In Weakness and in Strength

Robert Fulghum made a bit of a splash some years ago with his book titled All I Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. It may have begun as an internet forward, one of those emails that gets picked up and sent again and again. It was a poem of sorts, a list of proverbs about life in its simplest. It was a pretty good list, including things like “Share everything. Play fair. Don't hit people. Put things back where you found them. Clean up your own mess. Don't take things that aren't yours. Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.” It was a poem that became a book and then became a series of books. Then it was picked up by all sorts of copyists who learned from all sorts of simple sources. Kind of a departure from the simple sayings that began it all.

This third week of our “Open Your Heart” series asks us to consider living with weakness and with strength. It takes an amazing amount of humility to recognize that some of the most important teachings of life are pretty basic and really simple—like faith.

Big leap? Sorry. But I don’t think so. The truth is faith is really simple. It’s not easy, unfortunately, but it is simple. Love God; love neighbor. Simple. Do as you would have others do to you. Simple. Let us give thanks, by which we offer to God an acceptable worship with reverence and awe. Simple.

But not easy. And why is it not easy? Because we don’t know how, or we think we know how and don’t want to learn. Or we think we used to know and refuse to be taught again. Or we think we should just be able to do it, to live the kind of life we long for without effort, without training and discipline. And maybe we should be able to. But we aren’t. We don’t. We can’t. We don’t know enough. Or stuff gets in the way. Irritations distract us. Difficulties derail us. Suffering prevents us.

It is the human condition to suffer, to have things go wrong. How can we be expected to live the kind of life Jesus lived in front of us when stumbling blocks rise in front of us regularly? How can we expect to bask in the glory of God when our wrestling wounds cause us to limp with every step? If only we could live a life free from conflict, free from pain, then we could be the kind of Christian we see in others. Like Paul for instance.

Paul was pushed into a corner; his credentials were being questioned. “Who do you think you are?” That was the question bandied about. Well, actually, it was probably more like, “Who does he think he is?” Because it was done behind his back. His detractors showed up and were trying to tell the new Christians that Paul wasn’t worth listening to, that they were much better at this Christian life thing than he was. He had no special authority, no special powers, no insight into what it means to follow Jesus Christ.

In answer to all of this, Paul had to bandy about his experiences and his knowledge. He had to tell his own story, toot his own horn for a while. “I don’t boast,” he said, “but if I did, I’d tell you about this and that and the other thing. I don’t brag, but if I did, I’d tell you about where I’ve been and what I’ve seen.” He had to do it, didn’t want to, but he did—for a chapter and a half. But just when you might think he had the detractors all cowed, all shamed for besmirching his character, he makes an abrupt shift here in verse seven of chapter twelve. “A thorn in the flesh,” he writes, a weakness, a pain, a failing.

Humility was important to Paul, maybe because he struggled with it. Maybe because he knew how important it was. Maybe because he knew that the surest sign of getting off track was losing sight of who was in charge, even of your own life. “To keep from being too elated,” too puffed up, too full of himself, “a thorn was given me in the flesh.”

What was it? We don’t know. Commentators speculate on it still to this day. Some assumed that the Corinthians knew what it was, so he didn’t need to mention it. Others say it doesn’t matter. Some say it was physical - a disability of some sort, a recurring disease; others claim it was psychological - bouts of depression; some think it was social - the messenger of Satan was a detractor who kept nipping at his heels wherever he went; still others think it was spiritual - a temptation he couldn’t shake, a nagging doubt or fear. It doesn’t really matter. Insert your own thorn here. Whatever it is that you struggle with, whatever it is that makes you fall short of even your own ideals.

Paul’s point here, like his point earlier, is not really to draw attention to himself —despite what it might sound like as you read these verses. He is inviting us to see an opportunity for humility. When you are hurting, when you are weak, that’s the moment when you might finally realize that you need help, that you need to learn, that you need something you can’t supply for yourself. This thorn in the flesh is a tool, a teaching tool to keep Paul focused on the source of goodness and wholeness and joy in his life. And it isn’t himself or his accomplishments. It is the God who saves him, the God he experiences in the life of the community of faith, the God who speaks to him through many voices and in many moments.

Notice too that this thorn doesn’t come from God. God doesn’t cause suffering to get us to pay attention or to change our ways or our thinking—despite what some loud voices in our world today are trying to tell us. Suffering isn’t punishment. But God can use any occasion, any circumstance to help us grow and learn, if we pay attention, if we ask in humility what we could learn.

Rev. Dr. Derek Weber, Director of Preaching Ministries, served churches in Indiana and Arkansas and the British Methodist Church. His PhD is from University of Edinburgh in preaching and media. He has taught preaching in seminary and conference settings for more than 20 years.