CHAPTER 9
THE SPIRIT OF THE LORD
Reflections on a Christomorphic
Pneumatology
LUCY PEPPIATT
ANYONE FACED WITH THE TASK of writing on the Holy Spirit will immediately be confronted with the challenge of where to start, which direction to go in, and how to shape their thinking. It is no longer true to say that pneumatological reflections among theologians are few and far between or that the Spirit has been dismissed as the lowest, the least, or the last. Work on the Spirit abounds. There is now a wealth of literature and hundreds of resources on the Spirit representing a profusion of perspectives on pneumatology.1 Theologians reflect on the Spirit in creation, in culture, in the arts, in science, in other faiths, in the workplace, in the public square, and in the search for the common good.2 But how we identify this or that specifically as a work of the Spirit in all these spheres is a challenge. It might be claimed that signs of life, renewed life, order out of chaos, sacrificial love, joy, and peace are always signs of the Spirit. Or forgiveness of an enemy, reconciliation, or liberation of the enslaved or oppressed may be signs of the Spirit. Could we claim, perhaps, that the Spirit is at work when we see creativity in any form, truth-telling, discovery, medical breakthroughs? We might be able to do so, but none of the aforementioned are the preserve of the church or Christians per se. So one might struggle to prove that this or that is the work of the Spirit of the triune God where the Holy Spirit is never acknowledged and/or there is no mention of the Father and the Son in or behind the work. However, one might also be hesitant to deny that a certain thing is the work of the Spirit in the world on the grounds that the Spirit is at work, upholding life in all of creation. If “the earth is the Lord’s, and all that is in it, the world and those who live in it” (Ps 24:1), then it should not surprise us that theologians seek evidence of God’s involvement in what properly belongs to him. Thus, perhaps unsurprisingly, pneumatology can be a somewhat general and nebulous topic.
In this paper, however, I wish to focus on a specific New Testament claim that the Spirit at work in the world is the Spirit of Christ, whose mission is to bear witness to Christ in order that those who believe in Jesus would also witness to him as Lord and Savior. Jesus promises his disciples, “When the Counsellor comes, whom I shall send to you from the Father, even the Spirit of truth who proceeds from the Father, he will bear witness to me.” He goes on, “And you also are witnesses, for you have been with me from the beginning” (John 15:26–27). In reflecting on the work of the Spirit from this perspective, I am not sure there is a lot to add that is new as such. I do, however, think that there is something about this claim that bears continual reflection in service of the process of discerning what it means for the church to be filled with the Spirit, to walk in the Spirit, to pray in the Spirit, and to follow the leading of the Spirit if this is, indeed, the Spirit of Christ. If the Spirit that we are speaking of is “another” who is not Jesus Christ but is also one with Christ, and whose mission is to follow after him, to witness to him, to speak of him, to lead to him, to glorify him, and to unite humanity to him, incorporating human beings into his body, then what do we expect this might look like and what are some of the implications of this for church life and practice (John 14:12, 26)? There is, thus, a two-fold orientation of the Holy Spirit: the Spirit of truth, who witnesses to the truth of the Son, and the Spirit within humanity, who bears witness to the individual that she too is a child of God in the Son and so is united to the body of believers in one new humanity. The one who is witnessed to from within by the Spirit then becomes a witness to the world as to what she has seen and now knows to be true. Reflections on the relation of Christ and the Spirit inevitably lead us to anthropology in some form or other.
Up until this point, I have spent much of my time researching Spirit Christology—Christologies in which the Spirit is constitutive of the person and work of Jesus of Nazareth. I am persuaded that the gospel narratives compel us to give an account of how Christ, who promises the sending and baptism of the Spirit once he has been glorified (John 7:39), is also the one who is conceived by the Spirit, grows in the Spirit, is baptized in the Spirit, and is thus himself the bearer of the Holy Spirit. It is this Spirit who anoints him, sends him, comforts him, leads him, and empowers him throughout his earthly ministry. And even beyond that, the resurrected Christ teaches the disciples “through”’ the Holy Spirit before he is taken up (Acts 2:1). Yves Congar is correct, therefore, to remind us that there should be no Christology without pneumatology. However, he famously completed this maxim with the plea that there should also be no pneumatology without Christology. Thus I welcome the opportunity to attempt to think through the Spirit-Christ relation from the other direction, as it were.
As I have noted, there are multiple ways we can approach the subject of the Holy Spirit. In this paper I first examine how we might understand some of the New Testament claims regarding the relation of Christ and the Spirit before turning to the task of exploring how this relation then shapes our understanding of the work of Christ and the work of the Spirit in the world. As an exercise in how Christology might shape pneumatology, I examine how particular modern perspectives on Christology affect our understanding of the work of the Holy Spirit and argue that only a Christic pneumatology characterized by the unity and distinction of Christ and the Spirit will prevent us from a one-sided or reductionist account of God at work in the human condition.
On the question of how we speak of the Spirit, I wish to say in the beginning, as a disclaimer, that I am uncomfortable both with gendered and neuter pronouns for the Spirit. Neither he, she, or it is adequate, and none of them expresses exactly what I would like to say of the Spirit. But as Augustine pointed out many years ago, the language of persons is there so that we are able to say something rather than nothing, and so for the sake of communicating the personal nature of the Spirit I will sometimes use she and sometimes he with the caveat that neither is correct as such.
THE SPIRIT OF CHRIST
The New Testament clearly bears witness to the Spirit as the one who belongs to Christ. We read of the Spirit of Jesus (Acts 16:7), the Spirit of Christ (Rom 8:9; Phil 1:19; 1 Pet 1:11), the Spirit of the Lord (where clearly referring to Jesus; Luke 4:18; 2 Cor 3:17), and the Spirit of the Son (Gal 4:6). By focusing specifically on the relation of Christ and the Spirit in this paper, it is not my intention to ignore the place or role of the Father. Jesus speaks to the disciples of the Spirit of “your Father” (Matt 10:20). The discourses in John’s gospel communicate the unity of the Father and the Son who both are also one with the Spirit (John 15:26; 16:12–15). And Paul’s letters tell the story of a triune God in Christian experience and prayer (Rom 8; 1 Cor 12:4–6; 2 Cor 1:21–2; 13:14; Gal 4:6; Eph 2:20–2; 5:18–20). There is, in Scripture, the basis for the inseparable operations of the Father, Son, and Spirit, and to some extent all reflection on Christ and the Spirit has the Father in view, although time and space will limit this discussion to the second and third person. Similarly, there is much to add in relation to the Spirit in the Hebrew Bible, but again this too is for another time. For the sake of brevity, therefore, I just take one aspect of the triune life presented to us in the New Testament, namely, the coinherent missions of the Son and the Spirit to the world, how the persons who are sent relate one to another in the creaturely realm, and what that tells us of the nature and work of God.
That the Spirit referred to in Acts and the Epistles is the Spirit of Jesus Christ is not really a contested claim and has even led some to see the two as coterminous in some way. James Dunn famously argues for the closest possible identification of the post-Pentecost Spirit with the risen Christ. He writes, “For Paul christology becomes a controlling factor in pneumatology. Paul takes it for granted that the Spirit of God is known now only by reference to Christ—‘The Spirit of Sonship’ voicing Jesus’s prayer, ‘Abba Father’ (Rom. 8:15), the Spirit known by the confession ‘Jesus is Lord’ (1 Cor 12:3), the Spirit who transforms us into the image of Christ (2 Cor 3:18).” He concludes, the “Spirit can now be defined as ‘the Spirit of Christ’ (Rom 8:9; Gal 4:6; Phil 1:19).” And out of this close identification of the Spirit and Christ goes on to claim that this Spirit “must be measured against the pattern of Christ crucified (2 Cor 4:7–5:5; 13:4; Phil 3:10–11).” He extends this identification of Christ and the Spirit to Christian experience where he sees a “strong degree of synonymity . . . (particularly Rom. 8:9–11 and 1 Cor. 12:4–6); it is in Christian experience of the divine that Christ and the Spirit are one; Christ experienced not independently of the Spirit but through and as the Spirit.”3
Dunn’s work raises the question of how closely exactly we identify the Spirit with Christ. That Paul identifies the Spirit with Christ, however, is largely uncontested and leads to various conclusions. Victor Pfitzner draws out two positive aspects of identifying Christ and the Spirit in relation to soteriology and Christian experience with reference to Pauline Christology. First, he writes that a Christic understanding of the Spirit prevents pneumatology “degenerating into vague spiritism that is divorced from the Gospel and the triune God who creates, redeems and sanctifies.” Second, in relation to experience, he makes the point that “Paul’s emphasis on the communal reception of the Spirit will provide a hedge against the absolutization of individual experience, and against any temptation to divorce individual charism from communal good.”4
NAVIGATING UNITY AND DISTINCTION
Exegetically then, we are propelled in the direction of the identification of the Spirit with Christ in a way that will speak of the unity of the Son and the Spirit, perhaps particularly in relation to Christian life and experience. However, in addition to this, it is also in the economy (i.e. how God is revealed to us and how we come to know him) that we see a distinction of Son and Spirit in the second and third persons. The Spirit is not united to flesh, is not also fully human, is not the image of God, is not the firstborn over all creation. The Spirit is not crucified, is not resurrected, is not at the right hand of the Father, and will not come again in glory. This is the work of the Son. The Spirit is Lord but is not the Messiah, the Anointed One, the Savior—though the Spirit’s work in humanity is a saving work. It is not the Spirit who is our pattern for Christian living, nor the prototype of humanity. The Spirit is not the Son. Similarly, there are aspects of the Spirit’s work that are peculiar to the Spirit. The Son is not like the wind that blows where it wills, does not come as a dove and tongues of fire, is not poured out on all flesh. Of course, the inseparable operations of the Trinity allow us to claim that all the works of Christ and the Spirit are perichoretically the work of the one God in the world. But what we know of the economic distinctions of the Son and the Spirit matter. They tell us something profound of the nature of God, how he communicates with humanity, and how we come to know him, and of the destiny of humanity as ones who will participate in the divine nature as adopted children of God through the Son in the power of the Spirit.
Early reflections on the Trinity emphasize both the one essence of God as three persons and resist an overemphasis on the synonymity of the Spirit with the risen Christ that we find especially in Dunn’s work. They consistently make the point that in the Spirit we are confronted with one who is “another” with the Father and the Son. Just as the Word is God and is with God, the Spirit is one with the Son and another with the Son. Irenaeus articulates this with a picture of the Spirit as one of the two hands of the Father, thus evoking a sense of the equal and coordinated but distinguishable work of the Spirit and the Son.5 Basil writes in defense of the divinity of the Spirit, a task which would clearly not be necessary unless the Spirit had been perceived to be “another” (in this case, by those who saw the Spirit as another unlike the Father and the Son).6 The amendments to the creed in 381 add the third article; the Spirit is also the Lord, the giver of life, worshiped and glorified together with the Father and the Son. And Hilary and Augustine write extended reflections on the three-in-one God. In all these early theological deliberations we see that christologically and Trinitarianly there is always a delicate balance between unity and distinction in descriptions of the Godhead, and I imagine there will always be a temptation to emphasize one more than the other.
Comparatively recently there have been a number of voices calling for a recognition of the person and work of the Spirit as distinguishable from the Son. In this, the Western tradition is often cited as a culprit in diminishing the personhood of the Spirit and collapsing distinction into unity. It is well known that Augustine is sometimes fiercely criticized, in my view unfairly, as not only diminishing the hypostatic individuation of the Spirit himself but also then handing this down as a Western legacy.7 Vladimir Lossky, among others, criticizes the Western church for what he sees as a lopsided and detrimental ecclesial Christomonism attributable, in his view, to both Augustine and the filioque.8 I am aware, of course, in discussing the relation of Christ and the Spirit, of the shadow of the filioque disagreement; however, I would prefer to bracket the debate for now.9 The historical marginalization of the person and work of the Spirit no doubt has multiple causes. However, whether primarily attributable to dogmatic commitments or other factors, it is worth mentioning the hazards associated with a strong account of the identification of the Spirit with Christ and why there is some nervousness on the part of those who wish to maintain a distinction.
If one of the problems is the swallowing up of the personhood of the Spirit, another might be the instrumentalizing of the Spirit’s work in relation to Christ, a criticism which is again levelled at the Western tradition. Hendrikus Berkhof criticizes certain Reformed accounts as instrumentalizing the Spirit, where the Spirit’s task is limited merely to the application of “the salvation obtained by Christ to [hu]mankind.”10 With reference to Calvin’s Institutes (3.1), Berkhof writes, “The Spirit is customarily treated in noetical, applicative, subjective terms. He is that power that directs our attention to Christ and opens our eyes to his work. The main result of his work is the awakening of faith in Christ.”11 In one sense, there is nothing wrong with identifying this as a primary work of the Spirit. This appears to be where the New Testament data leads us. I agree with Berkhof, however, that one of the ramifications of these initial claims is a subsequent assumption that the work of the Spirit is thus “merely instrumental.” Berkhof summarizes this Reformed characterization of the Spirit in the following: “[The Spirit] himself wants to step back and to remain hidden in order to give way to the encounter between Christ and man. So the Spirit is a second reality beside Christ, but entirely subordinate to him, serving in the application of his atoning work, in the realization of justification by faith.”12
So in working out how the Spirit is the Spirit of Christ, there are some things I would want to avoid: (1) the modalism associated with the synonymity of the Spirit with the risen Christ, (2) the instrumentalization of the Spirit as simply a function of God’s salvific act in Christ, (3) any subordinationist accounts that ignore the Spirit’s coequality and codivinity with the Son and the Father, including those that emphasize the “hiddenness” of the Spirit in favor of the prominence of Christ.13 I do not see any evidence in the New Testament for the claim that the Spirit is hidden and self-effacing, always only pointing away from himself as is sometimes claimed. Jesus teaches his disciples that they are to wait for another who will clothe them with power from on high. The coming of the Spirit is not hidden but occurs in plain view, causing Peter to have to explain to the ones who see the ensuing chaos that those who have received the Spirit are not drunk! Just as the Spirit descended on Jesus as a dove, he now descends again on the gathered disciples, only this time with tongues of fire signifying cleansing, refining, power, and the presence of God in an unprecedented way. The Spirit fills the disciples, empowering them from that moment forward to obey the Great Commission with courage and boldness. The Spirit speaks and inspires speech, in tongues, praise, prophecy, and preaching. There are healings and miracles as well as martyrdom, persecution, imprisonment, and conflict. Neither the Spirit nor the disciples are very hidden or self-effacing. The Spirit of Christ who is sent after the Son has ascended appears to be far more troublesome than that.
There is a hiddenness in the Godhead in a different sense that not only applies to the Spirit but also is seen most clearly in the incarnation, where the presence of God is so veiled that only those given eyes to see can see what is in front of them. The eyes of faith are a gift from God, and all those who believe have to believe without “seeing” as it were. God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is both veiled and made manifest in this world, but this is not a property peculiar to one person of the Trinity (John 20:29).
So as Berkhof points out, the Spirit is more than “an instrumental entity, the subjective reverse of Christ’s work.” His “coming to us is a great new event in the series of God’s saving acts.” In favor of this reading, John Barclay makes the point that although Paul presents an inseparable connection between Christ and the Spirit, he (Paul) also coins the phrase pneumatikos and pneumatikoi as a distinctively Pauline expression to describe the people of God. This term occurs fifteen times in 1 Corinthians and nine times elsewhere, more than the term Christians. Christ’s people are not just Christians, they are “spiritual” or the “Spirit-people.” Thus Barclay brings out the uniquely Christian meaning of this term, which is not “in origin an anthropological but an eschatological term: it describes people not through analysis of their human constitution but in relation to their new status as graced by the Spirit of God.” It is a status conferred on them by the reception of the Spirit. “Thus the term is self-consciously new . . . in the sense that Paul employs it to designate a reality not hitherto attested because it describes a state of affairs believed to be wholly without precedent.”14
THE WORLD OF THE SPIRIT
What we see in the New Testament witness are two narratives of the Spirit. In one, the work of the Spirit is a continuation of the work of Christ, and Christ is always present. The Spirit points to Christ, leads to Christ, and witnesses to him. In the other, there is more to say about the Spirit than that the Spirit is merely Jesus Christ in another mode of existence. There is a unity and a distinction that somehow we need to articulate. For this, I will borrow from Berkhof. Berkhof first brings out the inextricable connection between Jesus and the Spirit in the economy with the claim that the “work of Jesus is the content of the Spirit’s work.”15 He goes on, however, with a further claim that the Spirit “creates a world of his own.” I understand that this latter phrase might be the cause of a worry that the Spirit is deemed to be some kind of “free agent,” for want of a better expression. However, if we hold the two claims together, then the world that the Spirit creates cannot be separated from the work of Christ. It must be an instantiation of the kingdom inaugurated by the King, Jesus. Furthermore, what I like about this phrase is that it does capture something of Jesus’s claim in John 3 that the Spirit “blows where he wills” and the statement in Acts 13:2 where Luke tells us that the disciples heard the Spirit say, “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them.” The Spirit creates the world that shapes the church, the body of Christ, and this is work properly appropriated to him.
Berkhof describes this world in the following: “a world of conversion, experience, sanctification; of tongues, prophecy, and miracles; of mission; of upbuilding and guiding the church, etc. He appoints ministers; he organizes; he illumines, inspires, sustains; he intercedes for the saints and helps them in their weaknesses; he searches everything, even the depths of God; he guides into all truth; he grants a variety of gifts; he convinces the world; he declares the things that are to come.”16 This is all the work of the Spirit—more than an instrument and more than just a function of the risen Christ. This is the Spirit who is not really hidden at all but who nevertheless extends the mission of the Son in the world, which has now become the Spirit’s mission. This work is extended so that there will be greater works done throughout history than those done through the Messiah in first-century Palestine, but works, nevertheless, done in the name of Jesus and with the stamp of his character upon them (John 14:12). On the experience of the Spirit among the early Christians, Barclay writes, “Once the new and overwhelming experience of God in early Christianity was interpreted as the presence of ‘the Spirit,’ it was natural that this term [ pneumatikos], and its adjectival derivative, would play a prominent role in Christian discourse. Since Paul places particular emphasis on ‘the Spirit’ as the source of eschatological life, the medium of knowledge, and the criterion of morality, it is not surprising that he, and those influenced by his thought, should find themselves speaking of things which characterize their new life as πνευματικά.”17 In terms of the economy then we could take these two complementary phrases from Berkhof: the work of Jesus (and one could add the Father) is the content of the Spirit’s work as the Spirit also creates a world of his own emerging from this work that is peculiar to the Spirit. In the second half of the paper, I wish to explore how these two ideas together might form the basis of a rich and complex pneumatology in relation to the human condition.
A CHRISTOMORPHIC PNEUMATOLOGY
If the work of Jesus is the content of the Spirit’s work, then what does that tell us of where and how we might see the Spirit at work in the world? How might the person and presence of the Son shape the post-Pentecost person and presence of the Spirit? It becomes immediately obvious that linking the work of the Spirit so closely to Christ does not necessarily limit the conversation in very meaningful ways as much as it merely raises the questions of “Whose Christ?” and “Which Christ?” for which, of course, there are multiple answers. We could take this pneumatological principle in many directions; the fact that there are endless Christologies that could then inform a given pneumatology means that narrowing the field is a challenging task.
I do, however, want to explore a particular example of how Christology and pneumatology might be mutually constitutive and thus have chosen to focus on kenosis in relation to Christ, examining how well this can be mapped on to pneumatology. In addition, I will explore how a focus on the Spirit might inform our view of kenosis. I have chosen this theme for a number of reasons. First, because kenosis appears to be a persistent theme in modern Christologies, and while I appreciate some of the insights of those committed to a kenotic Christology, I see some problems of definition and method that I think bear further discussion.18 Secondly, for the most part, kenotic Christologies appear to be worked out with little reference to the Spirit. However, where a kenotic theme has been applied to pneumatology, because of initial problems with the christological accounts, I am not convinced that this works well, so I wish to consider this move.
Some kenotic Christologies are much more nuanced than others, and it is impossible to do justice to them all, so I will attempt to sketch out some of the predominant themes of kenotic Christology under which most of the accounts coalesce with a view to exploring how this gives shape to Congar’s maxim. I hope that introducing a kenotic perspective on pneumatology and a pneumatic perspective on kenosis will give us a more balanced view that will succeed in retaining some of the gains of a kenotic account while addressing certain weaknesses and presenting a faithful account of the New Testament data.
KENOSIS AND THE SPIRIT
In my view, there are some positive developments coming out of the modern emphasis on kenosis. The term is now used in a much broader sense than just “self-emptying” and appears to encompass a wide range of themes from the renunciation of power, to humility, self-sacrifice, self-giving, nonviolence, preferring others, submission, and the like. It seems to me that there is a great need for the church to embrace the kind of humble, serving posture that is enshrined in kenosis. In relation to pneumatology, however, there are ways in which kenosis is interpreted and applied that remain problematic, and some elements of what comes under broader themes of “self-emptying” are not easily applicable to the Spirit and the world that he creates. In other words, I do not wish to deny the impact of the narrative of the self-giving of God in Christ and how that speaks to our conceptions of power, but knowing that this also has to be explained in the light of the post-Pentecost Spirit, and the world around her, confronts us with a need to accommodate a much more complex picture in which we encounter a world of tension and contrasts that are not easily explained solely by the language of kenosis.
The term has its roots in the hymn of Philippians 2 where we read that the Son “emptied himself ” (RSV/NRSV), “made himself nothing” (NIV), or “gave up his divine privileges” (NLT). What Paul’s term ekenosen precisely means is unclear. We read further that Christ did not consider equality with God something to be “grasped,” “seized,” or “taken advantage of.” But again this is a disputed term. As Bruce Fisk writes, the word harpagmos has “singlehandedly fuelled a cottage industry in New Testament Studies.”19 Fisk advocates translating the verse as “Did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited.”20 Kenotic Christologies do not simply rely on this one Philippians reference. Scholars also cite 2 Corinthians 8:9 and the book of Hebrews in favor of the view of an impoverishment and self-emptying of the Son, and possibly also self-emptying in or of God himself.
That the debate continues among Bible scholars and theologians over what Paul meant by the self-emptying of the Son, let alone what this means for Christian living, tells us that there is no simple solution. I sometimes feel the discussion around the meaning of the self-emptying of Christ has distracted us from the strong themes in Philippians 2 in relation to Paul’s exhortation to renounce vainglory and selfish ambition that precedes the hymn and for which it stands as a powerful illustration. The theme here is obedience, to Christ and even to Paul. In other words, it seems Paul intends Christ’s example to be employed within the body so that we understand what it means to forego self-aggrandizement to prefer and serve others.21 However, rather than simply being applied in an exemplarist fashion, these verses have given rise to all sorts of claims as to what the ontological “self-emptying” of the Son entails in relation to the nature of God. C. Stephen Evans writes, “I would argue that if the incarnation is revelatory of God and involves a kenosis, then this must reflect something deeply true of the nature of God.”22 His intuition is that the kenotic movement of the Son is not temporary but reflects something of God’s essence. Michael Gorman writes, “God is, in other words, a God of self-sacrificing and self-giving love whose power and wisdom are found in the weakness and folly of the cross.”23
Strong accounts of kenosis posit that the Son divests himself of divine attributes in one form or another to embrace the human condition in its entirety. Others argue that Christ forgoes divine prerogatives, either as a temporary divestment or as some kind of eternal and continuous self-emptying. There are those who eschew the stronger accounts but still wish to emphasize the self-sacrificial and self-giving nature of Christ and thus focus on the continuous self-emptying as a self-giving that flows from the Godhead into the world. Those who have become alert to the problems of what it might mean for the Son to divest himself of any aspect of divinity sometimes explain that the self-giving does not “empty” the Godhead as such but instead carries with it the idea of emptying out into, just as a spring acts as a source pouring out to become a river but is never emptied as it does so.
There is no doubt that kenosis has caught the modern imagination. Evans talks of the “religious power of God’s self-giving love and full humanity” that he sees behind kenotic theology.24 There must be multiple reasons for this development. It seems, in the 1970s, there was fertile soil for Moltmann’s groundbreaking The Crucified God, and this has been picked up as an attractive account of a God who is able to suffer with suffering humanity, who knows the pain of abandonment and forsakenness, and whose nature is defined by self-emptying and sacrifice.25 In many circles, at a grassroots level, this narrative has been adopted unquestioningly and emerges in sermons, songs, pastoral care, and prayer. It certainly does have a religious power.
Moltmann, of course, cut across the carefully drawn lines of classical Christology where it was understood that the Son suffered in the flesh and where patripassianism was ruled out as a feature of the Godhead. In my view, the early bishops were right to draw the lines and to hold to them; however, the fact that a Moltmannian view is seen to be such an appealing option by so many who have probably never even read Moltmann’s work should cause us to reflect on why this is the case and how we might be able to renarrate the classical position in a way that will be equally compelling. Rightly or wrongly, it must have something to do with the fact that God was deemed to be too distant, impassible as one who is unmoved by suffering, and therefore uncaring in the face of tragedy, loss, fear, and pain.
If people are expressing such a need for a human God, surely something must have gone wrong in our telling of the story of the God-man who assumed and embraced humanity for our sakes. In addition to this, as I noted, kenosis has, I think, become a catch-all term that includes various descriptors: self-emptying, self-sacrifice, self-giving, the willingness to suffer for the good of others, voluntary self-humiliation, moving aside to allow others to flourish, and the renunciation of power and privilege. It is also often understood to be synonymous with cruciformity, or at least often used synonymously, and these converge to form the basis of an ethical account of the Christian life.26 All of this together paints a picture of God through the incarnation that in many ways is compelling and truthful. This picture of God in Christ is a judgement that stands over a church that allies itself with worldly power, abuses the weak and the poor, distances itself from the marginalized, and excludes the outsider.27 These narratives that question worldly power so deeply are not ones we want to lose, especially now. However, certain problems persist with kenoticism.
PROBLEMS WITH KENOSIS
There are the manifest difficulties with strong accounts of kenosis in relation to soteriology and revelation (in that if the Son is not fully divine, then he can neither save humanity nor be the “image of the invisible God”), but these arguments are well rehearsed, so I will refer to more nuanced kenotic accounts. First, I turn to the question of method and the reading of the nature of the Godhead through kenosis. Despite my commitment to the centrality of the Christ in theological reflection, I remain cautious about the emphasis on self-emptying or even cruciformity as the sole lens through which to understand the Godhead.28 In my view, this rests on a misstep regarding the nature of the revelation of God and our reception of it. Ian McFarland writes, “Jesus is the unique and unsubstitutable touchstone against which all talk about the nature and character of God (that is, all claims to know God) must be tested.”29 This is a key claim. He goes on to make the point, however, that this is very different from saying that “he is the only source of such knowledge.”30 We have the revelation of God through the Son, through the Scriptures in their entirety, and through the ongoing work of the Spirit including the work of the Spirit through the church. In addition to this, we will continue to be confronted with the unknowability of God on the one hand, and our tendency to create him in our own image on the other, both of which pertain to our human frailty.31 We will ever only know in part and there will always be more to say that we do not know how to articulate. Thus, while knowing God through the crucified Christ is the essence of our faith, claiming that we can know all there is to know of God through the crucified Christ seems to me to be problematic in some ways. Kenosis narrates the story of the condescension of the Son and his identification with the lowest of the low in his society. Paul reminds the Philippian church that his crucifixion carried with it the ignominy of a slave’s death.32 It is a powerful and haunting picture. However, rather than imagine that God limits or empties himself of power in order to suffer, I would contend that an even more compelling picture can be seen in God in the Son, forever the holy, powerful, and transcendent one, found on the cross for our sakes. Aquinas focuses on this in particular in relation to the Son as Mediator: “Weakness is assumed by strength, lowliness by majesty, mortality by eternity, in order that one and the same Mediator of God and men might die in one and rise in the other—for this was our fitting remedy.”33 He goes on, “By taking flesh, God did not lessen His majesty; and in consequence did not lessen the reason for reverencing Him, which is increased by the increase of knowledge of Him. But, on the contrary, inasmuch as He wished to draw nigh to us by taking flesh, He greatly drew us to know Him.”34
If kenosis is read back into the Father or God as a controlling metaphor to describe the essence of God, it is also mapped onto the Spirit with claims that the Spirit too undergoes some kind of “self-emptying.” D. Lyle Dabney extends the Moltmannian abandonment motif to the Spirit also, so the Spirit as the Spirit of Sonship is abandoned with the Son.35 Lossky writes that the person of the Spirit is “hidden from us by the very profusion of the Divinity which He manifests. It is this ‘personal kenosis’ of the Holy Spirit on the plane of manifestation and economy which makes it hard to grasp His hypostatic existence.”36 Building again on Moltmann, Jane Linahan explores the Holy Spirit as the bearer of suffering, speaking of the vulnerable, grieving Spirit who inhabits creation’s “tortured, fragile, endangered, unfinished history.”37 This, it seems to me, is where we end up if we take Dunn’s principle that we should now measure the Spirit against the cross and then view the cross through a Moltmannian lens, where no other perspective is admitted as revelatory of the nature of God. This is not necessarily where I see the New Testament account of the Spirit leads us. Gorman has a much more careful account of what he calls “the Spirit of cruciformity,” which is more in line with what I am arguing in this paper. However, one of his key concerns is also to prioritize cruciformity as the dominant hermeneutical lens, something I am questioning here.38
There is a trenchant feminist critique of kenosis as a controlling lens for human relations that posits that “women are socialized to be inordinately self-sacrificing” and that the last thing women need is to be told to be self-emptying and in submission.39 The picture of the kenotic Christ can be and is used as a weapon against any powerless group to keep them in subjection and subordination and should be treated with caution. I appreciate that there is some resistance to the idea that this characterization of women applies tout court. Ruth Groenhout reminds us that “women throughout history have been capable of strength and purposiveness, and if we define women’s nature in terms of oppression we lose sight of the accomplishments women have achieved in the past as well as the accomplishments they may be capable of achieving in the future.”40 It does not help any group to be cast only as the powerless and vulnerable; however, proponents of kenosis as the controlling christological paradigm should be aware of how the narrative of submission and even subjection can play out in real lives and alert to the dangers of how this might be employed in the service of control, manipulation, and abuse. My three worries with kenosis then are (1) how it is employed in an ontological sense to describe the essence of the Godhead when it properly applies to the work of the Son, (2) how it is mapped on to the Spirit, and (3) how it may be misused as a means of control. That said, it forces us to focus on aspects of God’s revelation that touch something deep in the heart of the human condition while challenging our conceptions of power, and for this I wish to hold on to some of these insights.
KENOSIS/PLEROSIS
I chose kenotic Christology because I think the prevalence of kenotic rhetoric reminds us of a contemporary plea that we should forget neither the true humanity of Christ nor the challenge to conceptions of worldly power that confront us in the incarnation and the cross. Kenotic Christologies are, I think, a response to docetic trends in Christology where it is felt that there is no proper account of the fully human Jesus who truly lived a life like ours in every respect (Heb 2:17). Thomas Thompson writes about “creating a greater space for Christ’s true, full, even radical humanity offered by a kenotic construal.”41 It is thought, then, that kenotic Christologies fill this gap—that they account for the human conditions of Christ’s life, his visible lack of omnipotence, omniscience, his growth in wisdom and knowledge, his dependence on the Father, his suffering and death. It is one answer to the question of how we can say he lived a life just like ours. It is my opinion that John Owen’s Spirit Christology gives the best account in answer to this question, but I have discussed this elsewhere, so I will not refer to this in detail. However, I would say that a robust pneumatology accentuates rather than attenuates the true humanity of Christ, highlighting the mode of Christ’s existence as fully human in dependence upon the Spirit in relation to the Father. Thus a robust pneumatology would aid rather than undermine the ultimate aims of the kenotic project in this regard.
Be that as it may, I suggest that what is so often missing with kenosis is the dynamic of the filling, or plerosis, of the Spirit and all that this entails, and if kenosis is held together with an account of plerosis, that this will tell a better story of the work of God in the world and the complexity of the Christian life. (By plerosis here I am not referring to the self-fulfillment or exaltation of Christ as a corresponding movement to kenosis but to the filling of humanity by the Spirit at Pentecost and beyond.) From this perspective, there are two concurrent narratives in the New Testament: one of emptying and one of filling—that is, of weakness and power, absence and presence, suffering and healing, and death and life. If we see the missions of the Son and the Spirit as coinherent, then we are, I think, compelled to hold these two narratives together, which means accommodating various opposing concepts in a simultaneous tensive relation without collapsing one into the other or seeing the first as a means to the second only in this life (i.e. first the cross then fulfillment, healing, victory, etc.). Seeing the missions of the Son and the Spirit as intertwined and as equally informative of the nature of God invites us to resist the temptation to resolve the tension or to argue that there is a simple trajectory from one to the other. Emptying and filling, weakness and power, suffering and healing, absence and presence, and death and life coexist as signs of both the life of Christ and the presence of the Spirit in the church. There is not a simple trajectory from weakness to strength in a given life or community. In my view, holding this all together better describes the tensive existence of those who have put their faith in Christ living in the power of the Spirit. It opens up a rich and complex world of definitions when it comes to how we understand God’s work in creation, and it will be a better way of construing the Christ-centred and Spirit-filled world.
THE EMPTYING AND FILLING OF THE SAINTS
The incarnation tells us a powerful story of a God who humbles himself in the Son, experiences life exactly as we experience it, sin excepted, which makes the story even more poignant and horrific. He, the innocent Son of God, suffers an unbearable death in shame and agony for our sakes. He embraces the whole of the human condition to restore humanity to the Father and to share the riches of his inheritance with us. Kenosis is a feature of the incarnation, cruciformity a feature of the cross, but the two are linked. It is in this context that Paul makes reference to the “emptying” of the Son as the means of salvation for humanity and a sign of the deep love of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, that the Son was sent and came to suffer of his own accord and die for our sakes. We know then that God is capable of inhabiting our suffering, the suffering that is part of the human condition, even our despair, our loneliness, our destitution, our horrors, and our tragedies.
He was despised and rejected by others;
a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity;
and as one from whom others hide their faces
he was despised, and we held him of no account. (Isa 53:3)
As the kenoticists say, one of the manifestations of God’s almighty power is his power to embrace weakness. We also know that those who follow Jesus will participate in his suffering (Col 1:24), and that this is an inevitable pattern for those incorporated into his body (John 15:18–20).
As someone from the charismatic tradition, I see this narrative as a welcome corrective to so much of the charismatic and Pentecostal lived theologies that all of us on the inside recognize. It seems to me that we constantly focus solely on the positive outcomes (i.e. filling, power, presence, healing, and life). We are prepared only to give our testimonies once we have a good end to the story.42 We are much less willing to tell stories of when we are powerless, vulnerable, sick, or dying. These can appear to be the antitheses of where we want to be and anathema to life and hope when the reality is, of course, that these states are intrinsic to all lives. Perhaps this is why many are finding they are attracted to kenosis because it tells a more real story of God in the suffering, empty Son. However, we are denied an either/or approach to the Christian life, and we have a more uneasy calling of having to accommodate both states at once, but this is where the persons of Christ and the Spirit lead us.
The Spirit indwells the Son throughout his life and death. This same Spirit will be in our emptying, our smallness, our sickness, our dying, and our deaths and even, at times, lead us to the very same. We are not always led out of loss, but sometimes we are led through it in the pattern of our Savior. But the story of the self-emptying of the Son does not necessarily and not always call for a corresponding self-emptying of humanity except to call us to die to our sinful self, which will only be a setting free and a delimitation in a very real sense. Self-abasement, humiliation, or renunciation is a powerful challenge to the powerful, but it is not always needed for those who are already there. Leo speaks of the Son bending down out of pity, a condescension that does not diminish the divine, but increases the human.43 Kathryn Tanner develops this theme in what is, in my view, a compelling account of the noncompetitive relation between God and humanity that is often undermined by kenotic accounts. As she explains, the “creature does not decrease so that God may increase.”44 We might say that the Son and the Spirit both, while committed to working in and through the human condition, will necessarily be bound to some form of emptying or limitation, but at the same time, they will be delimiting the confines of sinful existence and setting free that which is subject to loss, decay, and death. At times we will see this delimitation erupt in miracles, signs and wonders, and resurrection life. At other times the loss, decay, and death will be all we see because that is the unrelenting nature of existence on earth, that Jesus also indwelt. At these times, the cross and resurrection tell us that this is not all there is, but we can only hold on to this promise by faith and not by sight, and at these times it is right to grieve both what we have lost and what we do not yet have.
So on the one hand, we have the story of the assumption of humanity by the Son that entails a kenosis. On the other, we have the filling of humanity by the divine in the Son in the hypostatic union and importantly for us, by the Spirit at Pentecost, where the Spirit is poured out on all flesh. This filling is a filling with power—power to proclaim the truth of Jesus as the resurrected Savior, to perform signs and wonders, to prophesy, to heal, to deliver the imprisoned and the oppressed. This is not just an eschatological hope but a concrete manifestation of the renewal and regeneration of creation for the freedom from atrophy that is a work of the Spirit. We see a complex story of the power that flows from the incarnation, the crucifixion, the resurrection, the ascension, and the exaltation of Christ as shaping and acting as interpretive lenses for the Christian life.
CONCLUSION
I began this paper by suggesting the church should continue to reflect on what it means to be filled with the Spirit: to walk in the Spirit, to pray in the Spirit, and to follow the leading of the Spirit if this is, indeed, the Spirit of Christ. I have attempted to think through what shape our theology of the Spirit might take if we begin with Christology with particular reference to kenotic Christology and cruciformity. Despite having some reservations regarding kenosis, I would suggest that a christomorphic pneumatology means embracing some form of kenotic and cruciform perspective alongside the language of filling and empowerment that is associated with the Pentecostal Spirit. I want to resist seeing one as a means to the other in this life (apart from the baptismal progression of dying with Christ in order to be raised with him to new life). By which I mean viewing weakness as a means of power, suffering as a means of healing, and so on. Instead, I suggest that we simply have to acknowledge that both can be true in the same moment. We experience emptying and filling, weakness and power, absence and presence, suffering and healing, death and life all at one and the same time.
What is Christomorphic pneumatology? I suggest it means first, understanding the work of the Spirit as a work of God that cannot be described apart from the incarnation and the crucifixion, and which refuses to see the cross and the death of Christ as merely the gateway to new life. Paul says to the Corinthians, “I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified” (1 Cor 2:2). We are faced with the task of working out our pneumatology in the light of the incarnate Christ, the crucified Christ, the risen Christ, and the ascended Christ. This will mean accommodating both a kenotic and cruciform vision. So in part it will mean understanding the Spirit-filled life as including the inevitability of every aspect of human existence including suffering, disappointment, pain, and death. But it will also mean knowing that there are possibilities in this life for healing, renewal, deliverance, restoration, and justice that we see enacted in the life of Christ and his disciples and throughout the church through the ages as the content of the Spirit’s work. Maintaining the unity and distinction of Christ and the Spirit means we see God at work in both and cannot collapse one into the other.
This puts us into an uncomfortable position. Nothing allows us to progress beyond the cross in this life. Charismatics and Pentecostals cannot just scoot past or through the cross to the filling or baptism of the Spirit that is supposedly full of promise for life, joy, and peace from that point on. The incarnation and the cross remind us that the Spirit might well lead us to or through our own emptying, desolation, weakness, and death. But there is also a world of the Spirit that is full of life, and we charismatics and Pentecostals tell stories about this world and the possibilities within it: the sick might be healed, the blind might see, the lame might walk, the oppressed might be delivered of evil once and for all. A Christomorphic pneumatology challenges us to relinquish a singular lens. It at once confronts the people of the kenotic and the cruciform Christ and the Spirit-people to accommodate a narrative that questions our precious dogma. Finally, a Christomorphic pneumatology requires us to exercise discernment that comes from dwelling on the nature of God in Christ and the leading of the Spirit. There are no rules that tell us how to respond to the conditions of this life as it confronts us in all its forms. We are not given a blueprint in the face of hardship, suffering, or even evil that instructs us when we are to submit and when we are called to resist, when we might need to protest whatever that might cost us, and when we surrender. These are only discerned in the moment, flowing out of the spiritual gift of wisdom, embodied in Christ and given by the Spirit, and I would suggest, as much as I would like to be able to do so, that there is no way of resolving this tension.
NOTES
1. There are too many works to mention here, but it is worth noting that theologians working on the Spirit come from a huge variety of perspectives and denominational commitments. Work on the Spirit is being done in both theology and biblical studies, from Pentecostal, Orthodox, charismatic, and Roman Catholic perspectives, among others. At times this springs out of a commitment to a greater understanding of the Trinity, at others it is linked to an exploration of Spirit Christology, and with still others it comes out of an interest in how a theology of the Spirit might inform Christian life and understanding both inside and outside of the church.
2. Again, publications are now numerous. For a few examples of this, see Daniela C. Augustine, The Spirit and the Common Good: Shared Flourishing in the Image of God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2019); Sigurd Bergmann, Creation Set Free: The Spirit as Liberator of Nature (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995); Luke Bretherton, Christ and the Common Life: Political Theology and the Case for Democracy (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2019); Steven R. Guthrie, Creator Spirit: The Holy Spirit and the Art of Becoming Human (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2011); Kirsteen Kim, Mission in the Spirit: The Holy Spirit in Indian Christian Theologies (Delhi: ISPCK, 2003); Jürgen Moltmann, The Spirit of Life: A Universal Affirmation (London: SCM, 1992); Eugene R. Rogers Jr., After the Spirit: A Constructive Pneumatology from Resources outside the Modern West (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005); Michael Welker, ed., The Spirit in Creation and New Creation: Science and Theology in Western and Orthodox Realms (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012); Amos Yong, Hospitality of the Other: Pentecost, Christian Practices, and the Neighbour (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2008).
3. James D. G. Dunn, The Christ and the Spirit, vol. 1, Christology (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 17 (italics added).
4. Victor C. Pfitzner, “ ‘The Spirit of the Lord’: The Christological Focus of Pauline Pneumatology,” in Starting with the Spirit, ed. Stephen Pickard and Gordon Preece (Hindmarsh: Australian Theological Forum, 2001), 116.
5. Irenaeus, Against Heresies, 5.6.1.
6. Basil the Great, De Spiritu Sancto.
7. Colin Gunton is known for his criticism of Augustine and his legacy in what he sees as a diminished understanding of the Spirit as “person” in the West. See also Thomas Weinandy, The Father’s Spirit of Sonship: Reconceiving the Trinity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995) in which he criticizes both Western and Eastern traditions for obscuring the personhood of the Spirit. Lewis Ayres addresses this and rebuts this critique in Nicaea and its Legacy: An Approach to Fourth-Century Trinitarian Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004).
8. See Vladimir Lossky, The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary, 1976), 64. Also Lossky, “The Procession of the Holy Spirit in Orthodox Trinitarian Doctrine,” in In the Image and Likeness of God (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary, 1985), chapter 4. D. Lyle Dabney also identifies the filioque as a culprit of the subordination of pneumatology to Christology in Reformed theology attributing this as the cause of the failure of the Reformers to articulate the role of the Spirit in the life of Christ as well as in the life of the Christian post-Pentecost. See D. Lyle Dabney, “Naming the Spirit: Towards a Pneumatology of the Cross” in Starting with the Spirit, ed. Stephen Pickard and Gordon Preece (Hindmarsh: Australian Theological Forum, 2001), 28–58, 33.
9. Despite criticisms of the Western tradition, I am not fully persuaded that a doctrinal commitment to the filioque on its own led to the neglect of the Spirit in doctrinal and ecclesial life in the West. Augustine’s insistence on the coequality and coeternality of the Spirit is clear, affirming as he does, the full divinity of the Spirit. He also emphasizes the material manifestation of the Spirit (as the dove who alights on Jesus and the tongues of fire that alights on the disciples), which I see as laying the foundations for a unique mission. So I imagine there are many forces at play when the church fails to recognize one aspect of the truth that has been handed down from previous generations.
10. Hendrikus Berkhof, The Doctrine of the Holy Spirit (London: Epworth, 1965), 21.
11. Berkhof, The Doctrine of the Holy Spirit, 23.
12. Berkhof, The Doctrine of the Holy Spirit, 23.
13. Lossky writes, “Roman Catholic and Orthodox theologians agree in recognizing that a certain anonymity characterizes the Third Person of the Holy Trinity. While the names ‘Father’ and ‘Son’ denote very clear personal distinctions, are in no sense interchangeable, and cannot in any case refer to the common nature of the two hypostases, the name ‘Holy Spirit’ has not that advantage. Indeed, we say that God is Spirit, meaning by that the common nature as much as any one of the persons.” Lossky, Image and Likeness, 74. Lossky himself gives a nuanced account of the hiddenness of the Godhead in relation to Orthodox apophaticism and the ineffable nature of God. I find, however, that this theme of the “hiddenness” of the Spirit is often adopted in relation to the idea that the Spirit points away from himself to Christ reminiscent of the instrumentalization of the Spirit referred to above.
14. John M. G. Barclay, “Πνευματικός in the Social Dialect of Pauline Christianity,” in The Holy Spirit and Christian Origins: Essays in Honour of James D. G. Dunn, ed. Graham N. Stanton, Bruce W. Longenecker, and Stephen C. Barton (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 157–67, 161.
15. Berkhof, The Doctrine, 22.
16. Berkhof, The Doctrine, 23.
17. Barclay, “Πνευματικός in the Social Dialect of Pauline Christianity,” 165.
18. There are a number of prominent theologians who have taken up the cause of kenotic Christology/theology including C. Stephen Evans, Stephen Davis, Ronald Feenstra, and David Brown among others. For a collection of essays on the topic from different perspectives, see C. Stephen Evans, ed., Exploring Kenotic Christology: The Self-Emptying of God (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006).
19. Bruce N. Fisk, “The Odyssey of Christ: A Novel Context for Philippians 2:6–11,” in Exploring Kenotic Christology: The Self-Emptying of God, ed. C. Stephen Evans (Vancouver: Regent, 2006), 63.
20. Fisk writes, ‘I find myself drawn to the trajectory of interpretation charted by C. F. D. Moule, Roy W. Hoover and N. T. Wright, according to which Christ ‘did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited.’ Fisk, “The Odyssey,” 64.
21. Michael Gorman, with reference to Phil 2 writes of the “self-renouncing, others-regarding pattern of slavery, with Christ as the paradigm and the Philippians as the ‘reincarnation.’ ” Cruciformity: Paul’s Narrative Spirituality of the Cross (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001) 258.
22. C. Stephen Evans, “The Self-Emptying of Love: Some Thoughts on Kenotic Christology” in The Incarnation, ed. Stephen T. Davis, Daniel Kendall, SJ, Gerald O’Collins, SJ (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 247.
23. Gorman, Cruciformity, 16.
24. Evans, Exploring, 6.
25. Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God (London: SCM, 1974).
26. Michael Gorman believed that he had coined the term cruciformity, until he discovered that Eric W. Gritsch had used this term twenty years before. Nevertheless, Gorman has popularized this term and brought it into common parlance. He defines it as “conformity to the crucified Christ,” and employs it primarily in the ethical sphere. Gorman, Cruciformity, 4.
27. Gorman writes, “Centering on the cross was also an inherently anti-imperial posture that unashamedly challenged the priorities and values of the political, social, and religious status quo.” Gorman, Cruciformity, 5.
28. Gorman is careful not to speak of the crucified God but writes, “The cross is the interpretive, or hermeneutical, lens through which God is seen; it is the means of grace by which God is known.” Gorman, Cruciformity, 17. Another example of this approach can be found in Brad Jersak, A More Christlike God: A More Beautiful Gospel (Pasadena, CA: CWR, 2015). One of the themes that recurs throughout kenotic accounts of the Godhead is noncoercion. On the topic of coercion and noncoercion, Colin Gunton writes, “There is much talk of the non-coercive love and power, and indeed, the cross is a sign that in one respect God indeed does not coerce. But that is not the whole story, for the resurrection of Jesus from the dead is an act of power of another kind and, although in no way to be divorced from the divine action on the cross, is coercive of reality in a strong sense. As John Donne’s great sonnet celebrates, death the coercer is coerced.” Gunton, The Christian Faith: An Introduction to Christian Doctrine (Oxford: Blackwell, 2002), 16, quoting John Donne, “Death Be Not Proud.”
29. Ian A. McFarland. The Divine Image: Envisioning the Invisible God (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 2005), 51.
30. McFarland. The Divine Image, 52.
31. These themes are discussed in some detail in McFarland’s The Divine Image.
32. This is a real, humiliating, and brutal death. Bruce Fisk makes the point that Paul is emphatic that Jesus suffers a real death, not a near-death from which he is snatched away. Fisk, “The Odyssey,” 69.
33. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae 3.2, ans.
34. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae 3.2, ad 3.
35. D. Lyle Dabney speaks of the negation of both the Son and Sonship itself on the cross which also means the abnegation of the Spirit on the grounds that the Spirit is the Spirit of Sonship. Dabney, “Naming the Spirit: Towards a Pneumatology of the Cross,” in Pickard and Preece, Starting with the Spirit, 28–58, 56.
36. Lossky, Image and Likeness, 92.
37. Jane E. Linahan, “The Grieving Spirit: The Holy Spirit as Bearer of the Suffering of the World in Moltmann’s Pneumatology” in The Spirit in the Church and the World, ed. Bradford E. Hinze (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2004), 28–48, 43. This is also a theme in Daniela Augustine’s work mentioned above. She speaks of the askesis and kenosis of the Trinity instantiated in the life of the church through the Spirit. Daniela Augustine, The Spirit and the Common Good, 48.
38. See Gorman, Cruciformity, chapter 3. Gorman presses the point that Paul sees his ministry as “the renunciation of power, rights, and self-interest for the good of others (1 Cor 9; 10:33). . . . He makes this self-denying, others-regarding edification the hallmark of love (1 Cor 8:1; 13:5)” (59–60). Gorman subordinates the “charismatic” narrative to this lens which is, no doubt, what Paul is wanting to communicate to the Corinthian church. I feel, however, that Gorman is nervous of the strong exhortation from Paul that also comes out in this letter to “eagerly desire the spiritual gifts,” especially that they might prophesy, but including tongues, healing, etc.
39. Ruth Groenhout, “Kenosis and Feminist Theory,” in Evans, Exploring Kenotic Christology, 291. See also Valerie (Goldstein) Saiving, “The Human Situation: A Feminine View,” Journal of Religion 40 (April 1960): 100–112.
40. Groenhout, “Kenosis and Feminist Theory,” 295.
41. Thomas R. Thompson, “Nineteenth Century Kenotic Christology: The Waxing, Waning, and Weighing of a Quest for a Coherent Orthodoxy,” in Evans, Exploring Kenotic Christology, 74–111, 106.
42. One more extreme example of this would be the “Word of Faith” movement which claims that poverty and sickness have been defeated through the cross of Christ and simply need to be “claimed” by the believer. However, it is not just extreme versions of charismatic and Pentecostal theologies that enshrine triumphalism in some form.
43. “Nor, because He partook of man’s weaknesses, did He therefore share our faults. He took the form of a slave without stain of sin, increasing the human and not diminishing the divine: because that emptying of Himself whereby the Invisible made Himself visible and, Creator and LORD of all things though He be, wished to be a mortal, was the bending down of pity, not the failing of power. Accordingly He who while remaining in the form of GOD made man, was also made man in the form of a slave. For both natures retain their own proper character without loss: and as the form of GOD did not do away with the form of a slave, so the form of a slave did not impair the form of GOD.” Leo’s Tome §3, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, vol. 12, ed. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (New York: Christian Literature, 1985).
44. Kathryn Tanner, Jesus, Humanity and the Trinity: A Brief Systematic Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 2.