“I hate what that experience did to me, and I despise what it has turned me into at times like this; and just the same, it’s who I am now, and I’m learning to accept it.”
This is what I said in a very weakened, triggered moment with a colleague in the ministry. This person I actually mentor, but on this occasion, it was them doing the listening. (Our families were meeting socially.)
I could tell by the way he was listening that I was hard to listen to. I could tell he was mildly distressed for me. And I really disliked how it felt to be in that moment. It was a disconcerting moment for us both, but amazingly we both trusted the moment and the sharing continued.
Within twenty minutes or so my equilibrium was back on an even keel.
It was only when things returned to normal for me that I recognised an important fact as far as vulnerable situations are concerned.
In this mode of being raw and stripped back, being more vulnerable than I would otherwise feel comfortable being, I came to understand that feeling vulnerable is not sexy, it’s not inspiring, and it’s definitely not a palatable feeling space to be in.
But I felt strangely affirmed. Loved, indeed. Accepted when I felt less than acceptable.
In our modern Christian age, we have come to glamorise this state of being vulnerable. We’ve all been counselled by the likes of Brené Brown, and we may begin to see how courageous we need to be in being vulnerable. But what feels ugly can never truly be glamorised. We cannot connect ugly, and this is how vulnerability feels, with the glamorous.
We talk about being vulnerable in ways that speak to its importance, without really ever attending to the idea that when we feel vulnerable it never feels right.
When we are vulnerable in a real biblical way, it never feels like we’re honouring God, even though in fact we are.
Having counselled the Corinthian church on the merits of the true life in Christ, Paul said, “For when I am weak, then I am strong.” Paul wasn’t saying, “For when I am weak, I feel strong.” I don’t think it’s possible to enjoy feeling weak.
And yet, to allow ourselves that latitude, and for others to give us this space, is a blessing.
What we experience in genuine, authentic Christian community is the capacity to be vulnerable and to feel safe and accepted in those spaces.
I could not have been vulnerable — meaning I could not have allowed myself to be vulnerable — if I didn’t feel safe to share in that space.
There are so many Christian spaces where we cannot allow ourselves to be vulnerable, because there is a false expectation to put on some veneer of strength, because, quite frankly, there are many communities of Christ who feel burdened to present an ‘attractive’ and ‘strong’ version of the gospel. Or, being vulnerable freaks people out, because if it feels ugly to us, it also feels less than palatable for others, too.
This is why love is a hard thing. It bears another’s pain and absorbs the moment patiently.
It’s in the permission to be weak, where we are allowed to be imperfect vessels, where we don’t have to have all of our lives together, that many who don’t know Christ find more attractive.
People crave the authentic life; a version of living that is true to the rough and tumble lived experience of life itself.
Imagine for a moment not only being allowed to be vulnerable, but being encouraged when you feel weak, when you don’t like being so raw and stripped back, and yet the person who listens to you says, “Yes, I like you just the way you are — right now!”
Think of the freedom in that! That is the love of Christ, right there.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
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