Embracing Weakness

It’s really no wonder that as a society we have “shiny object syndrome.” Do you know what I mean by that? We get distracted when a new product or service or guru comes along, and we hop from thing to thing believing that this new product will give us the boost we need to make it to the next level.

For example, I’m proud of my 163 day streak on Duolingo. I enjoy the app and the way it’s gamified language acquisition, and because I enjoy it, and let’s be honest- because there’s a bit of competition involved – I’ve returned to it every single day for 163 days. Now, my Instagram feed knows I am learning French, and everyday I get ads for multiple different language learning apps that all claim to be better than Duolingo. Am I tempted by the shiny new language apps? Every. Single. Time. When I pause and watch the video, I can envision future Jo speaking fluent French and it is beautiful.

Transformation is a powerful message, and advertisers know it. In 30 minutes of tv, our health can be overhauled with the latest medication, our finances scaled up with an app, our nutrition will skyrocket with a supplement, and our lives will be organized with the newest gadget on the market. We are surrounded by shiny objects and promises that our lives will be better if we only try this magic pill, follow this advice, buy this product, or join this program.

It’s not that what’s being sold to us is necessarily bad, but as we all know, there is no easy fix in life. There is no snake oil cure-all, and perhaps the truest advertising comes from Heinz 57 ketchup–”Good things come to those who wait.”

In our passage this morning from 2 Corinthians, Paul is dealing with a congregation captivated by shiny object syndrome in the form of “super-apostles”. Other preachers have come to town while Paul is traveling from community to community spreading the good news of Jesus. Reports have filtered back to him that these new preachers have taken over, and they’re boasting of their lofty spiritual experiences as a way to lure the Cornthians to their camp.

These so-called super-apostles recognized an opportunity. Perhaps some were legitimate sharing their experience and message. Perhaps some, as is wont to happen in all times and places, recognized an opportunity and used the conventions of the day to manipulate their hearers.

The Corinthians came to know the teachings about Jesus from Paul and Barnabas, and they hungered for more. But Paul and Barnabas could only stay in Corinth for so long before needing to journey elsewhere to preach and teach. Without their steady presence, the hearts and minds of the fledgling Christians in Corinth were swayed by the new arrivals.

The new preachers disparage Paul. They are bold, healthy, strong, talented, and respected, and he is humble, physically ailing, and his address was frequently a jail cell. No wonder the Corinthians’ heads were turned.

Paul knows he can’t out-boast the boasters. They’ve won that game. He does boast about a vision his “friend” has, and most scholars believe he was speaking about himself. However, by saying it was someone else taken up to the third heaven, Paul can claim he wasn’t bragging on himself.

Instead of telling the best story he can about himself, Paul turns the focus around. Because—and here’s the punchline of the story—it’s not about Paul. Paul isn’t trying to win followers for himself like the super apostles; he’s trying to point people to follow Christ. Paul is not the messiah, Jesus is. Paul is simply the messenger—the apostle if you will—of Jesus.

Instead of boasting about any of the brag-worthy things he’s done, Paul chooses the most unlikely thing he can—his weakness. He calls it a thorn in his flesh, and I appreciate the vagueness. Scholars throughout the centuries have tried to figure out what he was referring to, but no one can conclusively say. Which leaves it open for us to acknowledge our own thorns, our own weaknesses and vulnerabilities, the cracks in our armor, the things we too often think of as holding us back. These are the places where God does the best work.

How many people do you know that God called when they were at the top of their game? God didn’t call Moses until he fled Pharaoh’s court in shame and relegated himself to tending sheep. God called David from the sheep field after passing by his older, stronger brothers. God didn’t call Paul until he was literally knocked to the ground. God has called and used people for millennia through and because of their weaknesses, and Paul recognizes this as a gift.

He says, “So I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.”

Before we go on, we need to pause here and acknowledge a few things.

1. God’s power and grace can work through all things, but God does not cause or wish harm on anyone.

2. There are so many ways that people are suffering—with all of you here in this building and joining us online, I can’t even begin to name the ways. Not to mention how we as human beings hurt each other: through war, racism/sexism/ableism/anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment and so many other ways. I am not lauding trauma or ways that a misguided society might label others as weaker or less than.

3. Author and social worker Brené Brown talks about the dangers of gold-plating grit. We love a good redemption story, someone who has overcome all odds to achieve greatness. It’s okay for us to hear the story of the fall, but we’re uncomfortable with dwelling there. She reminds us that “embracing failure without acknowledging the real hurt and fear that it can cause, or the complex journey that underlies rising strong, is gold-plating grit.”¹

Paul is not asking us to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, nor is he suggesting we wallow in despair or victimization. He is treading carefully in that middle space of recognizing that he’s tried all within his power but to no avail. The only thing left for him to do is allow Christ to work through him.

Years ago, when I was going through a difficult time, I remember talking with my friend Annie. Annie is one of those people you love to be around. She always has a kind word, a smile on her face, and is willing to try and work hard in any situation. After sharing what I was going through, do you know what she told me? “Me too. I’ve been through this same situation, in fact I’m still in it, so I get it.”

“But, but, look at you!” I sputtered. “And look at me! You are always smiling and upbeat, and I can barely put one foot in front of the other some days. How do you do it?”

“It’s going to sound crazy,” she said. “But you’ve got to embrace it. Every morning in my prayers I welcome my struggle; I embrace it, I welcome it in because it’s a part of me.” At this point she opened her arms out wide to demonstrate. “When I’m not fighting against what’s happening, I have energy to direct to living more fully.”

Without this conversation, I would never have known what Annie was struggling with, but I could see her transformation. I could see the way God’s grace had worked through her and given her what she needed. Annie didn’t just survive, she thrived.

Annie’s story has stuck with me and continues to resonate because she is just like me. A regular person. So often we hear the big stories, and while these stories inspire us, they can also feel unattainable. I hold Annie’s story of embracing her struggles and the ways I saw her live a life of grace close in my heart. Hers is the story I pull out when I am struggling myself and need a reminder to not hold on so tightly.

There are no promises that life will be easy, and every example that it is not. So what if we drop the facade that we can control everything if we only grasp it tight enough? What if we let go in the places we cling the strongest and allow God in? What if we offer God our weaknesses to use, rather than just our strengths, and see what transformation comes—not only for us, but for the world. Amen.

 ¹ Brown, Brené. Rising Strong: The Reckoning. The Rumble. The Revolution. p. xxv