Emptied

Even in the midst of the excitement of the procession into Jerusalem (that we call Palm Sunday), Jesus was a person who emptied himself in the service of others.  As we walk through Holy Week, what can we learn from that emptying?

 Emptied

Luke 19:28-40; Philippians 2:5-11 

On Ash Wednesday, I asked you to reflect on something that you wanted to leave behind as you entered the journey of Lent. We wrote those things down – the resentments we wanted to release, the anger we wanted to calm, the disappointments we wanted to get over, the sorrows we wanted to be done with. We wrote them down, and burned them with the palms from last year, and those were the ashes with which we were marked.

Well we are back to the palms today – this time the new and fresh ones. But we have not left behind the question of what is to be left behind.. We hear it today in another form – in the words of an ancient hymn of the church that St. Paul wove into his letter to the church in Philippi: “Jesus … did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave …” [Philippians 2:6-7]

Also early in Lent, we heard the story of Jesus going to the wilderness where he was tempted by the devil. Perhaps that story was in St. Paul’s mind as he wrote to the Philippians. You will remember that Satan offered three temptations to Jesus: to turn stones into bread, to be rescued by God, and to have power over all the nations. Jesus turned away from all three of these, offering words of scripture as explanations for his choices. The devil wanted to take advantage of that “equality with God,” but Jesus did not let himself be filled with that desire. Instead, he emptied himself of the opportunity to take advantage; he let the temptations drain out of himself so that there was enough room for him to hear the words of scripture that were, we believe, very familiar to him.

I wonder if the day of entry into Jerusalem – the day we recall with our Palm procession – I wonder if that day was another time of temptation for Jesus. The people around him – the disciples, the homeowners who made a room ready for the Passover celebration, the crowd waving cloaks and branches – the people around him were filled, not empty. They were filled with anticipation, with hope, and perhaps with a sense that their destiny was about to be fulfilled. I wonder if Jesus had to empty himself of all of their expectations in order to be obedient to what was ahead of him in Jerusalem …

I must confess that I find it hard to think about Jesus as being “empty.” To me, he always seems just the opposite – he seems “full.” He is portrayed in the gospels as being active, passionate, compassionate, sometimes witty, and sometimes sly. He had room for all kinds of people; he spent time with the scribes and Pharisees, with tax collectors and prostitutes, with fisherman and village women. He tried to take time away from others, time to restore and refresh himself. He was filled, if nothing else, by the divinity that was part of his nature; to be the incarnation of God meant that he was, almost by definition, filled and not empty.

Paradoxically, I think that is the secret of emptying yourself: you must have something to empty yourself of. If we are going to empty ourselves, we must have a self in the first place.

One of my colleagues when I lived in Eastern Washington was a Roman Catholic priest who had a Buddhist way of looking at the world. We were in a lectionary study group together, and he often spoke quite movingly about the texts in we are encouraged to lose ourselves. In those texts he heard the instruction to give up the strong sense of self that is part of contemporary western culture, and to seek a deep sense of self-lessness. And by that he didn’t just mean a lack of selfishness, but a real and conscious effort to lose one’s self. Those of you who have practiced meditation, particularly in the Buddhist tradition, may have experienced the sense of being one with the universe around you, rather than isolated as a single being; I think that is what my friend valued so deeply.

Now I came to that same study group with a background in developmental psychology. In that discipline, the development of a sense of self is a crucial part of healthy growth. To be a well-functioning adult, we need to develop a strong sense of who were are, an awareness of our skills and gifts, and an awareness of our shortcomings and weaknesses. A healthy self is accurate in self-assessment. And in a religious sense, a healthy self is one that is aware of both mercy and grace of God on the one hand, and the dangers of human temptation on the other. Many of the psychologist disorders of development are related to a fractured sense of self, or to a self that never flourished in the first place.

I wonder if the other members of that study group appreciated the ongoing tension that the two of us brought to the discussions. My friend was usually advocating the virtue of losing oneself, while I spoke for the virtue of forming a self. It was in those conversations that I came to understand that forming a self and emptying a self are intimately linked together.

It is not quite true, as I had thought and argued, that you have to develop a self before you can give it up. Instead, the building of self and the emptying of self dance together, and neither can be sustained without the other.

It is as if there is a kind of tidal rhythm to our lives. Sometimes the tide is coming in and we are fed, nourished, and inspired. We become more centered (though not, I hope, only self-centered); we are focused on our individual gifts and talents. We are busy and useful, engaged in the world around us. Sometimes the tide is going out, and we are called to empty ourselves. Our focus shifts from what is unique about ourselves to what is universal for all people. We let go our attachment to things, and sometimes to places and people. Events and ideas around us fall into new patterns, with old priorities looking contrived or mistaken. We open up space in our lives and our souls for what may be coming next.

As we come to the end of the season of Lent, the tide may be turning. Our Lenten disciplines and worship have led us to empty ourselves in ways that have been refreshing as well as sobering.

It is no accident, I think, that the observance of the Roman Catholic Feast of the Annunciation usually comes near the end of Lent. It is celebrated on March 25, just a few days ago, and it marks the visit of the Angel Gabriel to Mary, during which she learns that she will be the mother of Jesus.

There is a short poem by Madeleine L’engle that I often share at the beginning of Advent, but perhaps it speaks to us more clearly now at the end of our period of emptying. It is, in fact, titled, “After Annunciation.”

This is the irrational season
When love blooms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason
There’d have been no room for the child.

May our emptying during this season of Lent make room for our sharing of the passion and our receiving of the great gift of Resurrection.