Being in Our Right Minds

Ephesians 5:15-17; James 3:17; Matthew 13:52

I would assume everyone here wants to be in their right mind—sensible, aware, rational—normal. 

Through the ages, sages devoted themselves to providing the philosophical architecture to ensure that we can exist in our right minds most of the time. Interestingly, the period from about 500 BC through about 500 AD was a golden age for such thinking as most of the ancient cultures from East to West saw thinkers arise who literally altered the course of human thinking—Confucius, Buddha, Lao Tzu, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle and a host of others offered counsel to their cultures on what is wise, reasonable, and right thinking. Sometimes it catches us by surprise to find that Jesus was among them, but the most ancient witnesses to him first collected his sayings—Matthew and Luke shared a source book of Jesus’ aphorisms scholars named “Q,” John had an entire collection of proverbial statements that began with “I am…” that formed the basis for his evangelical message. Mark employs the parables, wise stories meant to elucidate right thinking by making the hearer puzzle through a riddle to see the truth. So, it seems sure and certain that a large stone in the foundation of Jesus’ revelation is helping people find their right minds.

So what is the essential state of mind for a follower of Christ?

Self-emptying—kenosis. Paul hinges his whole theology on this ideal, naming it in the great Christological hymn of Philippians 2 as the key to understanding all that makes Jesus the Christ. He emptied himself of all that he was, all that he is, and all that he will be to make every human being in every time and place full and whole. If we are to embody Christ in our own lives, that stone must be the one on which we stand. That must guide our thoughts, words, and actions. 

But what does it mean?

Think back to your last encounter with another human being. Remember as much of that encounter as you possibly can. When you first entered the presence of that person, what were you thinking? Did you want to be there? Were you anticipating being with that person? Or was it a surprise? Was it a friendly encounter? A routine one? A conflict? How did that alter how you felt about the encounter? How did it affect you? How did it affect them? How did the encounter develop? What was it like to talk with them? Who led? How was the agenda set for the interaction? Did you want it to continue? Were ready for it to end? 

As Jesus entered such moments, what led him was kenosis. He let the other lead. He entered their experience. He prepared to listen for as long as they needed to talk. He prepared to act based on what they revealed to be needed. He disappeared except as a presence open, willing, and expectant. 

Ironically, in so doing and being, more of Jesus got through to the other person than could have gotten through by any other means.

Think on that.

Except for the scribes, Pharisees, and other closed up individuals who were so sure of themselves that nothing could crack their defenses, nearly everyone who encountered Jesus accepted him, even if they had no idea what that would actually mean. His kenosis invited welcome. The disciples, the healed, the outcasts, the Romans, and so on heard and welcomed his presence. Many dropped everything and followed immediately. There were exceptions (notably, the rich young man for whom fear of loss trumped welcome), but by and large Jesus altered the lives of those encountered.

We can alter the world through the practice of kenosis. The more we are able to let go of things, of distractions, of self; the more freedom we find to to fully engage in the life before us. Fear diminishes. Openness becomes more possible. Last week, I spoke of the necessary bubble popping that comes as we engage with one another following God—here it is writ large—to grow, we need to leave the bubble. We need to empty. 

But we can immediately understand the resistance that met Jesus, even from those who initially welcomed his kenosis. 

It was a permanent alteration, and it was costly.

The Gospels all agree that after a time, the audience lost patience with Jesus, and his originally treasured presence became a thorn that needed surgical removal. We constantly run into ourselves. Yes, we grasp the ideal of kenosis—we see its beauty; we understand its profundity; and we see its deep connection to love as we hear it in God’s Word. But we also see the cross at the end of the road. Jesus died for the world. 

But here is the treasure in that realization—where the road ends, the journey begins.

Return to where we began—your last encounter with another person. 

What would ensure that it ended as a moment of mutuality that evoked the presence of love as God defines it?

Kenosis.

And, yes, kenosis taken to its end. 

If two people meet, both committed and practicing kenosis, both enter the meeting completely open to the other, fully engaged to listen first, act second, and act through understanding. When both do so, miracles can happen.

And no one gets hurt.

For me, such an encounter is epitomized in the apostolic encounter between Simon the Zealot and Matthew, the tax collector. Of all the opposites sitting at table with the Lord, these two were the most apparently prepared to destroy one another. Simon was committed to the liberation of Israel from all overlords—tax collectors were the worst collaborators with those overlords, willingly profiting from serving the Empire that crushed Israel’s identity—death was just recompense for them—eliminating vermin. In kind, Matthew saw Simon as a terrorist—violent, insane, and an object worth nothing but contemptuous fear—death was just recompense for them—eliminating vermin. Yet, in the presence of Christ, something radically altered both men. Simon disarmed. Matthew accepted him. They became brothers in love, and tradition assures us of their eventual success as carriers of Christ into the world. Simon altered reality when he laid down his sword. Matthew altered reality when he served the one, true God. Both lived kenosis and found themselves. Their respective roads ended; their real journeys began.

Go and do likewise.