The goal of privilege is kenosis | Lessons from the Last 15
Baby Christian was followed closely by Baby Annika who was followed more closely by Baby Samuel. When we found out that Baby Peter was following even closer, the Call from Trinity seemed like a Godsend for a very down-to-earth reason: we would be geographically closer to family. After accepting the Call, we had to plan our move. Temporary housing was available in San Pedro, and we were able to sell our home in Minnesota easily. In love with road trips, I wanted to actually drive our stuff from Minnesota. Joy took the two younger kids on the airplane. My Dad came and helped me and Kindergartener Christian drive the 1,967 miles. The three of us drove U-haul’s largest truck with a vehicle dolly and another vehicle, the only casualty was our poor goldfish who froze to death when we left him in the cab of the U-haul overnight in a Motel-8 parking lot in Nebraska.
After a quick graveside service for Goldie, we sped to our destination: the City of Angels. I remember the first words of long-time elder and friend, Tobiah, when we pulled up to the alley outside our housing “Oh great, our new pastor has a ton of crap.” I hadn’t thought of it that way before. He saw cubic feet of brown boxes and a sore back. I saw donated stuff from dear people in our first church, hand-me-downs from family, tons of toys for almost four kids, and things valuable enough to move nearly 2000 miles away. All that stuff also represented lots of unrecognizable privilege. I didn’t see it, but that moving truck was full to overflowing with advantage and immunity, two components of privilege.
“I begin to see my privilege when I think, ‘I can’t wait to get back to normal,’ while my sister and brother think and shutter and pray, ‘God, forbid that we go back to normal.’ ”
In some ways, we are all moving through life in a truck on a road. Some people have a truck that isn’t as full as mine. My truck is full of advantages that include some inheritance, living in safe communities, clean water, access to good education, a fair shake with the justice system, social safety nets that will catch me if something happens. Immunities include moving fairly easily through life without raising the suspicions of others. I have been completely immune from anxiety over food insecurity. I’m immune from fear of deportation. I’m immune from wondering what tables of power would be off-limits to me because of my gender. I begin to see my privilege when I think, “I can’t wait to get back to normal,” while my sister and brother think and shutter and pray, “God, forbid that we go back to normal.”
Our moving truck was also full of hard work, years of schooling and the debt that goes with it, and some calculated risks. For most of my life, I was blissfully unaware that everyone didn’t get the same truck at birth. My great-grandparents were homesteaders in the northwest corner of South Dakota. Those guys were hard workers. I have heard the myth-like stories of sacrifice and toil and provision. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized they had advantages that were not available to everyone in our nation. Did they work hard? Undoubtedly. Were they privileged? Absolutely. I remember the story about one of their kids (maybe my grandpa) seeing the first Black person they had ever seen, a porter on the train. I bet that porter would have welcomed the opportunity to be a homesteader.
When I first came to Trinity, I worked to retain authority, attempted to people-please, keep privilege. I regret an early recommendation I made to fellow leaders that would not have recognized the voice and authority of a group that we needed to hear from—women. I thought it would be safer to keep the status quo. Safer for me, but what about the voiceless? Mine was not a controversial recommendation. It was safe. And wrong. On Confirmation Day we pray over each confirmand. I still remember quiet and wise Mike praying over his daughter. The prayer was heartfelt but also felt straight from the heart of heaven, “Father, you are giving Sarah a voice. Help us to hear her voice and the voices of our mothers and sisters and daughters.” Sarah now helps lead an influential committee.
“Jesus doesn’t deny his privilege or apologize for it. Jesus gave it away. He gives it away.”
Jesus was privileged. Son of a King. Heavenly home. Nicest chair in the universe. The scepter. The crown. When he showed up on day one in his moving truck, it was empty. The privilege gone. The advantage zeroed-out. Immunity from danger, injustice, insecurity, betrayal, and pain were set aside. Jesus was God but didn’t grasp it or the privileges connected to divinity. He emptied himself. He became a servant. He was born in our likeness (from Philippians 2). “Emptied himself” is kenosis, which is the goal of privilege. Many are like me, privilege-deniers. “I worked hard for everything that is mine.” “Don’t tell me about my so-called privilege.” Others are privilege-shamed, too embarrassed to name it, or constantly apologizing for it.
Jesus doesn’t deny his privilege or apologize for it. Jesus gave it away. He gives it away. Kenosis. He pours his purity on the impure. He releases his health to the sick. He gives his hope to the poor. He renders his innocence to the guilty. He gives his title to those without name or identity. Jesus gives his life for yours.
Before Paul told the Philippians about Jesus’ kenotic goals, he challenged them, “Have the same mind among yourselves” (Philippians 2.5). What have you been given? Be honest, what are your advantages and immunities that others don’t have? How are you privileged? Give it away.
Lessons from the Last 15 is a series of articles from Pastor Nathan Hoff on the occasion of his 15th year in ministry at Trinity San Pedro.
“It seems like they need me,” I said pretentiously to a dear family I was visiting in the first congregation I served. Just shy of three years at that Call, I broke the news about our upcoming relocation to Southern California. It was the Fall of 2005, and I had recently received and accepted a new Call to Trinity Lutheran in San Pedro, California. How that family managed not to roll their eyes is more impressive as the years go by. I had a lot to learn.
October 31st marked the 15th anniversary of my installation as pastor at Trinity San Pedro. They didn’t “need” me in the way I thought they might need me. They did need the Gospel, and I needed it too—as desperately as anyone else. I still do and they still do. We are a good match.