Ever hear someone refer to God as a crutch? Something only weak people need to lean on to get through life?
I’ve always found that argument irrational, all the more so when promoted by people who practically worship rationality.
It implies that weakness is the exception. But aren’t we all weak in one area or another?
Superman is a fantasy figure, and even he had a weakness: kryptonite (or Lois Lane, depending on your point of view). Show me one person who won’t admit to any kind of weakness, and I’ll show you a person who is delusional.
And even if we agree that everyone has some type of weakness, it’s still not easy to personally admit it. Our culture reveres strength. An admission of weakness carries the stigma of being “less than.”
Less than adequate.
Less than acceptable.
Less than whole.
Admitting weakness requires admitting we need help. That’s usually OK physically. If you break your leg, it’s foolish to try walking without the aid of a crutch or other tool to help you get around until your bone heals.
So why is it many of us find it next to impossible to admit we need help mentally, emotionally or spiritually?
If the Bible is true—and nothing has yet proven that it isn’t—then we are weak in every area, not just physically. Jesus Christ became human to bring the healing and wholeness we need, first spiritually, and in other areas of life, too.
To reject the wholeness He came to restore to us would be as foolish as a person with a broken leg rejecting crutches or a wheelchair.
We all lean into something or someone when we’re weak, whether we admit it or not.
When life doesn’t make sense, which way do you lean?
When tragedy strikes, which way do you lean?
When your energy is sapped, which way do you lean?
Do you lean into God or away from Him?
- The atheist denies God’s existence and leans into humanity’s wisdom.
- An agnostic leans into the certainty that it’s impossible to be certain about God.
- The Christian admits his or her need and leans into God through the cross of Christ and dependence on His Holy Spirit.
Real foolishness is denying our weakness in the face of the overwhelming evidence of our need.
Do you really think people are born good? Then why is it we never have to teach a toddler to say “no” or “mine”? Or why do we have to teach a child to share, but we never have to teach a child to be selfish?
Adults are no better. We just learn to hide our sin under a veneer of civility (although these days, even civility has suffered a black eye).
Take a long look around. Then take a long look in the mirror. There are no exceptions. No, not even one.
That’s the reason Christ came to earth as a human and died for us. He did what we could not do for ourselves. He met our greatest need: the need to be restored to the divine relationship for which we were created.
If Jesus Christ is not who He said He is, then in the words of the apostle Paul, “If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable” (1 Cor. 15:19).
The older I get, the more I realize that often the worst thing I can do is try to make sense of life with my limited perspective and understanding. For if this world really is all there is, then life is, indeed, a cruel joke.
I recently experienced a severe loss. It has left me feeling weak. But when I lean into God during my times of need, I gain:
- Strength in my weakness.
- Peace as I face unexpected circumstances.
- Equipping to accomplish the tasks before me.
- And hope as I face uncertainty.
Corrie ten Boom said it best: “You can never learn that Christ is all you need, until Christ is all you have.”
Whatever you’re facing today in your weakness, will you lean into Jesus Christ?
It’s the strongest thing you’ll ever do. {eoa}
Ava Pennington is a writer, speaker and Bible teacher. She writes for nationally circulated magazines and is published in 32 anthologies, including 25 “Chicken Soup for the Soul” books. She also authored Daily Reflections on the Names of God: A Devotional, endorsed by Kay Arthur. Learn more at AvaWrites.com.
This article originally appeared at avawrites.com.