Though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.
—Philippians 2:6-7
What does it mean for Christ to empty himself? Let’s first establish what it doesn’t mean. It doesn’t mean that Christ was God but then left behind his divinity to become man. This isn’t Paul’s position. If it was, he’d contradict himself. In Colossians 2:9, Paul says that in Christ “the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily.” Paul sees Jesus as the embodiment of God. By taking on flesh, Jesus did not lose his divinity.
Paul was also an excellent Old Testament theologian. He knew full well that God does not change. God spoke clearly through his prophet Malachi: “I the LORD do not change.” Put another way, God is immutable. He does not mutate from one form to another. If Jesus was in the form of God, then he always is in the form of God.
So, Jesus didn’t empty himself by subtracting from his divine person. That’s impossible. Instead, he emptied himself by adding to his divine person. Though in the form of God, he took on the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. Theologians speak of this as the hypostatic union. Hypostatic is an old technical term for the word “person.” In the person of Jesus, the divine and human unite. Jesus is both truly God and truly man.
Let’s unpack how Jesus emptied himself through this hypostatic union. The key lies in the word servant.
A servant has a job to do. They have a duty to fulfill. They’re responsible for rendering obedience to their master—and their master owes them no reward for their work. Think of Adam in the Garden. On his own, he could demand nothing in return for obeying God’s commands. Jesus’s captures this idea in Luke 17:7-10:
Will any one of you who has a servant plowing or keeping sheep say to him when he has come in from the field, ‘Come at once and recline at table’? Will he not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, and dress properly, and serve me while I eat and drink, and afterward you will eat and drink’? Does he thank the servant because he did what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.’
No one could ever stand before the throne of God and demand special treatment purely on the basis of their obedience. Yes, even human masters will sometimes graciously choose to reward good service. They freely decide to make themselves debtors to their subordinates, even though strict justice requires no such treatment. God offered Adam a much greater arrangement. Adam wouldn’t receive any ordinary prize. If he continued in perfect and perpetual obedience, he would eat of the Tree of Life. He would earn a right to enjoy God as his blessedness and reward.
Of course, we know Adam did the exact opposite. He disobeyed God and ate the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Adam lost the chance to earn a reward. Worse still, he earned eternal punishment for his sin. He proved himself not a servant of God, but an enemy. He tried to usurp God.
Adam was no ordinary man. Old theologians called him a public person. As the first man, he represented himself, his wife, and all their descendants. Where Adam goes, we go. In the words of Paul, “Sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned” (Romans 5:12).
To remedy the situation, God chose to establish a new public person. However, the original arrangement had been spoiled. A new arrangement had to be made—and this new arrangement would be infinitely better than the first. This time, God would not honor a servant’s obedience as if it deserved a reward. He would appoint a new head of the human race who could earn a divine reward properly. God would elect a representative for us whose obedience God must remunerate. He would elect a servant who he would have no choice but to compensate for his work.
God chose to make himself our representative. It was the only option. Only God can bind himself. Only God can make rightful demands in the divine courtroom. God only owes God.
But there was a problem. God is no one's obedient servant. It’s an oxymoron. By definition, an obedient servant is below the status of the master who issues the commands. It implies lowliness and submission to a higher power. But no one is above God! He is ultimately transcendent, high and lifted up. He is infinite in power, might, glory, and majesty. It’s impossible for God in himself to take the role of an obedient servant.
So the triune God entered into a covenant with himself. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit made a pact. The Father would send the Son to take on a human nature in the Spirit. In this human nature, the Son would empty himself of all the dignity that he had as God. He would take the form of an obedient servant, but a servant who was also the only begotten Son of God. Our race would have a new human representative able to display his merits in the courtroom of God with determinative results. He would plead our case with binding authority before the very face of God. The Son would become our surety, our guarantee, and our certain hope.
Imagine the horrible fate the Son agreed to undergo. As God, he had perfect fulfillment within himself. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit poured their boundless love into each other for all eternity. They had life in themselves and enjoyed infinite goodness in their mutual adoration of each other. The Father glorified the Son, the Son glorified the Father, the Spirit glorified the Father and Son, and the Father and Son glorified the Spirit. Now, as a man, Jesus would experience the absence of this glorification. Now, his glory would be conditional. He would receive his Father as his blessedness only if he obeyed. He would receive the Spirit only if he completed his task. Now, he would have to earn the divine enjoyment that was his by divine right. What humiliation! As a man, the Son would now be treated as a servant.
The night before his death, Jesus prayed a heart-breaking prayer in the garden of Gethsemane:
I glorified you on earth, having accomplished the work that you gave me to do. And now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had with you before the world existed.
Oh, how the Son longed to return to his Father! Oh, how the Father longed to receive his Son! Oh, how the Spirit longed to unite the Son and Father! But the agreement they made together had not yet run its course. Before Jesus would enjoy in his humanity the trinitarian delight that he had as God, he must complete the last act of his obedience. He must take on himself the punishment due to us. The Son must experience not merely the absence of his Father’s glory, but his Father’s desertion.
Jesus would feel in full what David felt in part:
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer,
and by night, but I find no rest.
I am poured out like water,
and all my bones are out of joint;
my heart is like wax;
it is melted within my breast;
my strength is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue sticks to my jaws;
you lay me in the dust of death.
—Psalm 22:1-2, 14-18
Can you imagine the agony of the Son as he felt in his breast and body this abandonment? The Father could command a legion of angels to rescue him, but he would not. The Spirit could roar upon Golgotha and whisk him away to safety, but he would not. As God, Jesus knew full well all the infinite power at the divine disposal. He also knew full well that not an ounce of that power would come to take away his pain. He would suffer. It was his job. It was his duty. He must finish the work given to him as an obedient servant.
And Jesus did. He drank to the dregs the divine wrath. He gulped down the divine judgment in full-throated swallows until nothing else remained. At the end, he declared, “It is finished,” hung his head, and gave up his spirit. He lolled limp and lifeless in utter shame. The earth quaked, the sun shown black, and in a remarkable turn of events, the Temple veil tore in two. The barrier between God and his people split. Something had changed. The eternal covenant between the Father, Son, and Spirit started to unfold its ancient magic.
You can almost hear papers shuffling as demonic paralegals checked the fine print. What had happened? They had killed the Son of God! The Serpent had won, right? Then what was this strange pressure swelling on the back of their necks? It felt fearfully like a heel.
While the devils searched for answers, the wheels of heaven turned. Jesus would not be left in shame. He couldn’t be! God himself had come in the flesh and fulfilled his duty to the nth degree. Divine justice had no choice but to give him the highest imaginable reward. He would receive glorified life in the Spirit and sit on his Father’s glorious throne. Jesus would rise again.
At his resurrection, Jesus was “declared to be the Son of God in power according to the Spirit of holiness” (Romans 1:4). By raising him to life, his Father “exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth” (Philippians 2:8-12). Jesus suffered in obedience, so his obedience would be rewarded with glory.
But Jesus did not do this work for himself. Before entering into flesh, he always had the boundless delight of his Father and Spirit. He left behind this glory by becoming man to earn glory for us. Paul says:
When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God.
In Christ, we receive the Father and Spirit as the Son received the Father and Spirit. He made a way where there was no way for us to enter into the glory of the divine family. He emptied himself that we might be filled in him.
In Philippians 2, Paul refers to Jesus emptying himself for a very practical purpose. “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit,” he says, “but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.” This is remarkable command. He doesn’t say, “Count others as highly significant.” He doesn’t even say, “Count others as significant as yourself.” He tells us to do something that no human would naturally do. Value your wife, your kids, your friends, and even strangers and enemies more than you value your own self. Why? Because that’s the mindset that you’ve been given in Christ.
For though Jesus was God, he didn’t hold tight to his divine right to enjoy his Father and Spirit, but counted us as more significant than himself. He emptied himself of all his dignity, becoming a lowly human servant, so that he might suffer, die, and rise again for you and me.