A book group I lead recently finished reading and discussing Cynthia Bourgeault’s book The Wisdom Jesus. One of the central ideas of that book has to do with kenosis. The term kenosis derives from a Greek word that means to let go or to empty oneself. While kenosis isn’t a spiritual practice per se, it is a crucial pathway.
The intent of a spiritual practice is to make oneself available to God’s Presence and to approach a deeper sense of oneness with God. Through kenosis,one allows all the distractions, all those anxieties, fears, and selfish desires to dissipate and fall away so that one becomes more open to God, who both calms and energizes. And the more one learns to be present to the Presence through a contemplative practice, the more one becomes conscious of and in communion with God in the midst of all those same distractions.
Contemplative practices include contemplative prayer, chanting, journaling, spiritual walking, lectio divina Bible study. There is no “right” contemplative practice. It is a very personal process of discovering what helps you to let go so that you may experience God’s presence in a more immediate way.
This may sound self-serving, but one at least quasi-spiritual practice I’ve enjoyed over the last three years is riding my motorcycle. While it’s not so helpful while riding straighter roads or dodging traffic on city streets, when I find myself on roads that have sustained stretches of curves, all that matters is looking through the curve, then into and through the next curve. All I pay attention to is the road, its surface, and the indicators of how tight a given curve may be—the tree line, guardrails, power lines. I don’t look at the speedometer. I just feel the bike, the engine, the lean, and, by now, my hands and feet change the gears as needed without much conscious input. They know by feel, for instance, when to downshift and when not to (i.e. in the middle of a curve!). When negotiating curves, I enter a mindset during which everything else falls away. I am uniquely open to the moment, and my normally highly-distractible mind is both intensely focused and blissfully free.
A similar kenosis happens when I am in the throes of writing a sermon or a song. Something within me awakens, stirs, and will not be ignored. In attending to that energy, other things fall away, and I am open to what wants to be heard, experienced, and, ultimately, said.
Because things like riding and writing are more active disciplines, they are not kenotic practices in the strict sense. They are, however, activities through which one may begin implementing lessons learned through authentic contemplative practices. They become touchstones that reveal how contemplation and kenosisaren’t such foreign ideas after all.
In today’s context, kenotic practice in some form is extremely important, even life-giving. It’s a way to jettison all the unavoidable angst and noise of a world in chaotic flux. Contemplative disciplines help us learn to reflect and respond in healthier and more faithful ways because we do so from a place of intimacy with God.
Almost everything around us is changing. And while tomorrow will not look like the past we remember and romanticize, God remains faithful. God remains the source and ground of being, of love, of hope, and of restorative justice. Making space for people to learn to linger in God’s Presence—and to learn to want to—may be the most important work of any faith community right now.
May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds today, tomorrow, and always.
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