“Ooohhhh myyyy loveee, my darliiing, I’ve hungered… HUNGERREED!!!”
I don’t know about you, but I can’t think of the word ‘clay’ without thinking about pottery, and I can’t think of pottery without thinking about that scene from Ghost (1990). (You know the one). I’ve never dabbled in pottery myself, but it seems like such a therapeutic exercise, and the results can be stunning. The ceramic material derived from baked clay gives the pots their hardened texture, allowing them to hold their shape and making them fit for purpose as containers. Their breath-taking designs and paintwork make pottery the art form that it is. But there is one little thing about these aesthetically pleasing creations. They have an annoying habit of breaking. Very easily.
I wouldn’t say I’m clumsy as such, but I’ve always been just a little bit prone to sustaining minor injuries. Stubbing of toes is commonplace. I walk into poles a lot more than the average human, I’m sure. Impressively, I managed to break my finger after getting it stuck in the hinge of a fire door as it was slamming itself shut. And these injurious occurrences really, really get on my nerves. Being the dramatic individual that I am, I’ve screamed: “WAS I INVENTED FOR PAIN?!” more times than I can count, and quite instinctively too.
I hate being in pain. I don’t have a particularly low pain threshold; it just genuinely irritates me. It’s a reminder that I’ve put a foot wrong, yet again. I get annoyed at myself for not having been more careful. I beat myself up, as if the physical pain isn’t punishment enough.
This probably sounds silly and trivial. But in reality, this is the same mindset that would come to underpin the way I would deal with my emotions and respond to stress. My first real experience with anxiety in my first year of university was unpleasant enough without my incessantly blaming myself for it. I hated feeling weak. Hated it. I’d always prided myself on being the person that everyone could turn to. I was the fairy squad-mother. I had my life together. I excelled in school. I was talented. I was loved. I’d not long been saved and was still in that blissful honeymoon period.
So I just could not forgive myself for the fact that I had come into this exciting new season of my life, armed with what I thought was solid mental capital, only to end up in so much pain. I was furious with myself.
‘Power struggle’
It’s really important that I set something straight before I go any further. With all my heart, I want you to understand that having a hard time with your emotions or mental health is not ‘weak’ – not in the way we think about ‘weakness.’ We’ve conceptualised weakness as something to be ashamed of; avoided, or failing that, hidden at all cost. That’s not the way God sees weakness at all. He sees it for what it is; a part of the fallen human condition.
The human condition is the reason why we are vulnerable to getting hurt; emotionally as well as physically. Our bodies and minds alike are susceptible to disease, insult or injury. Yet, all too easily we brand illnesses which happen to be of an emotional or psychological nature as personal failure, dismissing the possibility of any legitimate underlying pathological processes. Maybe it’s because we have this idea that unlike our bodies, we are always ‘in control’ of our minds. I get the sentiment. But if that were true, wouldn’t we all be exceptionally happy all of the time? Wouldn’t “pull yourself together” or “cheer up” be reasonable advice?
The human condition is the reason why we make mistakes. Humans are inherently fallible. “Too err is human,” in the words of Alexander Pope. ‘The Fall of Man’ refers to the time when sin first entered the world (take a peek through Genesis for context), after which everything went a bit awry. We’ve all been missing the mark ever since. Humans are imperfect in every sense of the word.
God had to take me through a process of unlearning so many things, and one of the major misconceptions that had to be dealt with was this idea of ‘my strength’ that I’d been holding onto. He went full ‘Human Frailty 101’ on me. The chief message: ‘You are weak. I am strong. That’s the only way this can work.’
“And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.'” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” 2 Corinthians 12:9
Apostle Paul. Let me make sure I’m following what you’re saying here. So, you’re telling me… that God’s strength… as in, God’s… is literally made perfect… in weakness? My weakness??
Well, yes. That’s exactly what he’s saying.
But what does that mean?
The NLT version reads, “My power works best in weakness.” Wow. This almost implies that weakness is something to be desired. I mean, who doesn’t want God’s best? What a foreign and bizarre concept to me. But it was finally starting to make sense. I’d been in a power struggle with God. I’d been competing for sole responsibility for my life and my well-being, and it had been overwhelming. I’d been dependent on my own apparent strength and ability, refusing to let God’s power rest on and work through me. I discovered the hard way that this was not the one.
My weakness makes room for God’s power to work at its best. Mind. Blown.
The majority of Paul’s writing had the purpose of advancing the gospel of Jesus Christ. There’s an emphasis on the power of the Holy Spirit. The apostles needed this power to equip them for the heavy work of the gospel, including perseverance in the face of persecution. They needed grace, for sure. There was a major task ahead of them and they were far from perfect. That’s why this scripture is so significant to me. In writing these words, Paul – one of the key figures in the faith – showed that he recognised the importance of accepting his weakness in order to live in the power of Christ. And God certainly used him powerfully. Paul even goes as far as to say that he’ll boast in his infirmities. Wow, again. I’m still wrapping my head around this one.
‘Out of dust’
As can be established from the example of Paul and countless other individuals in scripture, God uses imperfect people. God uses weak people. And He makes the illogical-to-the-human-mind decision to place His most valuable treasure within the most breakable of vessels.
“We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.” 2 Corinthians 4:7
What a beautiful juxtaposition. Treasure in fragile clay jars. God is so poetic.
The “great treasure” Paul speaks of is Jesus. The person of Him and the message of salvation through faith in Him. Instead of locking this treasure away in a chest and burying it, the Father gifts it freely to His rebellious children, longing for it to be poured out unsparingly. (And there’s enough of it to go around).
Fragile. Clay. Whew. Well, boy did I need reminding that my power is from God, not from myself. This revelation has freed me. It’s humbled me.
God created us in His image; that doesn’t mean He gave us godly status. He made us out of dust, we are not gods. We are the creation and He is the Creator. And trust me, it’s better that way; we just can’t bear that burden and we don’t have to. He’s the one who moulded me together like clay, and if I surrender to being malleable, He continues to mould. I don’t want to get in the way of that. I don’t want to get in the way of His power working at its best in me. So I’m learning to let go, and to accept, embrace, own and – heck – even boast in my weakness.
Lord, how incredible is it that I can present myself to You in my messy state, and You still look at me as if to say, “…I can work with this.”
To be human is to be weak.
The world tells us, “you have to be strong!” And goodness me, I put so much pressure on myself to be. It was mentally and physically draining in every sense. Unlearning this has been one of the most wholesome and restorative processes of my life. I’ve acquired a peace, a freedom and a profound rest from knowing that it’s more than okay not to be okay all the time. My strength is found in His strength. I’m not beating myself up nearly as much as I used to and it’s great. I’m learning to show myself grace like Jesus does. I’m starting to understand that weakness is not only acceptable, it’s necessary.
I’m a fragile, precious, breath-takingly designed, delicate, breakable little jar of clay – and I’m okay with that. I’m safe in the hands of the Potter, and I contain the glorious riches of His greatest treasure.
Xtine