The Song of Christ’s Glory
A sermon preached by the Precentor, Canon Anna Macham
Sunday 23 August 2026
Philippians 2:5-11 and John 12:27-36a
Over the summer, we’ve been looking at songs from scripture, and this week we consider the very beautiful song we heard as our first reading, from Philippians chapter 2, which will be deeply familiar to many of us I’m sure.
Up until now, we’ve considered songs from the Old Testament. On the face of it, the New Testament might seem to be less concerned with song- it doesn’t have its own songbook embedded within it, like the psalms for example- though it does contain references to Christians singing “psalms and hymns and spiritual songs”.
And while some songs in the New Testament are clearly designated as such, like the Sanctus, the “Holy, holy, holy” sung by the heavenly creatures in the book of Revelation, with others it’s not so clear whether they’re a song or not. Today’s very famous passage from Philippians seems to stand apart- if you turn to it in the bible, it’s set off from the surrounding text as poetry- laid out like a hymn. We don’t know for sure whether it is a hymn, but it would seem to share certain characteristics in common with other similar texts that we think also might be hymns in the New Testament letters, and in Paul’s writings in particular.
This morning we only have the song itself printed- but the way the reading is introduced in the biblical passage- “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God…” and so on- is similar to the way Paul introduces other songs elsewhere. The rhythmic style and parallel patterns and lines of equal length also suggest it’s a hymn, as does the very high view of Jesus Christ that it conveys- Jesus is, we read, the one given “the name above every name” (Church of England, Daily Prayer (2005), Canticle 61 The Song of Christ’s Glory, p.619, v.4).
This is a hymn in two parts. The first section- verses 1-3- concerns Christ’s lowliness or abasement, his obedience and humbling of himself in taking on the human condition and dying a shameful death on the cross. And the second- verses 4-6- describes his exaltation that followed. Paul’s description of Christ as a servant to be imitated is the most well-known passage in Philippians, and among the most memorable lines he ever penned. Yet most people think that Paul wrote but didn’t create these lines. They’re probably a hymn written by someone else, that Paul may have learned after his conversion, and possibly taught to the Philippians when he first visited them. Little is known for sure about the origin of the hymn, and a huge number of theories abound as to where it comes from and what exactly it’s saying about Christ.
There’s no way we could go through all the things that have been written about this passage now. But broadly the options for understanding it fall into two categories, each with different ways of interpreting the first verse. In one interpretation, Jesus “being in the form of God” could refer to his existence with God in heaven before he came to earth, in which case his “not cling[ing] to equality” with God refers to his willingness not to stay equal with God and exalted in heaven, but rather to abase himself and be born as a human. The movement in the hymn, in this reading, is from Jesus being first in heaven and coming down to earth, taking on flesh and assuming the form of a servant. It’s talking about the incarnation.
In the other interpretation, Jesus’ “being in the form of God” could mean that he’s already human at the start of the song. In this reading, “in the form of God” means “in the image of God”- just like Adam was in the image of God in the garden of Eden. But whereas Adam sinned and “clung to” the idea of becoming equal with God by eating the fruit of the forbidden tree, Jesus chose not to do that, seeking not a higher place but a lower one. The movement, in this interpretation, is from Jesus on earth as a man, a second Adam, who rather than ambitiously trying to go higher, humbly chooses to go lower and to obey God, even unto death on a cross.
There are difficulties with both these ways of reading the passage, and probably elements of both of them are correct- though it’s impossible to know for sure. Because the hymn existed before Paul adopted it for Philippians, some of the key words in it aren’t used anywhere else in his writings and their meaning is unclear. But one thing definitely is clear: whatever his meaning- Paul intended for the Philippians to imitate Christ. Throughout history, this passage has got bound up with discussions about the doctrine of the incarnation, even though it’s not even clear it’s primarily about that. But in placing it within the context of his letter, Paul is wanting to use it in a pastoral way to build up the community. He’s wanting to make a point about how we live as Christians. He encourages us to follow the exalted Christ. Rather than looking out for our own interests and seeking to better ourselves, we- like the Philippians- are to have the mind of a Christ who showed that the way to God is not by grasping at a higher place on the ladder but by becoming humbly obedient to God, even to death on a cross.
But is this right? Or is it always right? Over time, reflection on this passage has evolved from speculative Christological theory about the incarnate life of Jesus to the broader idea of “kenosis” or “self-emptying” as a concept. This comes from where it says “Jesus emptied himself” in the hymn- kenoō in the Greek. In the first half of the twentieth century especially, but also before that in some Lutheran theology, “kenotic” theologians felt a pressing need to better account than previous eras had for the human side of Christ, and especially the human anxiety, weakness and desolation he demonstrated in his passion and to take this more seriously. Christ laid aside his power, making himself nothing- as one translation puts it very strongly. But is it correct to ask someone with no power to give up the power they do have- if someone has been abused, for example, or sidelined or misunderstood for no fault of their own- especially if it’s a [relatively] powerful person in a pulpit doing the asking?
We are rightly alive to all the ways in which people can be already vulnerable- through neurodivergence or sexual identity, for example. Much more than we used to be as a society, vulnerability is something we value much more and even prize but because of that we also want to protect it. While self-abnegation might be a helpful paradigm for those in power- it’s harder to see how it might be helpful for those who don’t already have power.
For me, this is where the worshipping context of this hymn comes in and is, I think, helpful. Not all forms of vulnerability are good, or helpful. But prayer is a place where a certain type of spiritual human “vulnerability” can be held together with authentic divine power- as opposed to worldly or “patriarchal” visions of power. Prayer is a version of kenosis such that- in one theologian’s words, “the human [is] wholly translucent to the divine” (Sarah Coakley, Powers and Submissions, Blackwell, 2002, p.18). In prayer, we make ourselves open to God; we make ourselves vulnerable. Yet, as the second half of the hymn bears out, this experience is potentially transformative and empowering.
A former archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, puts this well in a sermon. He describes the particular self-effacement of making space in prayer as “a habit of readiness to receive. The person whose mind is completely cluttered with anxiety, self-absorbed worry or vanity or resentment is going to find it hard to give way to moments of gift and surprise. That’s why people who are fairly used to taking time in silence and reflection may often be people in whom you see joy coming through.” (Rowan Williams, Choose Life: Christmas and Easter Sermons in Canterbury Cathedral, Bloomsbury, p.196).
Whilst risky, this special yielding to divine power- which is no worldly power- marks our willed engagement in the pattern of the cross and resurrection- our deeper rooting and grafting into the body of Christ. If this hymn was first used in baptism services, as some believe, then this literal movement of yielding and rising in the waters is also reflected in the song’s structure, where the first part is about self-effacement, and the second part about being exalted and raised up- just as a candidate for baptism would plunge down into the waters, dying to sin, and be raised back up with Christ.
Kenosis, or “self-emptying”, is a tricky concept to get our heads around- a paradox, like “losing one’s life in order to save it”. But kenosis isn’t about encouraging us to submit to lives of self-destructive subordination. Rightly understood, it’s about divine empowerment, bringing to fullness the life of Christ in us. Kenosis is fundamental to Christianity; in this daring concept of power-in-vulnerability, Christianity has something unique and compelling to offer the world. I finish with a verse from another powerful poetic hymn of divine self-emptying by Charles Wesley:
He left His Father’s throne above,
So free, so infinite His grace;
Emptied Himself of all but love,
And bled for Adam’s helpless race;
‘Tis mercy all, immense and free;
For, O my God, it found out me.