On Kenosis, Solidarity and Stewardship of Privilege

Excerpts on kenosis and solidarity from The Church Cracked Open: Disruption, Decline and New Hope for Beloved Community by Stephanie Spellers. To be released in March 2021 (https://www.churchpublishing.org/churchcrackedopen)

From Chapter 2 on Beloved Community and Kenosis

Jesus offers to train us out of self-centric and self-seeking behaviors, toward self-giving and self-emptying. The word for this counter-intuitive movement is kenosis. It comes from the Greek “kenos” which means “empty”, so “kenosis” is the act of emptying oneself. In theological terms, it refers to Jesus’s willing renunciation (or emptying himself) of divinity in order to become incarnate as a human being. The passage that captures it best is Philippians 2:5–9, known as the “Kenotic Hymn” because scholars say it predates the gospels and Paul’s letters. Imagine early Christians singing to teach one another about Jesus, long before anyone penned a word:

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death —
even death on a cross.

Therefore God also highly exalted him
and gave him the name
that is above every name …

Jesus’s life on earth was a purely kenotic, downwardly mobile path. Stepping out of the godhead at all was a great surrender and renunciation of privilege, but he didn’t stop there. He was born a poor and powerless child of a teenaged, unwed mother in the midst of a brutal empire. Rather than pull himself up by his bootstraps, he consorted with undesireables, tangled repeatedly with the religious and civil authorities, and held aloft the picture of belovedness and shalom that he received from his Abba God. He consciously chose a path that assured suffering, humiliation, desolation, and finally death on a cross. In response, God lifted him and gave him glory.

How I wish Christian communities highlighted Jesus’s utter dedication to the kenotic path, not only in his final passionate days, but throughout his entire recorded ministry. It would make it easier for us to recognize the pathway he opened up to all of us, and thus easier for us to practice self-emptying in Christian life and community.

The kenotic path assumes we give something of ourselves away — some privilege, some piece of ego — in order to make more room for God and ultimately to honor, love, and sacrifice for the sake of the God we recognize in one another and in all of creation. When I picture beloved community, there is no replay of images from a Coca Cola commercial featuring multi-hued people holding hands and circling the globe. I see Jesus on the cross, aching with the effort to remain open, even though everything in him must have screamed to stop caring and shut down. I picture the Acts community: people from every walk of life and culture sharing their resources so that no one had less or more than they needed, praying and eating and singing together at home and in the temple courts, filling the air with praise for God, sharing good news and love with their neighbors in a way that was so contagious and life-giving, others couldn’t wait to take up this counter-cultural, self-giving way for themselves (Acts 2:42–47).

When this self-giving shapes the life of a whole community, you might glimpse beloved community. Indian postcolonial theologian Christopher Duraisingh says this is the true arc of the gospel story of God in Christ. God’s lively presence is made known when we honor “the ‘otherness,’ the integrity and identity of peoples and groups” and then bring those many voices, languages, and gifts into mutually transforming community (Duraisingh, “Toward a Postcolonial Revisioning of the Church’s Faith, Witness and Communion,” in Beyond Colonial Anglicanism). The gospels don’t advocate for the Tower of Babel, with all people in one place, speaking one language; and they certainly don’t lead us to live as scattered “windowless monads and self-sufficient, discrete and bounded selves.” Duraisingh says God’s movement looks like Pentecost, where communities and individuals discover the blessing of being “permeable, open to the other, mutual and multivoiced … so that all those involved in the relationship are changed or enriched.”

I want that life for myself, for the church, and for the world … and I cannot imagine how we draw anywhere near beloved community without kenosis. Why else would we step from our small circles of safety, privilege, and homogeneity, and into a new circle where we’re deeply uncomfortable and challenged? Why else would we care enough to suffer loss for God and our neighbors? Why else would we listen and ache and even give up some of what we’ve understood to be central to our own being? The only reason is if you’ve been drawn in by kenotic love.

From Chapter 7 on Solidarity and Stewardship of Privilege

Kenosis, cracking open, embracing disruption, releasing control, giving your life away — these are only one part of the equation. We let go of one life in order to take up new life, the life of the beloved. We release what we hoarded in order to receive gift upon gift from God. Our cracked open hearts are at last roomy enough to hold the lives and hearts of others. We practice kenosis in preparation for solidarity.

Solidarity is love crossing the borders drawn by fear and selfishness, in order to enter into the situation of the other, for the purpose of mutual relationship and struggle that heals us all and enacts God’s dream of beloved community.

Solidarity is the voice that finally comprehends: “You are not the same as me, but part of you lives in me. Your freedom and mine were always inextricably entwined. Now I see it, and because of what I see, I choose to live differently. I will go there, with you, for your sake and for my own.” …

Solidarity and kenosis are a matter of love. They are also clear-eyed and strategic. Jesus chose to identify with the most vulnerable peoples in love, but let’s be honest: his choice wouldn’t matter so much if he were not God-among-us. As I think about privileged people of all sorts who could have ducked behind the shield of privilege but instead put their lives on the line, I’m reminded of this bare, naked truth: regardless of how you or I feel or think about privilege, the dominant culture has already decided some lives have greater value.

We saw this craven accounting in action on September 23, 2020, when a Kentucky grand jury refused to indict the three officers who broke into Breonna Taylor’s Louisville home using an expired no-knock warrant and killed her in a hail of police bullets. The grand jury only charged one officer, for the crime of firing bullets through the walls into the home of a white neighbor. White lives matter. White property matters. Breonna Taylor’s Black life had little value in comparison.

This is the nature of privilege and dominance: your group’s life has value, your group’s choices are presumed legitimate, and your group’s suffering garners compassion. Solidarity takes this fact into account, and then transforms privilege into a tool to dismantle the master’s house. Think of it as spiritual jujitsu: take hold of the power of privilege and turn it back on itself, to disarm the very thing it was designed to protect. The term I use for this is “stewardship of privilege”, and I am convinced it is one of the keys to practicing kenosis and solidarity in real life.

I can’t take credit for coining the phrase. A few years ago, I was preparing to lead a clergy conference on racial reconciliation and healing in Alabama. I knew terms like “anti-racism” and even “solidarity” might backfire, and that the invitation to “give up” privilege could sound meaningless. My friend and colleague Kerlin Richter listened and suggested a different approach. “What you’re really talking about is stewardship of privilege. I can’t simply drop all my privilege, but I can use it for the cause.”

The call got stronger as we riffed on it, and it has become more necessary to me the longer I’ve practiced. First of all, as a straight person who seeks to be in solidarity with LGBTQIIA friends I dearly love, I cannot simply wake one day and declare, “I have no straight privilege. Nope, I don’t want it. I’m giving it back.” The system grants it to me without my asking, just as it values White lives more than the lives of People of Color. If these are the facts on the ground, what am I going to do about it? More to the point, what am I going to do with it?

The other issue is that most of what we call privileges are basic human rights. It’s a privilege to not be viewed as a threat by your own government and its agents, but should it be? Shouldn’t we all enjoy the privilege to love as we’ve been led by our Creator, to speak in a meeting and have people assume we know what we’re talking about, to hear music from our culture in church and not have others scoff and call it “simple”, to have our various church gatherings be recognized as bonafide expressions of Christian life, and to receive the benefit of the doubt when we mess up? I’m not looking forward to that great morning when no one has these privileges. The dream of God is that we all experience the conditions to thrive, and that we sacrifice in order to create those conditions for one another. If you’ve got privilege, as Jesus did, don’t use it for your own happiness or to elevate your circle; leverage it as part of Jesus’s movement to ensure everyone flourishes.

That’s where stewardship of privilege comes in. First, you take the non-clinging, non-attached approach we discussed in the previous chapter. Recognize the privilege but don’t grab onto it, or let it define you and control your reality. Get curious about it. Sit with those with whom you seek to be in solidarity, and together wonder: what if I laid my privilege and power at the feet of this community I love, for the sake of our shared liberation and beloved community? These are just some of the possibilities I’ve heard and where I see Jesus leading the way:

STEWARDSHIP OF PRIVILEGE: USING YOUR POWER AS JESUS USED HIS

esus loved his friends, his enemies and God. So LOVE the face and voice of God you see and hear in the presence of others.

In Jesus, God showed up in great love for human beings, and wept and died with us. So CARE, even though your privilege means you could just turn the other way.

Jesus embraced human life, in its most humble and painful form. So EMBRACE uncomfortable spaces and experiences, and model vulnerability for others who share your privilege.

Jesus sought the will of God and released control of his path so God could lead instead. So SURRENDERover-controlling behaviors and discern God’s will in relationship with people who are oppressed.

Jesus risked it all by coming to be among us, loving when he was not loved, being corrected, and refusing to curse those who hurt him. So RISK making the first move, sharing your own story, being wrong, appearing less-than-perfect, and receiving the anger of people who’ve been hurt by systems that help you.

On the highways and byways of Galilee and beyond, Jesus walked with people and offered his listening ear and heart. So LISTEN to the stories of people who are oppressed, exploited, and have been denied your privilege and power.

Jesus trusted a woman — Mary — to carry the message that he had risen from the dead. So TRUST the perspective and wisdom of people who are least respected.

Anglican theologian John Hooker once said God, in uniting divinity with humanity through Jesus, actually raised humanity and deified us. So CELEBRATE the cultures, gifts, and lives of groups who have been silenced or de-valued.

Jesus promised to intercede on our behalf and carry our prayers to his Father and our Father. So SPEAK hard truths that people who share your privilege can hear from you.

Jesus incurred the wrath of the domination system because he stood with the oppressed. So SUFFER the displeasure and even the anger of the systems that privilege you, when you step outside their bounds.

Jesus lived simply and encouraged people to look into their bags, share their possessions, and feed one another … and there was plenty. So SACRIFICE possessions and resources for the sake of love, so that no one has too much and no one goes without.

Jesus welcomes us into the relationship he shares with his Father and the Holy Spirit. So SHARE privileged access and usher less privileged people into spaces and relationships that could serve liberation.

Jesus turned everything upside down, disobeyed unjust rules, and honored the least of these, in order to bring all things back into right relationship. So DISMANTLE systems that reinforce domination, distribute privilege unequally, and diminish human life.

Working with these practices, I’ve found people who are used to guarding privilege and defending dominating systems can begin to imagine different ways of living. Fear-mongering voices say, “People on the bottom want to take everything from you and leave you with nothing to punish you for being successful.” In this grid, you see how faith leads us away from punishing, zero-sum models and toward trust, generosity, celebration, wholeness, sacrifice, and justice. Yes, there is risk involved. No, your life and the life of your church will not be the same. Yes, this will require some form of sacrifice. Yes, by the grace of God, you are strong enough to bear it. Yes, we are absolutely following Jesus.