Running on Empty
337 kilometers. That’s how far of drive it is from the town of El Calafate in Argentina’s Santa Cruz Province to the southern entrance of Torres del Paine, a stunning national park on the Chilean side of Patagonia. This past January, my brother Mark, our buddy Andrew, and I made that cross-country road trip in our battle-tested rental vehicle, a black Chevy Cruz with a cracked windshield and well-worn tires that seemed to be driving on borrowed time, just one ill-placed jagged rock away from a catastrophic puncture. As we prepared to leave the town in our rearview and navigate the vast Patagonian wilderness, several townsfolk offered us the same warning: “Make sure you have enough gasolina for the journey there AND back because there’s only one gas station and sometimes they run out of fuel.” And with that reassuring thought, the three of us set off in our usual manner: over-confident and under-prepared.
The further we wandered into unknown territory, the more I felt like I was living in one of those word problems we used to do in elementary school math: “If the bros travel 163 km southeast to the municipality of Esperanza , refuel at the Energia Patagonia station, and then drive 74 km due west to Torres del Paine, will they have enough gas to make the return trip back to El Calafate if the station runs out of fuel? [ Fittingly, “esperanza” is the Spanish word for “hope,” as in, “I HOPE the fuel truck came yesterday or today to refill the station’s reserves.] On a good day—with a full tank of gas, a well-paved road, and a healthy tailwind—a Chevy Cruz has the range to make the roundtrip without concern. But this was no ordinary Chevy Cruz, and this was no ordinary terrain. On the day of our journey, the wind was more *cross- than *tail-, the road more gravel than paved, and the Chevy more clunk than cruise. Given all the factors, running on empty felt more a question of when than if.
We’ve all done it… let the gas gauge on our vehicle get dangerously low before coasting into a station on fumes. A few of us may have even found ourselves stranded on the side of the road, the tank completely dry. One minute you’re half full, the next you’re running on empty. It’s easy to do, isn’t it? We tell ourselves we can make it just a little further before filling back up again. We put one foot in front of the other, burning through precious mental and physical wellness in a desperate attempt to reach Esperanza, some safe waypoint where our hopes of being replenished can be fulfilled. I’ve always understood emptiness to carry a negative connotation. To be empty is to lack, and to lack is to be incomplete. Unfulfilled. Not whole. But there’s something unusual about what Jesus does with emptiness, and we read about it in Philippians 2:
“Adopt the same attitude that was in Christ Jesus: Though he was in the form of God, He did not consider being equal with God something to exploit. But He emptied Himself by taking the form of a slave and by becoming like human beings. When He found Himself in the form of a human, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore, God highly honored Him and gave Him a name above all names, so that at the name of Jesus everyone in heaven, on earth, and under the earth might bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”
So Jesus—who was already enjoying a perfectly beautiful life with God in Heaven—CHOOSES to set it all aside and join us in our humanity? He CHOOSES emptiness? That’s significant, and it changes how we think about what it means for something to be empty. The Greek word here is kenosis, meaning to willingly empty or set aside oneself. What if emptiness isn’t about lack after all, but about making room for what is good, like an empty vessel ready to be filled? By humbly emptying Himself and taking on our likeness, Jesus was making room for God to work in and through Him. Paul put it this way in his letter to the Colossians: “In [Jesus], all the fullness of God came to dwell in bodily form” so God could love us up close (Colossians 2:9). By humbling Himself, Jesus was turning everything on its head:
“The first will be last and the last will be first” (Matthew 20:16)
“Those who exalt themselves will be humbled and those who humble themselves will be exalted” (Matthew 23:12)
“He has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:53)
A truth Jesus seems to be leading us toward is that to be filled, we must first be empty. For God to use us to be the hands and feet of Christ in this world, we must first make ourselves hollow and open, available and ready. It means pouring out ourselves—our own wants and desires, our own plans and our own ways—to make room for Him.
Every year during Holy Week we remember the events leading up to Jesus’ death and resurrection, and in the details are stories of emptiness and fullness, making room for God’s will to be done. Of all that occurs in these sacred seven days, Easter morning offers us the most beautiful example of Jesus subverting emptiness. The tomb was empty. When Mary arrived at Jesus’ gravesite that Easter morning, the tomb’s emptiness was cause for concern:
“Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid Him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out running toward the tomb.”
At first, Mary and the two disciples were running on empty, driven by their fear of lack. The tomb was supposed to be full, not empty. Why was Jesus’ body missing? “If you have carried Him away,” Mary pleads with the gardener, “please… just tell me where you’ve laid Him and I’ll care for Him myself.” I imagine her heart sinking into her chest at the thought of someone taking the Lord’s body. But our encounters with the risen Christ have a way of turning fear to faith and emptiness to fullness.
“Then Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to Him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “…go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord,” and she told them that He had said these things to her.”
With the first breath that filled Jesus’ lungs and the first beat of His heart that sent blood coursing back through His veins, the grave that moments earlier held the body of the crucified Christ was emptied of death to make room for life. Gravestone rolled away, the emptiness of the tomb was not a lack but the fulfillment of an earlier promise: “I came so that you could have life and have it fully” (John 10:10). His life laid down—emptied—so that ours would be made full. Having encountered the risen Christ, Mary can’t help but run to tell the others, “I have seen the Lord!” She was *running on empty*, her heart and her legs propelled forward not by fear of lack, but by the Good News of the tomb’s emptiness.
This Holy Week, try emptying yourself like Jesus. Set aside any pride or greed or envy that may have crept into your life. Set aside the need to be right or known or “successful.” Set aside any feeling of “I can do this on my own” and confess your need for a Savior. Empty yourself to make room for resurrection, and keep watch for how the risen Christ “fills you with the fullness of God” (Ephesians 3:19). *Run on empty* like Mary, driven by the Good News that HE IS RISEN! Alleluia!
