Blessed Are the Weak
- Reverend Dale Walker
- Dec 13, 2009
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Long before the Messiah came into the world as a defenseless baby—long before he taught the way of peace and non-violence and justice—long before he died rather than fight those who hated him, God was preparing the world for this counter-cultural savior by announcing his birth in a little unimportant village:
Micah 5: 2, 4, 5a.
After the angel told Mary that God had chosen her to be the mother of the Messiah, he also told her of her cousin Elizabeth’s pregnancy. Mary immediately left
Luke 1: 41-55 12-13-09
Blessed Are the Weak
A friend works with a faith-based organization that serves people with serious problems: many have addictions, some have been convicted of felonies, others have mental illness. She considers her work to be both a joy and a burden—not to mention some considerable physical danger at times. Recently she reflected, “I pray more now than I ever have. I’m forever telling God about a situation, or calling on God’s mercy, or just resting in God’s presence.” My friend knows she doesn’t have solutions to most of the problems she encounters. She recognizes her weakness—her inability to make people change—her great need for God.
Isn’t that the case with most of us? We’re so much more aware of our need for God when times are hard, and we can’t fix things ourselves. On the other hand, the more confident we are in our own powers, the less inclined we are to rely on God.
Mary’s song reveals God working through human weakness, human vulnerability: God has looked with favor on the lowliness of God’s servant.
Further, it shows us how tender God’s heart is toward the poor, the powerless, those unacceptable to the social norm: God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts…has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly. God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.
God sent Emmanuel—the God who is with us—not to a princess or a First Lady, but instead, to a small-town girl who otherwise would have lived and died in obscurity.
The angels announced the birth of the Messiah, not to religious leaders in the temple, nor to political leaders in a palace, but to the bottom of the social ladder: shepherds…in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night.
The Savior of his people was born in the worst accommodation in town—a stable—and put to bed in the animals’ feed trough.
When he grew up, he ministered to and with fishermen, tax collectors, lepers, women, the poor, the weak, the outcast.
The people who followed his way were a small, powerless group in contrast to the huge
Again and again, God chooses to use the weak and lowly, rather than the strong and exalted.
Do you suppose our strength gets in God’s way? It can certainly get in my way. I went to TJ Maxx Friday—a frigid, blustery day--and I hadn’t worn a coat. Rushing to get out of the weather, my hand outstretched to push the door open, I nearly broke my nose on the glass when the door didn’t open as I expected. It was a Pull, not a Push door. Strength can get in the way, if it’s used the wrong way!
During Jesus’ short ministry, many religious and political leaders rejected what Jesus said about loving all people, whatever their place in society or their way of life. The leaders’ dependence on the strength of their position and prestige kept them from getting close enough to Jesus to be changed by his love.
You who have given birth, and you who’ve watched a baby being born, know that a mother’s strength can be detrimental. Struggling against the labor pains only prolongs and intensifies the labor. Relaxing during the pain—as much as it’s possible—moves the baby along.
As we prepare for the birth of Jesus over and over again in our hearts and in our lives, we can struggle against the painful changes he works in us—or, we can relax, and give God room to be born in us.
For example, certainty can be a good thing. But…when we feel entirely comfortable with our worship and devotion, believing it’s the only right way to encounter and praise God, then, our strength of certainty gets in the way, and may cause us to miss the new things God wants to do with us.
Knowledge is a good thing, too. But … when we’re sure we know what scripture says before we open the book, we might as well leave it closed. Scripture has a marvelous capacity to meet us anew each time we read a particular passage; but its message becomes rigid and culture-bound when we come to it with the strength of our own knowledge, rather than openness to fresh revelation from God.
Weakness, however, makes room for God. Jesus tells of a Pharisee and a tax collector praying.[Luke 18] The Pharisee, standing on the strength of his obedience to all the laws, prayed loudly, God, I thank you that I am not like the others—extortioners, unjust people, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. In contrast, the tax collector, humbled by his need for God’s forgiveness, bowed and prayed simply, God, be merciful to me, a sinner. God could not get to the Pharisee’s heart through his strong wall of good deeds and sterling qualities; while the weakness of the tax collector opened a space for God to meet him in prayer.
In another faith tradition, one which celebrates the Lord’s Supper each time they worship, the elders, rather than the minister, take turns praying during communion. When Jarvis was asked to serve as an elder, he first declined, out of fear of praying in public. A friend convinced him he could do it, and helped him write a prayer. Jarvis carried that prayer with him every time he served at the table: several times a year for more than 20 years. The congregation came to know those words by heart, but the prayer never seemed stale or out-of-date. When Jarvis prayed in his trembling voice--sincerity echoing through every syllable—members of the congregation said it was as if they were listening to the voice of God. Jarvis’ weakness made room for God to come near each of them.
This happens in the life of faith. Weakness in sorrow, in crisis, in doubt makes room for God to work in us—clears out space for us to hear what God has to say to us. How often have you heard someone say, “When I have gone through dark times, my faith has become brighter”?
I don’t discredit the strengths and abilities with which God blesses us. God uses our strengths, too—if we push in God’s direction. Though no one’s strong in all ways, in all places, at all times, we can serve God and be used by God in our weakness, for, it’s when we’re hungry for spiritual food that we allow God to feed us—when we’re down, we let God lift us up—when we’re weak, we want God to strengthen us.
Emmanuel comes. We receive him not by our abilities or talents, but by our deep longing for him, and by our willingness to be vulnerable to him.
The power of the Lord is our strength. The helpless little God-baby comes. May our weakness make room for him—may our hearts be his manger. May we, like his mother, sing with joy to know God’s love.
