The journey of God

Philippians 2:5-11, Part 1

THE JOURNEY OF GOD

By: Scott Grant

Servant of the Lord

The word “journey” is popular these days. People talk of life as a journey. We’re all on a journey. It’s true. The imagery is biblical. The text before us today speaks of a journey. The person making this journey originates from a place no one else has come from. He goes to a place no one else has visited. He returns home as something more than he was when he left. It is the greatest journey, for it is the journey of God.

It is the kind of journey God wants us humans to take. In Philippians 2:5-11, God becomes human. As a human, he becomes an obedient servant, dies for humanity and returns to heaven as the Sovereign (and now human) Lord. The first humans, Adam and Eve, were to serve God and reign over his creation (Genesis 1:26-28, 2:15). After Adam and Eve’s failure, God called Israel to do the same thing. God’s design for Israel is most clearly seen in the four Servant Songs of Isaiah (Isaiah 42:1-9, 49:1-13, 50:4-11, 52:13-53:12). Isaiah calls Israel the servant of the Lord (Isaiah 41:8; 44:1, 21). Israel is to serve God, suffer for humanity and rule wisely over God’s creation. Like Adam and Eve before it, Israel fails, leaving all creation to wait for the true Servant of the Lord who would make the journey marked out by God for humanity and then empower others to do the same. Adam and Eve were exiled from the garden. Israel is exiled from the promised land, which is spoken of as if it’s a garden. In the journey of Christ, God himself goes into exile, leaving the garden of heaven, in order to return to heaven with us. It’s a story of exile and return. Philippians 2:5 says, “Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus.” The journey of God is given to us in this text to inspire us to walk where he walked.

On Feb. 3, we’ll consider the journey we’re called to make. Next week, we’ll consider the second leg of the journey God makes. Today we’ll consider the first leg. The story defines God for us and allows us to see him for who he is. When we see him for who he is, and when we understand the reason for his journey, we can’t help but let him into our hearts. Along the way we’ll hear echoes from Isaiah’s Servant Songs and from John 13:1-20, where Jesus dons the garb of a slave and washes his disciples’ feet.

Philippians 2:6-11 may be a poem. At the least, it’s poetic prose. Verses 6 through 8 convey descent. Verses 9 through 11 convey ascent. The poetic structure of the text matches the story it tells. It’s a story of descent and ascent. The bold numbers represent the verses, and the letters convey the structure:

A 6 11 A’

B 7 10 B’

C 8 9 C’

Philippians 2:5-11:

[5] Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: [6] Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, [7] but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. [8] And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death — even death on a cross! [9] Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, [10] that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, [11] and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

How Christ thought about equality with God

Christ Jesus was “in very nature God” — or, more literally, he was “in the form of God.” This definition is further amplified by the words “equality with God.” He was God. The same word translated “very nature” (“form” — morphe) is used of Christ’s becoming a servant. Just as he actually became a servant, he actually was God. In saying that he existed in the form of God, Paul is saying that Christ was equal with God and yet distinct. In that the word “form” is also used of his becoming human, to say that Christ existed in the form of God is also to say that he was a potential human.

Equality with God is something that Christ always possessed. The word translated “grasped” would be better translated “exploited.” He did not consider using his equality with God to his own advantage. Adam and Eve grasped for equality with God (Genesis 3:5). Israel did so as well (Habakuk 2:18). Quite simply, we humans want to be gods. Part of the human quest seems to be an attempt to gain status, power and privileges. Once we gain any measure of these, we hold onto them for dear life and grasp for more. Jesus said, “The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those who exercise authority over them call themselves benefactors” (Luke 22:25). History suggests that nothing has changed. The human tendency is to use one’s status, power and privileges to one’s own advantage. Think of the rights you have and how important they are to you. Think of the rights you’d like to have and how important they would be to you — the recognition you’d receive, the circles you’d travel in, the doors that would open to you.

Is God like the lords of the earth? Is God like us? The story of Christ Jesus says that God is different. For us humans, Christ defines God — or perhaps redefines him. His story defines what it means to be equal with God. It shows us who God really is and what he is really like. Christ had everything anyone could ever dream of — the status, power and privileges of God Almighty. Yet not for one second did he consider using his position to his own advantage. Being equal with God committed him to a different path.

So he embarked on a journey. He left heaven. He set out for earth.

The first part of his journey takes him to the most vulnerable place on earth: the womb. He enters the world as a human embryo in the womb of a woman, whose pregnancy at first causes her fiancé to conclude that she’s been fooling around. She’s a Jewish woman in a Roman world, the decree of which compels her to make the arduous journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem. The place of Christ’s birth is a manger for animals, not an inn for humans. He’s born into the land of a wicked tyrant, King Herod, who is so intent on destroying him that he slew all the boys in Bethlehem who were less than two years old. A more vulnerable entry into the world could hardly be imagined.

What Christ did as God: He became a slave

What did Christ do as God? He made himself nothing. Literally, he “emptied himself.” This is a metaphor, similar to the one Paul uses of himself later in this letter, when he says that he may be “poured out like a drink offering” on behalf of his readers (Philippians 2:17). To empty oneself is to give one’s all. We might say that someone “poured herself” into a cause. Christ did not empty himself of anything. He did not cease being God. He emptied “himself.” He poured out himself. He “poured out his life unto death” (Isaiah 53:12).

How did he empty himself? By “taking the very nature of a servant” — literally, by taking the “form” of a servant. Just as he existed in the form of God, he took the form of a servant. Just as he was God, he became a servant. This is further qualified as his “being made in human likeness.” This is not to say that he only looked like a human. It means that he was human. The word “likeness” implies that he was also more than human. Paul says elsewhere that Christ came in the “likeness” of sinful man — meaning that he was fully human, but without sin (Romans 8:3). The Apostle John writes that Christ “was God” and “became flesh” (John 1:1, 14). Paul says that “in Christ all the fulness of the Deity lives in bodily form” (Colossians 2:9). He also says that all things were created by Christ, which is another way of equating him with God (Colossians 2:16).

The human form that God took was that of a servant. The title Christ was attached to his name because his apostles recognized him to be the Messiah, the Jewish and human king. Yet God did not come into the world as a king. He came as a servant — as a slave. A slave has no status, no power, no privileges. God has everything; a slave has nothing. Christ came as one who had everything but used nothing.

His master was God the Father, and he was “obedient” to him (verse 8). Christ was the Servant of the Lord, portrayed centuries before his appearance by Isaiah’s Servant Songs (Isaiah 42:1-4, Matthew 12:18-19). As the Father’s obedient servant, Christ came to serve humanity. Creation is the Father’s palace (Isaiah 66:1). We are the Father’s guests. Christ serves his Master’s guests.

We love stories of people rising from humble circumstances. The clerk becomes CEO. The understudy becomes a star. The immigrant strikes it rich. Here’s a story of descent from omnipotence to obscurity, from stardom to servanthood, from riches to rags. Who wants to make a journey like that?

This part of Christ’s journey takes him to the floor — quite literally. John tells the story:

“It was just before the Passover Feast. Jesus knew that the time had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he now showed them the full extent of his love. The evening meal was being served, and the devil had already prompted Judas Iscariot, son of Simon, to betray Jesus. Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him” (John 13:1-5).

Jesus, knowing who he was and what he could do, and knowing that betrayal was in the air, does not use his power to stop Judas. Instead, he performs the most demeaning task of a slave. He washes the feet of his disciples, even Judas, whose feet will take him this very night from this place to the Jewish leaders bent on destroying Jesus. By serving his disciples in this outlandish way, he’s extending them a warm and emphatic greeting of love and acceptance.

What Christ did as a human: He obeyed

After becoming human, Christ was “found in appearance as a man.” This doesn’t mean that he only appeared to be a man; it means that he was seen to be a man. Verses 6 and 7 explain what Christ did as God. Verse 8 explains what he did as a human. As verses 6 and 7 explain what it means to be God, verse 9 explains what it means to be human.

Christ humbled himself before God and others. He sublimated his will to the will of God. He took the lowest place, not the highest place. In that he was obedient “to death,” he was completely obedient and he was obedient to the God’s final command, which led to his death. “The Sovereign Lord has opened my ears, and I have not been rebellious; I have not drawn back. I offered my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who pulled out my beard; I did not hide my face from mocking and spitting” (Isaiah 50:5-6).

Specifically, Christ’s obedience extended to “death on a cross.” Crucifixion was a Roman form of execution reserved for non-citizens, either slaves or free persons of the lowest standing. Particularly, revolutionaries were crucified. A person who was crucified was hardly considered human. And by the time the nails and wood had finished their job, the criminal would hardly even appear human. In heaven, Christ existed in the form of God. On earth, he took the form of a slave. On the cross, he became deformed — a twisted lump of mangled flesh. “His appearance was so disfigured beyond that of any man and his form marred beyond human likeness” (Isaiah 52:14).

Adam was called to serve God, but he rebelled against God and grasped for equality with God. Israel, also called to serve God, was called by God to undo that sin of Adam and extend God’s blessing to the world, but it also rebelled. Christ succeeded where Adam and Israel failed. He served God. He undid the sin of Adam and Israel by dying the death of Adam and Israel. If Adam and Israel failed to serve God and rebelled against God, then Christ died the death of a slave and the death of a rebel. He died on a cross, where slaves and rebels die.

This is ultimately how, as the obedient Servant of the Lord, he served humanity. This is how he served us. For his death was not only Adam’s and Israel’s, it was ours as well. We too have rebelled against our call to serve God. “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds were are healed. We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all” (Isaiah 53:5-6). His death on the cross in our place brought us peace with God.

Obedience isn’t prized around here. We exalt the assertive, independent, self-made man or woman who answers to no one. Be your own man. Be your own woman. Nothing in our culture appeals to obedience, particularly obedience to God. And if such obedience is to expose you to pain, shame and death, and even execution that mangles your body, who needs it?

This part of the journey takes Christ to a garden. “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,” he told his disciples in Gethsemane. He left them in order to pray. “Abba, Father,” he said, “everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.” Three times he prayed this prayer (Mark 14:32-41). Luke says that he was “in anguish” and that “his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground” (Luke 22:44). He was “a man of sorrows and familiar with suffering” (Isaiah 53:3). By the time he got up for the third time, the answer from the Father had arrived with the mob sent by the Jewish leaders. The cup would not be taken from him. Strengthened by prayer, Jesus rose in obedience to God. He became obedient to death — even death on a cross.

Shattered images

Conventional notions of God often group around one of two images. The first is the image of a power-hungry tyrant. After all, that’s what the lords of the earth are like. The second is that of a remote, uncaring landlord. The lords of the earth seem to be like that, also. Do you entertain either or both of those images of God? You may answer no with your head, but the way you live may be saying something else. This story says that God is neither a power-hungry tyrant nor a remote, uncaring landlord. It shatters both images. It redefines power as vulnerability and brings God near.

Why would God make such a journey? You know the answer. He did it for you:

— Isaiah 59:16: “He saw that there was no one, he was appalled that there was no one to intervene; so his own arm worked salvation for him, and his own righteousness sustained him.”

— Romans 5:8: “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

— 2 Corinthians 8:9: “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich.”

The Creator allows himself to be created. The Playwright writes for himself an impossible part and enters the story. The king “clothes himself as a beggar and renounces his throne” in order to win the hand of his beloved1

God doesn’t just become human; he becomes a slave. He doesn’t just die, he dies on a cross. He goes to the womb, to the floor and to the garden for you. He becomes as vulnerable as a human embryo for you. He gets on his hands and knees to let you know you’re his special guest. He prays in agony to find the Father’s will for you. And finally, he pours himself into serving you by pouring himself out on the cross. He pours himself out to the last drop of blood.

Mozart’s “Requiem” contains this line: “Remember, merciful Jesu, that I am the cause of your journey.” After all he endured for us, could he ever forget?

Let this story, this poem, this journey, this God, into your heart.

SCG / 1-13-02