In the kenosis of the Incarnation, grace dawned; in the kenosis of the Cross it shines forth where the darkness is thickest. These images are perhaps symbols, but they are not hyperboles, because the reality is even more overwhelming. After all, when day dawns, what happens? Night is scattered. Night was simply an absence; it had no existence in itself; nothing produces night, and consequently when it is there nothing exists for anyone; people do not even recognize each other. Night as such is empty of meaning and strips everything else of meaning. Well, at the core of every human event, at the bottom of every human heart, there is a night of death and rupture, of nonmeaning and absence. "Flesh and blood", or mere human nature (Jn 1:13, 1 Cor 15:50), cannot dissipate this night; nothing outside man can introduce light into that blackness. It reigns in the heart and from that vantage point spreads its veil over everything, from the depths of the person to its most conscious structures. Only he who is Light can assume the human without damaging any part of it. And only this Man-God, in whom death finds no complicity with itself, can enter into the thickest darkness of death; that is what happens in the kenosis of the Cross.
The Wellspring of Worship, Jean Corbon (Ignatius 2005)
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