Philippians 2:5-11
5 Let the same mind be in you
that was in Christ Jesus, 6 who, though he was in the form of God, did not
regard equality with God as something to be exploited, 7 but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in
human form, 8 he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—
even death on a cross. 9 Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the
name that is above every name, 10 so that at the name of Jesus every knee
should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 11 and every tongue
should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.
Here we are, just a few short days
away from that morning when we will hear the proclamation of those women from
two thousand years ago, telling us that a tomb which once held a corpse now
stands empty. We’re within earshot of their words of terror and amazement. But
we are also within earshot of those who shouted “Hosanna!” when the beast
baring the Lord tread across palm branches on the way into the city of
Jerusalem, the final stop on Jesus’ journey this side of resurrection. We’re within earshot of that quiet, covert
conversation struck up by the Sanhedrin and the one who would betray his
friend. We are within earshot of the sound of pouring wine, breaking bread, and
sloshing water as Jesus ate his last supper with his friends and washed their
feet. We are within earshot of marching soldiers, the sounds of swords being
drawn, of hands slapping faces, and chains dragging the ground. We’re close
enough to hear the voices that on this day cry “Hosanna!” change their song to
the crude chorus, “Crucify him!” We’re close enough to hear the crack of the
whip, the tearing of flesh, the reverberating thud of timber being dragged and
dropped, and the resounding, metallic clap of iron being driven through flesh
and bone into wood. We can even hear the groans, the cries of those three whose
bodies are raised up before a crowd of onlookers as the burdens of their bodies
and the weight of their fates make it difficult to breathe. We’re within
earshot of those words Jesus would utter from the cross, words that reach their
crescendo in the recalled cries of the Psalmist: “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani/My
God, My God, why have you forsaken me.” We are able to hear, even today, the
last breath as it leaves the lungs of the Son of God.
On this Palm Sunday, this Passion
Sunday, we are within earshot of all of those things that will transpire this
Holy Week, yet this morning we hear something different on the air, something
that perhaps seems more at home in an hour of worship. This morning we’ve heard
a hymn. Now, I’m not talking about any of those hymns we’ve sang together so
far; I’m talking about one of the oldest known hymns of our faith, the hymn
found in our passage from Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians. It’s a hymn Paul
weaves so masterfully into his letter to his most beloved congregation at
Philippi; it’s a hymn that speaks of the self-emptied Christ, of his endless obedience
even to the point of death—the cruelest death. It is a hymn the highlights the
exaltation of this selfless Christ, an exaltation that leads to universal
worship, complete confession. It’s a grand hymn that has stood through the ages
and languages of the Church, preserved in the words of one of Christ’s apostles
to one of Christ’s churches. Scholars call it the kenosis hymn (kenosis is
the word translated “emptied”),[1]
and it is a hymn many of you have no doubt heard or read a time or two.
As with many hymns we sing these
days, too often we sing them or hear them, but we really don’t listen to them. Sure, we know the words,
but have those words found a place to land in our hearts and minds, a place
where those words will begin to transform us? Far too often the words of hymns,
the power contained in their beautiful lyrics, is lost on us as we find
ourselves simply singing along, as if the worship of God in song was little
more than elevator music—a nice little melodic distraction to get us through an
otherwise awkward period of time and out the door. But with this hymn (and I
hope the hymns we sing together in worship) I want us to take a moment to really listen to the words. Allow them
to be more than mere vibrations in the air, and find the eternal truth there in
the words. Because you see, the words of this hymn in Paul’s Epistle to the
Philippians are words that speaks to the truth of what transpires in the events
of this week, in the events of that first Holy Week.
Christ, the Incarnate God, “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.” Jesus was not
simply some mortal man with the bad luck of being singled-out by God for a holy
suicide mission. No! Jesus was God in the flesh! The second person of the
Trinity, yet rather than divinely hovering above the filth of this world, God in
Christ walked upon the ground the same way you and I do. Rather than some
cosmic show of power and might, rather than some grand spectacle of destruction
of all that is wicked, God in Christ quietly arrived in a barn in some backwater
town called Bethlehem. He lived the life of one born into the lower class of
society; he knew the taste of sweat, the sting of sore and cramped muscles, and
the feeling of a hard day’s work. He felt joy and sorrow. And he did all of
this despite being the eternal Creator of the universe in the flesh.
Being in the flesh, Jesus was obedient to the call of God, the work of
the kingdom he proclaimed as he lived, moved, and ate among the sinners of this
world. And rather than taking some hidden, heavenly highway off of this rock,
Jesus’ obedience to God’s call led him straight to death, death in the cruelest
fashion. In short, “being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to
the point of death— even death on a cross.” In his humility, in his
self-emptying, Christ was obedient to God to the point of death! This is no
all-powerful deity flexing his planet-sized muscles in order to avoid the pain
and torment of crucifixion. This is a benevolent God, unequaled and unopposed
in the universe, who willingly lays down his life for the sake of the world he
created, the world he loves.
The result of such obedience, the result of Christ’s selfless death is
exaltation. The result of Christ’s self-emptying act for all of humanity is the
uplifting and magnifying of his name: “Therefore God also highly exalted him and
gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every
knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue
should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” Jesus
does not deserve this sort of exaltation, worship, and confession because he
has used godly powers in order to strike fear into the hearts of human
worshippers. Jesus has not gained a name worthy of universal confession because
he has put sinners in their place. Jesus has a name worthy of such confession
because he has put himself in the sinners’ place—in our place! Christ is not
exalted because he sits on a cloud, lightning bolt in hand, waiting to strike
us down at the first sign of misbehavior. Christ’s name is not lifted above
every name because he is God that separates the good, clean, wholesome folks
from the bad, dirty, unpleasant folks. Christ is exalted, given the name above
every name because he is the God who shows power in humility, grace in excess
of our sins, and unending, unfailing, unfathomable love.
With that kind of power in such a short hymn, it’s a wonder we don’t set
it to music and sing in every church on every Lord’s Day. Perhaps we should. But
before we call for a benediction, there is something we’ve overlooked,
something in these verses of Scripture before us we’ve yet to address. You see,
this hymn in Paul’s letter is a wonderful word on the self-emptying power of
Christ; it is a glorious hymn expressing the glory of the God whose power lies
in humility, whose strength is found in human weakness. It is a hymn praising
the God whose love for us is so deep, so wide that that same God would take on
flesh and all the trappings that come with humanness and suffer torture and the
cruelest of deaths. Yet what I’m afraid we miss, what we so often overlook,
especially as privileged, comfortable people, is Paul’s small introduction to
this portion of a hymn in verse 5: “Let the same mind be in you that was in
Christ Jesus.”
You see, we’ll sing hymns about the wonderful grace of Jesus; we’ll read
Scripture about the humble way Jesus encountered people like Nicodemus, the
Samaritan woman at the well, or all those who had come to mourn the death of
Lazarus. We’ll rejoice in the light of Resurrection morning and the power that
came through the death of Christ on a cross, and we’ll praise all the wonderful
things we claim God has done for us or will do for us. But I wonder…in the
midst of all that rejoicing, all that praising, all that hope for bigger and
better things for ourselves, do we heed Paul’s command? “Let the same mind be in you that
was in Christ Jesus.”
It’s easy, I suppose, to get caught up in what this season, this act of
salvation from God means for YOU. I suppose it’s an easy thing to get lost in
all that Christ has done for YOU and see it as some eternal transaction that
benefits YOU in the end. I suppose it may even be easy for some to look upon
what Christ has done and think to themselves, “I’m glad he did that so I don’t
have to do anything.” There are, however, the words of Holy Scripture, words
from the Apostle Paul, calling us to more than mere gratitude, words that call
us to more than a simple recognition that God has decided to give us a chance
to get out of hell.
“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” These
words from the apostle Paul are words that command us to live a life that
mirrors the mind of God. In other words, while this is a lovely hymn about all
that Christ has done for us, it is a hymn that calls us to the kind of life
Christ desires from us. Far too often, Christians approach their faith as some
sort of one-and-done transaction. It is as if they say, “Jesus paid it all, so
I’m on a gravy train with biscuit wheels; no need for me to worry about anybody
else but me now!” Too often I’ve seen so-called Christians who show up for
church, sit on committees, give their money, and show up for Sunday School, yet
still act as if the only person in the world that matters is themselves, as if
Christ’s life, death, and resurrection serves as some sort of substitute for
our responsibility to strive for a selfless life fit for the kingdom of God.
“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.” It is the mind, the heart, the spirit of this
Christ that we are called to have. It is awful difficult to have the mind of
Christ when you are so consumed by your own pride, your own arrogance, or your
own agenda. It is awful difficult to have the mind of Christ when you seek to undermine
the work of the kingdom of God, or when you strive to create turmoil in the
lives of others simply because of your own sense of superiority. It is
impossible to have the mind of Christ when you are anything but self-emptying,
humble, and obedient to the love of God.
The call to Christian discipleship, the call to be “born again from
above” is a call to selflessness, a call to empty yourself—your whole self—for
the sake of others, not for the sake of glory, recognition, exaltation, or
power. The call to follow Christ is the call to love others, not because you
want their admiration, not because you want their love in return, but because
the immeasurable, unmerited love of God overflows from your spirit. Because
when the love of God abides within you, when you have the mind of Christ, you
cannot help but have a selfless love for others.
So, “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, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in
heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that
Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” May you empty
yourself of all those self-serving ways that keep you from experiencing the
fullness of God. May you be obedient to the call of love, even if it leads you
through difficulties, even if it brings you to the point of death. May you seek
to leave more of you behind as you take hold of more of who Christ is, and may
you have the same mind that was in Christ Jesus.
Let us pray…
[1] Amy
Plantinga Pauw, “Sixth Sunday in Lent (Liturgy of the Passion), Philippians
2:5-11: Theological Perspective,” Feasting
on the Word. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville, KY (2010) pp.170-174.
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