On Weakness

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” -2 Corinthians 12:9

It is 5:00 p.m. and the air is warm with spring sunshine. On 2nd Avenue I await the arrival of the #26 with the same daily faces. While the city is murmuring with its sounds- a distant siren, the banter of nearby teenagers- I stand with my fellow commuters abiding by the unspoken rule. For the most part, you don’t exchange words, even if you will soon be sardined in the #26. You will reach uncomfortable levels of physical proximity, but you won’t know each other’s names, and that’s just part of city ethic.

I stand peering down the street, anxious to be free of work and ready to enjoy one of April’s first nice days. A new face enters the scene, approaching from around the corner. He is probably my age (mid-twenties), Caucasian, and out for an evening walk. But, he has limited use of his legs and hands, so he walks with assistance and clings with fingers to the arm of a caregiver. He is also blind. With vacant eyes, I recognize him “seeing” with his ears and touch. He and his caregiver stop in the shade and begin basic physical therapy: elementary movements with his fingers and arms. He lifts his head, intent on feeling the sunshine and the evening breeze, and reaches out again for the hand of the one helping him.
I wonder how this man experiences life. His body is limited, he cannot see, and he is entirely reliant on another. His choices are not like my choices. I will enjoy the evening with a few games of volleyball at Golden Gardens. He will be led down 2nd Avenue. Who else is engaged with this scene that unfolds? People stare at him and I wonder if he feels their gaze. I check my own immersed heart.

And then, ashamed, I remember that my pity is not love, and I begin to see more clearly.

I see in this blind man that he carries in his body my own spiritual condition. My facade is momentarily ripped raw, and I see that I too am blind and needy, and that I must grasp onto the touch of the One who leads me to know my way.

I realize also that, unlike many, this man does not have the means to hide his own need. His dependency is available for display; he experiences his weakness publicly. And I feel the quiet question: how is it that I experience my own weakness? The question is crucial, for I don’t think we have any business working with those who cannot hide their weakness until we have come to know our own. We will be arrogant people in the midst of our service if we live behind lies of upward mobility: the higher up our status or salary or even spirituality, the more we have means to deny the weakness “proper to the human condition” (as Brennan Manning once said). Many of us, at our fingertips, have the choice to package our insecurity in power, our shame in defenses, our emptiness in addictions. And we do it all while upholding our middle-class, respectable image.

What would it mean for Christ’s power to be perfected not in our sense of worth but rather in our weakness? I think that paradox of God is a floodgate to be unleashed- a torrent for our thirsty riverbeds. May God reveal to us our deep soul need. May we surrender the denial and the disdain in which we hold our weakness, so that we can understand something of Scripture’s words:

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” -2 Corinthians 12:9