Revealing power

I screamed in the face of a 6-year-old who found herself in our care after being removed from her home by the state. She’d refused to clean her room. None of my teacher tools were working. The strategies we’d learned in foster parent training fell flat. Weary after hours of engaging in a power struggle and baffled by what I thought was defiance, I held her cheeks in both of my hands and screamed until two, deep brown, terrified eyes shifted wildly about, frantically searching for a way out.

When the full weight of what I’d done slammed into my chest, I crumpled to my knees, praying out loud, asking forgiveness of a child and of the Father who’d brought her into what was meant to be a safe place always.

I should’ve known better. Having just spent the better part of six years caring for another precious little girl—vulnerable in a different kind of way—I knew what it was to speak for the voiceless and to hold in my arms a life that depended on her daddy and me for everything. Like any new parents, we brought Olivia into the world with the knowledge that she would rely on us entirely for shelter, nourishment and emotional connection. Her well-being depended on our willingness to put her needs ahead of our own. 

Unlike most parents, we carried on with the ‘newborn’ phase through all nine years of Olivia’s life, continuing to provide for her every need—watchful over her very breath—until the day that she went to be with Jesus. 

At times, a news headline would cause me to shudder at the thought of what could happen to someone so helpless, were we not there to protect her. 

Once, after watching Olivia suffer through days of seizure-like episodes that tore through her body like a series of violent storms, my anger at not being able to ease the pain boiled over. I allowed frustration to burn hot, forgetting myself and the normally tender touch reserved for my baby girl, and roughly plopped her on her side, acting as if she were a sack of potatoes instead of a priceless treasure. Before her frail body settled into the pillows, my much stronger frame was overcome with guilt at having treated this gift from God so terribly. 

The moments I regret most in life are the times I used power to harm instead of to bless. 

Everyone has power—even the infant whose feeble cries propel a sleep-deprived mom and dad out of bed and into the nursery in the early hours of the morning. Whether it comes in the form of physical strength, money, authority, or some other influence, the way we exercise power says much more about the character of the one exerting it than the person under its sway. It isn’t only individuals who have power. Families, communities, organizations, nations and churches have it too. 

Robert and I recently traveled to Paris, and my favorite part of the trip was exploring medieval cathedrals and chapels resplendent with centuries-old stained glass, lofty ceilings, and intricate architectural detail. They were awe-inspiring. Breathtakingly beautiful. 

Many of these buildings were constructed at the command of powerful kings and kingdoms. 

Back at home, I read about one such chapel—part of a castle in Ghana—where worshipers sang hymns of praise to God while men, shackled in dungeons directly beneath the parishioners’ feet, waited to be shipped across the Atlantic and sold into slavery. How much did it pain the heart of God that this gross misuse of power occurred in a place emblazoned with His name, in what should’ve been a safe place always?

People exercise power through silence and passivity as well as through speech and action. 

In another time and place, the basements of northern churches served as stops on the Underground Railroad—protective havens for slaves escaping to freedom. Like the castle in Ghana or the churches in the north, it isn’t the outward trappings of beauty or success that matter, but rather what lies beneath in the deep recesses of our souls. 

Power has a way of revealing who we really are. What will we do when presented with the vulnerability of a person created in the image of God?

Everyone is vulnerable. We kid ourselves if we think that we are not. We are entirely dependent upon God for our life and breath and all that is needed to sustain it. Were He not willing to heed our feeble cries, we would be utterly lost and without hope. 

And while it is true that the King of Kings could have turned a blind eye to our great dysfunction and need, or even addressed it with brute force and domination, that is not how the story goes. 

“Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus laid down His sweet head.”

With all power and might at His disposal, the Master of the universe chose to make Himself vulnerable for our sakes. He became hungry and thirsty so that we might be filled. He took on flesh and climbed into our suffering in order to make a Way out. Jesus willingly came down into the mess of our sin and shame, bringing light into the darkest of places, showing us the futility of self-importance and the joy of laying down one’s life for another. He washed feet, and then He told us to do the same.

• “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”–Mark 10:45 (CSB)
• “The one without sin among you should be the first to throw a stone at her.”–John 8:7
• “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”–Matthew 25:40
• “God blesses those who are poor and realize their need for him, for the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs.”–Matthew 5:3 (NLT)

There is no formula for how to use power or deal with vulnerability, but there is an example—a Perfect Example—for us to follow. We find it in the Son of God and Man who came to seek and save the lost. He ate with sinners, condemned the greed of the rich, drew near to lepers, called out the religious leaders who’d burdened others for their own gain, offered salvation to the Gentiles, commissioned women who’d been subjugated and ostracized, and welcomed the smallest child. Jesus, described as the Suffering Servant by the prophet Isaiah, said this:

“I tell you the truth, the Son can do nothing by himself. He does only what he sees the Father doing. Whatever the Father does, the Son also does.”–John 5:19 (NLT)

May we go and do likewise.

Father, 

When the world, the evil one, and my flesh, entice me to use power to my own advantage, give me grace to follow the example set by Your Son. When self-preservation would keep me silent, help me to stand firm and speak up for those whose voices are shaky or silenced. Shine Your light into the darkest places of my heart. Thank You for not making me face the ugliness of my selfishness alone. You love me unconditionally, even as You point at cobwebs and clear them out by the power of Your Spirit. Cause me to weep tears of repentance over every time I’ve used power to harm—whether through action or inaction, harsh words or silence. Please help me surrender to Your redemptive work in my life, and show me how to be part of the restoration You are doing in those around me. Teach me to walk in the Way of Jesus, honoring You with the power You’ve delegated to me–power that belongs to You alone. In weakness and strength, let my life be a conduit for Your goodness and a testament to Your glory. 

In Jesus’ name, Amen.