Lessons (Track 1)

In our second reading Paul ends with “for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” Since “weak” is not our preferred operating mode, that gives us more than enough to chew on.

First, what’s Paul talking about? If we’d asked Paul about the strength part, that is, the power of Christ dwelling in him, I would guess that he would have talked about two things: the apostolic work we heard described in today’s Gospel (preaching, healing, exorcising), and the endurance in the face of rejection and opposition (the theme of our reading two weeks ago). This power of Christ is equally available to the Church today: power in preaching, healing, exorcising, and endurance in the face of rejection and opposition. In what we call the “developed” world, we often work with a shorter list: preaching—preferably of the sort that invites neither rejection nor opposition. And so when we hear the phrase “the power of Christ” we may have trouble connecting it to our experience. In much of the rest of the world Christians do not have that problem. In this country I was able to prepare for ordination without a single hour devoted to how we do healing and exorcisms. Had I been preparing for ordination in, say, sub-Saharan Africa, that would have been as unthinkable as omitting preaching or celebrating the Eucharist from the preparation. So when we hear “preaching, healing, exorcising” and scratch our heads, the difficulty’s more with us than with the text.

Endurance. When we are able to endure, to continue to bear witness to our Lord in the face of rejection and opposition, that is God’s power working within us. It’s not something we’re expected to come up with on our own, much less something we’re expected to be able to imagine doing on our own.

“Whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” –because the power of Christ in preaching, healing, exorcising, and endurance shines forth.

“Whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” A second dimension of this is the sort of weakness involved in Jesus’ instructions to the apostles. They are sent out to proclaim the Kingdom, to cast out demons and heal. Sounds like strength. But Jesus also tells them how to travel: “to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.” That, together with being a guest in someone’s house, implies vulnerability, and we recall the ways in which Paul describes his vulnerability. Now the funny thing about that is that something of this sort of vulnerability or weakness is necessary for useful communication and learning to take place.

We wrestled with this in World Vision, the Christian relief and development organization with which I worked for 18 years. World Vision typically seeks to work with very poor communities to help them improve all dimensions of their life. In the early days we did this pretty naively, with all the trappings of power, usually starting with arriving in the village in a vehicle more expensive than any of the villagers could hope to own. And villagers, while poor, are smart. They know that when someone more powerful comes, rule number one is that you tell that person what you think they want to hear. And so we’d come with our ideas, be very pleased that the villagers thought they were all very good ideas, and then wonder why the ideas didn’t work out as we’d planned. Over time we learned that differences in power were one of the chief obstacles to communication, that, in other words, Jesus’ instructions (“no bread, no bag, no money in their belts”) made excellent practical sense.

And the same logic applies here in Wisconsin. Our texts tell us—we heard it from Paul two weeks ago—that we are ambassadors of God Almighty. And we may say: sure doesn’t look like it: very few BMWs, we get sick as often as our pagan neighbors do, no heavenly trumpets herald our arrival. Well, and if it did look like it, how many honest conversations would we succeed in having?

The learning part is equally important. Circling back to the World Vision example, as long as we were comfortable operating from strength, we thought we knew enough. Failure forced new choices: do we whitewash it (we’re still strong, we still have nothing to learn) or acknowledge it and actually learn something.

I’m reminded of Chief Inspector Armand Gamache in Louise Penny’s mystery novels. He invites new recruits to learn to use (and mean) these four statements: “I don’t know. I need help. I’m sorry. I was wrong.” Weakness is no fun, but without acknowledgement of weakness, no learning.

“Whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” Also because when I acknowledge weakness, useful conversations and learning can take place.

“Whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” There’s a third dimension, and for that we go back to Jesus’ instructions: “to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.” Why that particular list? Perhaps Jesus is recalling Israel’s time in the wilderness. The Gospel of Mark begins, recall, with the announcement of a new exodus: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” As Moses had lead Israel out of Egypt, so a new Moses will lead Israel and all peoples out of bondage into freedom. And in the march through the desert –testified Deuteronomy—the clothing and shoes lasted, and Israel was fed by manna from heaven. So in this New Exodus, one tunic and one pair of sandals is all the disciples need.

If that’s the script, then it would be simply superfluous to bring bread, money, extra clothing! Travel light, because God is handling the logistics. And that in itself brings its own sort of power and liberty.

“Whenever I am weak, I am strong.” When I acknowledge my weakness, that my resources are simply incommensurate with the road that lies ahead, then I am free to acknowledge God as the Quartermaster of the whole project and to focus on the particular tasks to which I am called.

I’ve not yet said anything about David. The story of his rise contains one of the dramatic examples of “Whenever I am weak”: the young shepherd and his slingshot vs. Goliath. Closer to the heart of our reflection, there’s David Gunn’s observation that gift vs. grasp is a central tension in David’s story: will he receive God’s gifts as gifts, or grasp them? David certainly succeeds in grasping Jerusalem, and the narrator intones “And David became greater and greater, for the Lord, the God of hosts, was with him.” In light of the following chapters we may suspect the narrator of irony, for Jerusalem will be the site of David’s greatest failings. We hope for a New Jerusalem not so that Jerusalem can be vindicated, but so that Jerusalem can be redeemed.

“Whenever I am weak, I am strong.” The universe is not arranged so that we get to choose whether to be strong or weak. When we are strong, let us do what we can with our strength. But we often have the choice between acknowledging our weakness and denying it. In those moments both for our own sake and for the sake of those around us, let us acknowledge it. Let us discover what God’s power within us might want to do. Let us discover what conversations and learning acknowledging our weakness might permit. And let us learn that, since our strength does not suffice the journey on which we’ve embarked, one tunic is quite enough, and bread is found in the most unexpected places.