In celebration of emptiness
- catherine mary
- May 2
- 6 min read
Are you a "glass half full" kind of a person, or a "glass half empty" one? So the question goes, if you are trying to identify tendencies towards optimism or pessimism. (The practical response is that the glass is simply twice as big as it needs to be!). In this situation, though, emptiness is viewed negatively; to suggest that your glass is moving towards emptiness is considered the less welcome outcome. In John's Gospel, Jesus is reported as having said:
"I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full."
(John 10:10, NIV)
There is so much about our lives today (and in the life of the Church) that seems to prioritise living life "to the full", even when these levels of frenetic activity affect our mental health and can lead to exhaustion or burnout. By contrast, surely Eastertide is the supreme celebration of emptiness, with the discovery of the empty tomb; and so I have been reflecting on the gift of emptiness. How might we resurrect the positive aspects of emptiness in our own life and spiritual path?

The empty tomb
Early on that Easter morning, the first indication of Christ's resurrection was the empty tomb. It was Jesus' absence that was discovered by Mary Magdelene, and witnessed by Simon Peter and the other disciple. It was within the empty tomb that the two angels appeared at the head and foot of where Jesus' body had lain, echoes of the cherubim and seraphim either side of the mercy-seat in the Old Testament Temple, between whom the very presence of God was to be found. The emptiness of grief on that first Easter morn, was replaced by the joy of God's salvation and filled with the potential for the disciples' subsequent encounters with the living Christ. Mary Magdelene emerges from the empty tomb directly into the presence of her risen Lord. The fullness of resurrection joy was made possible precisely because of the emptiness of the tomb.
The Rock (a reflection on John 20)
In those dark days, through dark nights I stood motionless.
Millions of years since my formation,
they thought I could not be moved.
They trusted that I would stand guard:
hard, impervious, solitary.
I had no part to play,
except not to be there.
I was there. Nothing could stop me
from running to the tomb when I heard.
I never was the best, always playing catch-up
but I got there and I was first to see.
So much had already happened.
How could I be expected to make sense of
a pile of folded cloth and his absence?
But at least I was there. Dependable.
Emptied of such precious treasure,
the salt water meandered through
the contours of my surface.
Angels rested within my hollowness
and comforted her in her grief.
By my side he appeared,
seen but not recognised.
I was that place. I was “there”.
She never expected me to be there.
Not like that.
How is it that one can search and not find?
See but not know?
Believe but not understand?
The bridge between faith and doubt,
grief and joy is so narrow.
With just a name, she saw I was there.
The stone rolled away.
Peter, the rock, on his way.
The cold rock of the empty tomb,
dripping with Mary’s tears
and supporting angels.
They were all there. But was I?
Lord, how might I recognise,
the Rock of Ages, that you are here?
© 2008 Catherine Lomas
Emptiness as gift
The theme of emptiness is no stranger in theological reflection. Taking the cue from Paul's letter to the Philippians, much has been written about emptying oneself (in Greek, kenosis) as did Christ:
Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.
(Philippians 2.5-8, NRSV)
In some understandings of the Christian spiritual life, we are called to empty ourselves, so as to be filled with God's Spirit. In the Orthodox tradition (as I understand it), it is the emptying of ourselves that facilitates our becoming more and more Christ-like. Similar principles underlie the practice of meditation, whereby a self-emptying and silencing of our inner selves facilitate our union with the Divine. Like the empty tomb, to embrace emptiness within our deepest selves is to welcome transformation, to open up the potential for new encounter and to breathe in the Divine Spirit. We cannot inhale without first exhaling. It is only from within the emptiness that we can truly receive the gift of resurrection life.
The challenge of emptying
Of course, that is all very well. But we live such busy lives. As we have enjoyed these past days of sunshine, have sensed the beginning of summer, our diaries are liable to fill up all too quickly with the frenetic activity of the warmer months. It is no wonder that the buzzy-bee is symbolic of our busy-ness. Listen to the 'Summer' movements of Vivaldi's The Four Seasons for a different reflection on our estival hive of activity. I confess that the past few days have seen me rushing from one thing to the next, not finding time for creative practice every day and missing opportunities for my daily social media posts. Even in the back of my mind, I was worrying that I had not yet come up with an idea for this month's blog post, knowing that it needed to be written by the end of the week. Yet, inspiration was given precisely when I needed it: this morning, in the stillness of a meditative exercise class, laying in the silence, focussing on nothing other than gently inhaling and exhaling.

Amidst all the demands on our time, all that we are committed to getting done, there remains the Divine call to stillness, to empty ourselves, simply to breathe out and then breathe in the Divine Spirit. Eastertide is a glorious season, filled with energetic alleluias and the vocation to go out into the world and share the good news of Christ's resurrection. Yet I also find myself wanting to embrace its alternative challenge, to set aside the self-importance of over-busyness, to take time to notice those areas of my life that need simplification, to spot the gaps in my diary and cherish them as such, to embrace stillness. In my creative life, I have set up my easel again, its emptiness not a threatening reminder of a struggling work-ethic, but rather the quiet invitation - indeed, a promise - that something new is about to emerge. Let Eastertide be a season for the celebration of emptiness and all that the Risen Christ will do because of it. Alleluia!
News
At the beginning of Holy Week, I was able to deliver my latest icon commission to its new owner. There is something particularly special about completing an icon of a saint who is remembered specifically within the Church of England, as is the case with Julian of Norwich. Spending time with her words has also been a real blessing amidst so much turmoil in our world.

I am currently working on an icon of St Columba with which to travel to Iona next month; this has enabled me to practise a different gilding technique - it went well and I'm really excited to see the finished icon in due time.
And then it is onwards to my next commission, the first of two icons of St John the Evangelist that I shall be completing before the year's end.
If you enjoy reading my blog and wish to support my ministry in a practical way, I have set up a page with "Buy me a coffee". This website, designed with creatives in mind, recognises that a whole load of my time goes into maintaining a website, keeping up with social media and writing blog posts, time that is not then available for income-generating work. Given that my passion for good coffee comes not very far behind my love for God and art (!), if you feel so inclined, you can click here to make a donation towards my ongoing ministry (but without any obligation to do so). Huge thanks to those of you who have bought me a coffee in previous months - please don't feel you have to every time or at all!
Comments