BEING HUMAN

Day 15, 15 December 2024, the 1026th day of the full-scale war.

As this war empties us of resources and energy and sometimes even of hope, I find myself contemplating the kenosis of Christ, His divine self-emptying in the incarnation. What does it mean to be emptied while trying to remain present? What can the incarnation teach us about finding strength inside vulnerability?

“Who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men” (Philippians 2:6–7, NKJV).

We often think of the incarnation as a triumph of divine power, and less often as a story of love’s willing vulnerability. God chose to enter human experience through radical self-limitation rather than through overwhelming force, becoming an infant dependent on human care, subject to human conditions, exposed to human violence.

This holy self-emptying reveals a pattern: real strength often shows itself through a chosen vulnerability, and that stands in stark contrast to the spiritual assumptions of our age. Where a prosperity gospel promises constant victory and a positivistic theology denies vulnerability altogether, the incarnation embraces weakness as a path to power. Where a self-help Christianity emphasizes personal empowerment and a motivational ministry avoids vulnerability, the birth of Christ demonstrates divine strength through apparent helplessness.

The manger confronts a triumphalist faith that equates blessing with comfort, a spiritual materialism that mistakes wealth for favor, and a religious narcissism that rejects the theology of the cross. In the crucible we now live in, where prosperity theology offers no comfort and a positivistic faith provides no answers, we rediscover an ancient truth: God’s power works most profoundly through chosen vulnerability, transforming us through identification rather than imposition, healing through wounds rather than through immunity to pain.

Like Christ in His incarnation, we often find ourselves poured out into other people’s lives even when our own vessels seem empty. We are financially drained, whatever the size of anyone’s compensation, and we go on sharing our last resources with defenders and displaced families in our own circle. We are emotionally exhausted, and we go on offering comfort to the newly bereaved. We are questioning God amid the horrors of a war, and we go on leading others in prayers that often receive no answer. We are physically depleted, and we go on delivering food. We are stretched thin by constant stress, and we go on solving other people’s problems of survival.

From the incarnate Christ we learn to choose, day after day, to empty ourselves again into the lives of those who need hope and education and support in the darkest hours, trusting that the same Spirit who empowered His incarnational ministry will sustain our own depleted vessels.

In that emptying we discover the paradox of the incarnation: presence matters more than power, and our simple being there often matters most when we feel most depleted. And this emptying is not the end of the story. Like a vessel that has to be emptied before it can be filled again, our wartime depletion creates space for divine replenishment, so that the emptying becomes an invitation to the Spirit and not only an imitation of Christ.

Faithful incarnational ministry happens not when we are strong enough to help, or full enough to share, or wealthy enough to give, but when we are weak enough to become channels of God’s help. In this long night of war we learn that a voluntary vulnerability becomes victory, that a chosen emptiness becomes an unexpected fullness, and that human depletion becomes divine opportunity. The Spirit still fills empty vessels. He still empowers tired servants. He still speaks through exhausted witnesses, and He makes our incarnational presence possible exactly where our own resources have proved insufficient.

Prince of Peace, who chose vulnerability as Your road to us, teach us the strength of emptiness. When our resources fail and the needs persist, help us remember Your pattern of presence. Holy Spirit, fill our depleted spaces, energize our exhausted service, speak through our silence. Turn our depletion into a channel of Your abundance and our exhaustion into a conduit of Your energy. Make our limited presence, like the incarnation of Christ, a means of unlimited love. We pray in the name of Jesus Christ, Lord of depleted servants. Amen.