DID you know? Jesus of the gospels is not a warrior in the traditional sense of the word. Especially in His final week, and poignantly in His final day, He was anything other than a force for reckoning. Even in His so-called triumphal entry into Jerusalem, Jesus is no warrior exuding strength.
Yet He was full of enigmatic fortitude.
His strength is stronger than any human strength we can muster, and it’s strong, with calm resolve, throughout eternity.
His undeniable strength is arcane in that His unconquerable strength is based from a core so truth-filled it’s gladly meek and bravely weak. Such was Jesus’ faith in His Father, He trusted His life into His Father’s hands unto His own willing death.
It takes real human weakness to have faith; to reject temptation to rely on our own strength, and to prefer a strength that means we must prefer to be willingly weak.
And in this weakness is our committed abiding in the truth. We actually are weak. Humanly speaking, it’s a fact. Only those who deny their profound human frailties prefer a strength that looks and feels like strength, but is a genuine heartbreaking weakness that leads to destruction; a chosen weakness because pride prevents surrender in, and fear drives, the one who cannot stand to be seen as, or feel, weak.
Human strength is a falsity that rejects brokenness, yet accepting brokenness is the real strength in our humanity.
Transformation’s power in the normalcy of weakness is an incredibly salient truth. Anyone can partake of such a power, but one must first willingly be weak.
There’s strength found in our weakness when it’s in the truth of our weakness, by faith, that we find strength.
Trust enjoys the reassurance of God’s Presence when its surrender is content in weakness. In that weakness, strength is enjoyed.
© 2016 Steve Wickham.