be left undone for the sake of the
better. As Paul again points out, even sexual relationships can at times be withheld
for a greater good! Perhaps the opportunity of an improved job and salary needs
to be forsaken, because although it might seem to be of immediate benefit, would
not ultimately be the best for the spouse; perhaps it would require too much time,
too much separation. But how much there needs to be an awareness of the will of
the Father, and obedience to him, if an obvious good is to be denied!
He suffered
Even death was not the ultimate in kenōsis, but the form of death was yet a further
step downwards. It is one thing to die, but to die in such a way! It is hardly
surprising that in the Garden of Gethsemane, where he agonised over what would
happen to him within a few short hours, his sweat was as drops of blood. Perhaps
more wonderful was that even at that point, he could have escaped from the
torment. The words of the priests, when he had actually been nailed to the cross,
were more accurate than they knew; “if you are the Son of God, come down
from the cross!” (Matt 27:40). Even when actually nailed, the sufferings of Christ
remained voluntary, a striking act of love for us.
The kenōsis of Christ went a step lower, to endure what must be one of the
cruellest forms of dying that has ever been devised by an ingenious humanity. It was
so awful that the Romans did not permit it to be experienced by one of their own
citizens. Indeed it was so horrendous that they even mitigated it with the mercy of
the anodyne of drugged wine, and the breaking of legs to hasten the actual death,

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neither of which were given to Jesus. The first he refused, which would have made
the suffering more intense and therefore more real, the latter was not necessary, as
he was already dead. This latter, incidentally, sharpens the identification of Jesus
as the fulfilment of the Passover; John (19:33) makes a specific point of noting
this aspect, almost certainly having Numbers 9:12 in mind, where the bones of
the lamb were not broken. It also indicated so clearly that the oft-repeated theory
that Jesus had not actually died was hardly the perception of those whose duty is
was to break the legs; they would surely not have hesitated if there had been the
faintest suspicion in their minds that a glimmer of life remained. Rather, the fact
that Jesus had died in so short a time that Pilate was surprised is an indication
that his sufferings had been so intense that his human frame could not hold out
any longer. Incidentally, this is a further indication that the divinity of the second
Person was experiencing a real kenōsis, for otherwise it would have continued to
sustain the human life of Christ.
If the experience of Christ was of suffering, it should not be surprising if our
human experience is likewise, and that this might also be expected to apply to
marriage. Many people lightly speak of the commitment “for better or for worse,
for richer or for poorer”, but how many appreciate the implications of what is
being said. Yet it is a rare marriage that does not experience suffering due to the
experiences of the other spouse. A person in marriage does not simply suffer his
or her own pain, but suffers also the pain of the other. Marriage does not just
multiply the joy of being human, but it also multiplies its pain. Marriage is not
just a bed of roses, but those roses have thorns. And that is exactly what Christ
was doing on the cross, for it was not only his own pain that he was bearing, but
he was suffering also for the sins of the world (Jn 1:29).
Sustaining
In a way this seems negative, and certainly there is a great amount of opportunity
for complaining in marriage. Nobody wants to be emptied! Empty vessels, we
are told, make the most noise! Certainly complaining is natural, for what is
happening goes totally against the normal human way of doing things. From a
natural perspective, a person seeks to be “full”, and acts from self-interest. What
is necessary in a marriage, and indeed in human society in general is to go against
that natural instinct and to act not for one’s own benefit, but for the benefit of the
other. It is only by curbing selfishness that real relationships with the other will

236 Have This Mind
grow. If both parties just look to themselves, the relationship will hardly develop.
This after all is the point that Paul seeks to make in the passage as a whole.
Then if the parties empty themselves, they can be filled, and here comes the
real secret of a successful marriage. In a sense the emptying, obviously, is negative,
removing things that prevent the blossoming of a healthy relationship. But a
relationship must have a positive side as well, a real bonding rather than just the
removal of hindrances. It is then noteworthy that right at the start of Philippians
2, Paul refers to the Spirit, for the fundamental role of the Spirit is to bond, to
give unity.
What is meant here is something far more positive than the physical attraction
that probably initiates most marriages, far more than common interests which
enable joint activity. It is even more that a common religion, vital though that
is in keeping a couple’s relationship healthy. All of these can certainly make a
positive contribution, but the action of the Spirit can transcend all of these, and
add a further dimension. It is the Spirit who is the means of relationship right
within the Godhead himself, between the Persons of the Trinity. He is the one
who bonds the Father and the Son, the vinculum amoris, bond of love. Then he
is the one who relates the individual Christian to God, adopting him or her as a
child of God, enabling the transformation of lifestyle in conformity to God. He
purges out, or “empties”, what is contrary to God, and builds up what is good.
Then it is the same action that is so beneficial to a marriage. As each of the
pair is related to God by the Spirit, so they naturally relate to each other, and
the very qualities of life that the Spirit develops in each are also just those which
are necessary for the marriage to grow. A look at the fruit that the Spirit gives
(Gal 5:22) shows that these are exactly what is needed, qualities of love, peace,
longsuffering and the others will go far to overcome the friction that inevitably
arises.
It is hardly an accident that the Spirit enabled every step of the kenōsis of Christ.
He is the one who came upon Mary, enabling the incarnation in the first place.
He is the one who descended on Jesus at his baptism in Jordan, a step of real
identification with humanity. He is the one who enabled the life of service that
Jesus followed; the great passage in Luke 4:18, in a sense where Jesus announced
his programme of action, was a quotation from Isaiah 61. Significantly, this
started, “the Spirit of the Lord is upon me”. Then just as the Spirit motivated such
acts as Jesus going to the wilderness to undergo temptation, so he must have been
the driving force in the depths of suffering on the cross. It was when all had been
accomplished that “he gave up the Spirit” (Matt 27:50).

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It is in the Spirit that a marriage will prosper, and this is far from being mere
empty words. A marriage is something spiritual, and so one vital thing that has
to be done by married Christians is not just to pray for each other, but to pray
also for the relationship. It is so easy, as with any other aspect of life, to take it
for granted, but that is fatal. Just as the man who had the demons cast out was in
danger of being repossessed, so even if the emptying has, and is, taking place for
the sake of the relationship, so that emptiness must be filled, and filling is exactly
what the Spirit is so good at doing!
Glory
It is then no accident that the Philippian hymn concludes not in the depths of
successive stages of kenōsis, but in exactly the opposite, in glory! From the utter
depths of the cross, Jesus was raised to being on the right hand of the Father. It
is surely not too much to suggest that the latter glory was even more that the
former, for now he is acknowledged by all, whereas before he was unknown. This
is one of the functions of the wedding service, the publicising of the relationship,
that it is known by everybody. Even the name becomes important, and again it is
no accident that for the woman at least, tradition demands that she adopt a new
name.
The glory of the marriage is far more than the receipt of a name and the
publication of a relationship, but it is the closeness of that bond. Jesus was once
more in the presence of the Father. Is it hardly surprising that marriage can be a
deeply satisfying experience, so much so that it is almost inevitable that both the
husband and the wife are likely to put on weight; quite the opposite of the kenōsis
adopted before the actual ceremony! It hardly needs to be pointed out that a good
marriage is one of the best things that can happen to a person, making it so very
wonderful to be alive; hardly surprisingly of course, for marriage was after all
God’s idea.
So it must be noted that the glory is the work that God does, and it is exactly
that within a marriage. If it is truly to result in glory, and not, as in so many, in
strife and quarrelling, and even in divorce, it must be God who does it. The old
form of the wedding service speaks of the fact that it is God who joins the pair
together, and it is in the very nature of God to complete the work that he has
begun. It is no accident that Paul makes that very affirmation in the same book in
which he speaks of kenōsis (Phil 1:6).

238 Have This Mind
Even if the glorification is definitely an act of God, we must not overlook the
little word right at the start of verse 9, “therefore”. It was because of the kenōsis
that glory was possible. That is precisely the same in the act of marriage; it is
as the couple is prepared to empty themselves for the sake of the other that the
marriage will ultimately be glorified. As in so much of life, the blessing comes as
a cooperation between God and people. God does his part, and we do our’s. Not
a surprising statement, because a successful marriage, even on the human level
depends on the cooperation between the husband and the wife. And also not
surprising, for we are speaking of Jesus, who in his very Person was a cooperation
between the human and the divine, a cooperation in which both natures were
active, neither overshadowing the other.
The glory of Christ brings to an end the process of kenōsis, as he ascended to
heaven. Let us not think that the actual marriage is the end of our own kenōsis, and
that we no longer need to participate in it for the sake of the other. Unfortunately
so many feel that is the case, and then naturally the wonder of the relationship,
and the delights of the honeymoon fade. We still remain on this earth, and while
we are here, our emptying continues, but paradoxically, the glory also starts. It is
a bit like our salvation, insofar as once we are converted, we have eternal life, and,
as Jesus said, abundant life (Jn 10:10), and we partake in his glory. Yet that is not
the end, but we continue to develop, and improve, hopefully, for the rest of our
lives, tasting more and more of the glory that he has for us. For us, the kenōsis
continues, and the glory is received, at one and the same time.

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978-0-595-46621-4
0-595-46621-4