Despite the many abuses of power documented throughout history, power itself cannot be inherently bad. In the New Testament, the Holy Spirit (God) is described as dynamis, which means power. Jesus tells his disciples before his Ascension that ‘You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you.’ Once that happens we become living icons of true, humble, and confident power.
We no longer need to seek ‘power over’ others, because we have discovered the ‘power within’ and know it is a dignity shared with all of life. This is ultimately what it means to be a well- grounded person.
I want to repeat that power, in and of itself, is not bad. It simply needs to be redefined as something larger than domination or force. If the Holy Spirit is power, then power has to be good, loving, and empowering, not something that is the result of ambition or greed. In fact,
a truly spiritual woman, a truly whole man, is
a very powerful person. If we do not name the good meaning of power, we will be content
with the bad, or we will avoid claiming our own powerful vocations. What is needed, Martin Luther King Jr. wrote, ‘is a realisation that power without love is reckless and abusive and that love without power is sentimental and anemic. Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice.’
King further wrote, ‘If we want to turn over a new leaf and really set a new humanity afoot, we must begin to turn humankind away from the long and desolate night of violence [caused by domination and power over others]. May it not be that the new humanity the world needs is the nonviolent human? This not only will make us new people, but will give us a new kind of power.
It will be power infused with love and justice, that will change dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows, and lift us from the fatigue of despair to the buoyancy of hope.’
Growing in Power
If we watch the news, work on a committee, or observe some marriages, we see that issues of power have not been well-addressed by most people. When we haven’t experienced or don’t trust our God-given ‘power within,’ we are either afraid of power or we exert too much of
it over others. Enduring structures of ‘power over,’ like patriarchy, white supremacy, and
rigid capitalism, have limited most individuals’ power for so long that it is difficult to imagine another way. Only very gradually does human consciousness come to a selfless use of power, the sharing of power, or even a benevolent use of power—in church, politics, or families.
Good power is revealed in what Ken Wilber calls ‘growth hierarchies,’ which are needed to protect children, the poor, the entire natural world, and all those without power. Bad power consists of ‘domination hierarchies’ in which power is used merely to protect, maintain, and promote oneself and one’s group at the expense of others. Hierarchies in and of themselves are not inherently bad, but they are very dangerous for ourselves and others if we have not done
our spiritual work. Martin Luther King Jr. defined power simply as ‘the ability to achieve purpose’ and insisted that it be used towards the growth of love and justice. He wrote, ‘It is the strength required to bring about social, political or economic changes. In this sense power is
not only desirable but necessary in order to implement the demands of love and justice.’
Dominating Power
Contemplative teacher Beatrice Bruteau (1930–2014) understood domination, what
I’ve referred to as ‘power over’ others, as the cause of much of the world’s suffering. Here is Bruteau’s description of domination: The theme that I believe is basic to many of our political
ills is domination. We are all familiar with domination. We see it in the way decisions are made in our families; in the way orders are given at work; in the way social life is structured in our city by gender, race, and wealth; in the way our industry or profession relates to its competitors or its market or its clientele; in the way governmental agencies function. Domination is a relation that does not work the same in both directions. One commands, the other obeys. One shows respect, the other accepts it but does not return it. One gains privileges from which the other is excluded.
Letting Go of Power
In her book The Wisdom Jesus, Cynthia Bourgeault describes how Jesus modeled the path of kenosis—it means to ‘let go’ or ‘to empty oneself.’ Jesus’s life on earth was a purely kenotic, downwardly mobile path. Jesus as God could have been a prince on a throne, holding power, riches, and every kind of privilege. Instead, he denied it. He let it go. He consciously chose a path that assured suffering, humiliation, desolation, and finally death on a cross. None
of this was an accident or coincidence. Jesus entered as he did, where he did, doing what he did, because God needed us to finally comprehend the truth: God is not a sky king who heads an empire; God is the love that gives itself away for the sake of more love. Jesus could only communicate that point by standing outside the power structures and inviting disciples to join him and discover new life with him on the margins.
Granted, this is a very non-American way
of being. Think of the phrases that shape our national identity. We assert our ‘right’ to ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,’ which means we are free—and even expected—to organise our lives around our own individual desires. So much of our American story consists of groups of people protecting themselves and what’s theirs, with a gun or a flag or the cloak of racial, class, or gender privilege.
In this moment, as we reckon with the limits and consequences of self-centrism, domination systems, and the church’s capitulation to empire, we could lean into the Jesus way. We could reclaim kenosis, or perhaps claim it for
the first time. When you take something you possess—your bread and power, your abilities and identities, your comfort and control, your treasured structures and even life itself—and release your attachment to it and make it useful to God’s movement, you are practicing kenosis.
Brené Brown writes wisely about vulnerability and power. She observes that ‘The phrase power over is typically enough to send chills down spines: When someone holds power over us, the human spirit’s instinct is to rise, resist, and rebel. As a construct it feels wrong; in the wider geopolitical context it can mean death and despotism.’
There’s no seeking of power over in the Trinity, but only power with—a giving away,
a sharing, a letting go, and thus an infinite
flow of trust and mutuality. This should have changed all Christian relationships: in marriage, in culture, and even in international relations. Instead, we continue to prefer kings, wars, and empires, instead of an always leveling love.
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