Let the Strong Say "I am Weak"

Saint Mary Lake, Glacier National ParkIt's a song we've sung at church:

Let the weak say, 'I am strong,'
Let the poor say, 'I am rich,'
Let the blind say, 'I can see,'
It's what the Lord has done in me.

I am convinced that there are people who, before they ever sing that song, need to learn another version first. The lines of Version Two would go thus:

Let the strong say, 'I am weak,'
Let the rich say, 'I am poor,'
Let the sighted say, 'I can't see,'
It's what the Lord has done in me.

You see, there are some of us who need to experience the brokenness, the impoverishment, and the sense of stumbling through utter darkness before we are ready to sing the other song, the "Song of Moses and the Lamb."

We pay a fair amount of attention to those who suffer in this world. But the older I get, the more I become convinced that the really impoverished ones are those who are not broken, who have reasonably perfect families, to whom talent and leadership skills and financial security and ease of social skills and open doors of personal and career opportunities come easily.

It is these people who are prone to be critical and judgmental, who approach life and fellow humans glibly, who walk in the attitude of pride and self-righteousness. It is these people who learn precious little to deepen their life's journey, who do not experience the rewards that follow the sharp pain of being humbled. It is these people who connect with others at a surface level, but don't experience that precious bond that can bind human beings who share hardship and inadequacy. They don't feel the welling up of love for the obnoxious, caring for those who are hurtful, looking past the ugliness to the pained heart of the bully, or cutting slack for those who give it their best shot but fall vastly short of the high standard.

How do I know? It's painful to admit it, but I've been there. Probably still am, on and off.

Having said that, I would hasten to add that it is not brokenness alone that deepens our journey, but the way in which we respond to it. Some respond by becoming more brittle and depressed, by digging in their heels and hanging on to their shreds of rights and rightness, and by holding others away from them in a variety of ways rather than seeking to develop connection.

Unless and until we can experience ourselves as completely broken, completely unable to assert our own rightness, completely in need of a Savior and finally ready to truly love ("Putting a great value on the object we're focusing on;" definition from the venerable Dr. Littke in our Bible study last week), to truly love anyone who crosses through our sphere of attention, we need to keep singing version number two. Of that I am convicted.