Incarnation as a part-timer?

Prioritizing and living an incarnational life among the oppressed sounds like a beautiful idea. To reject the pattern of the world and choose to live among the forgotten, choosing to identify with the basic realities of the poor. There’s a certain idealistic beauty about choosing to share in both their sufferings and celebrations, to rejoice and mourn with others, making their situation – in all its brokenness and pain – our very own (Ro 12:15).

The problem with doing this as the incarnation is that it must be a constant process: it’s impossible to identify with the poor and become accepted in their community only on a part-time basis. Spending a few hours each week getting to know someone can be helpful to certain people, but it doesn’t go far enough. Even more, “service” to the poor without deeper involvement into their lives can be exploitative, a form of “helping” that eases the individual’s conscience (“I’m doing my part!”) without recognizing other, more subtle forms of oppression (as seen in participating in an unjust economic and social system), or by ignoring deeper issues that may address more root causes of poverty.

Compassion puts it well:

“Often we experience a strong desire to offer our services to our fellow human beings in need. At times we even dream about giving our lives to the poor and living in solidarity with those who suffer. Sometimes these dreams lead to generous actions, to good and worthwhile projects, and to weeks, months, and even years of dedicated work. But the initiative still remains ours. We decide when we go and when we return; we decide what to do and how to do it; we control the level of intensity of our servanthood. Although much good work gets done in these situations, there is always the creeping danger that even our servanthood is a subtle form of manipulation. Are we really servants when we can become masters again once we think we have done our part or made our contribution? Are we really servants when we can say when, where, and how long we will give of our time and energy? Is service in a far country really an expression of servanthood when we keep enough money in the bank to fly home at any moment?”

Jesus lived the example of the incarnational life: he chose to give up his prerogatives in order to identify with, and ultimately redeem, the oppressed and poor. To do that is an act of ultimate submission, of choosing not to follow his own desires: “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” (Luke 22:42)

As difficult as it may sound, living incarnationally means giving up control, of submitting to others and becoming a servant of the meekest. Part of living an incarnational lifestyle is the decision limiting ourselves – submitting to other people (and our sense of control over them) so that we can recognize they are made in the image of God and have the same inherent value that we do. Jesus’ observance, “whoever loses his life for my sake will find it,” (Mt 10:25) further develops this idea: when we give up control over everything it is ‘losing a life,’ abandoning our prerogatives to submit to needs of others. In losing ourselves, we gain a new appreciation and depth to our relationships with God and other people, thereby gaining a depth and a fullness to a life that is impossible to find on one’s own.

Jesus called them together and said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave— just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Matthew 20:25-28)

incarnating humanity

One of the theological principles that interests me most is the incarnation. It’s a very beautiful image – God chooses to leave “god-ness” behind in order to be with lowly and sinful human beings. Jesus’ choice to embracing a life of poverty, pain and isolation reveals how deeply he longs to restore our broken. It’s the ultimate in self-emptying, of establishing relationships, of recognizing the humanity and goodness of each individual as they currently are, embracing the suffering and pain of existence by choosing to participate in it.

It’s a very counter-cultural (and counter-human) trend. We’re used to “getting ahead,” of fighting for status and recognition, achieving merit and becoming a “somebody.” Followers of Jesus have typically been the same – Jesus disciples argued time and time again about who was the greatest among them (Mt 18:1-3) or asking for special treatment and honor above all the others (Mt 20:20-28).

After years and years of Christian thought, it’s easy to forget what most likely were the hopes of the disciples in first-century, Roman-controlled Judea. For them, the Kingdom was entirely political, and Jesus was going to establish a new government. As such, arguing about who was the greatest was, in some ways, very political. And, like so many histories and dramas can attest, vying for political power is not a solid way to build lasting, trusting and deep relationships.

They came to Capernaum. When he was in the house, he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the road?” But they kept quiet because on the way they had argued about who was the greatest.

Sitting down, Jesus called the Twelve and said, “If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last, and the servant of all.” (Mark 9:33-35)

Naturally, when compared to the hope of becoming high-ranking officer in a national government, servanthood was probably the last thing on the disciples’ minds. But that’s the stark contrast between the disciples’ hopes for success and the reality of Jesus’ mission.

The political intrigues show us how often human beings are willing to betray one another for the sake of personal gain. Often, the desire for success/status/power leads us to see others only in terms of what we can get from them, clouding our ability to see them as human beings. It’s easy to view this in extreme examples, but it occurs at all levels: from the office worker sucking up to her boss to the middle schooler fighting for popularity, we manipulate and work our relationships for personal gain.

Choosing to become the servant of everyone – even the lowest of the low – breaks us free from this dehumanizing and alienating need to get ahead. When we have nothing to gain out of serving, we can learn some lessons from them. But, when we decide to give away our lives – as Jesus commanded us to (Mk 8:34-5, Jn 12:25) – we will be totally transformed.

It’s one of those things that only make sense with the resurrection: those with nothing for us actually have the most to give us, but we have to give all of ourselves to get it.

the challenge of accepting jesus

Evangelical culture tends to have certain key phrases to describe theological issues. Typically, these phrases are very well-recognized and simplistic; in fact, many times these phrases oversimplify complex theological issues, to the point where they articulate an individualistic belief system solely interested in death and the afterlife.

A very common evangelical question is “do you accept Jesus Christ?” (some may add, “as your personal Lord and Savior,” but this addition does little to change the meaning of the question). An important question, certainly, but I think its implications go far beyond the most common interpretations. Some of these are:

· A belief in Jesus Christ; namely that he is God, he died and rose again from the dead.

· Realizing that Jesus Christ will advocate for humanity before a wrathful God, granting access to heaven.

· In more prosperity-centered frameworks, accepting Jesus is the ticket to finally achieving the blessings of God.

· And, perhaps more common than all these others, a belief in the Lordship of Jesus as the personal authority over an individual’s life. Ethics & personal behavior are determined by the teachings of Jesus.

Many of these have elements of truth, and it’s always dangerous to elevate one line of thinking as the one true understanding of such a multi-layered and complex issue. Nonetheless, there are other implications of this statement that describe more completely what it means to “accept Jesus.”

Jesus’ constant message to those interested in him was, “Follow me.” He told it to just about anyone: his disciples (Mt 4:19, Mt 9:19), hated tax collectors (Mt. 9:19) and wealthy leaders (Mk 10:21). Throughout the words of Jesus it becomes apparent how central actually following Jesus is to our spiritual life: “Following Jesus is what makes us Christians.”[1]

This call is central, because the call to follow Jesus brings us into a much fuller relationship with God. The disciples were physically with Jesus, participated in the proclamation of his Kingdom, and many ultimately shared in the same destiny – the cross. Through following Jesus his followers were able to understand Jesus’ nature, with the comfort that they were still following – they were following Jesus’ example and knew the resurrection at the end of the story (1 Pe 2:21-25). Nonetheless, their experience of suffering and difficulty brought them closer to the heart of Jesus because they obeyed Jesus’ command to follow him.

Following after Jesus became an essential part of each disciple’s identity. In the first century CE students ‘followed’ their rabbis, following every aspect of their teaching and being well-known as members of their teachers’ philosophy and practice. But for that small group of disciples, following Jesus meant accepting the identification with the oppressed and marginalized. Ultimately, A Christian who accepts Jesus must accepting his death on the cross, and even more, make that experience a fundamental aspect of his/her identity.

So, Jesus’ call to follow him is an invitation to restructure and reconsider a person’s fundamental identity, which will almost always conflict with other sources of identity within a particular society. Jürgen Moltmann’s The Crucified God articulates this position much better than I ever could:

“Christian identity can be understood only as an act of identification with the crucified Christ, to the extent to which one has accepted the proclamation that in him God has identified himself with the godless and those abandoned by God, to whom one belongs oneself.”

In this fuller view, accepting Jesus means also a rejection of the basic assumptions about how the world works. And that’s not always easy: Moltmann speaks of an “inner homelessness” Christians should feel in a society, knowing that their basic nature has been altered through the identification and association with the crucified Jesus.

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[1] Jon Sobrino, Fuera de los pobres no hay salvación. Most of my thought here comes from Sobrino’s work. One of the benefits of being a Religion/Spanish double major is the ability to study liberation theology.