“But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh.”

2 Corinthians 4:6-11

Maybe it is best to start with the confession: I’m that mom. Yes, the one that yelled at her firstborn, 7-year-old son that he was throwing like a girl during baseball practice. The slow and deliberate turn of wide-eyed fathers standing nearby was my first clue I’d overstepped.

It left a mark on everyone.

Though I have come a long way since the firstborn, basketball season is upon us and my youngest loves the sport. There is no delusion that he is bound for the NBA. The stats say there is a .03 percent chance and I do not tell him that he can be whatever he wants when he grows up. 

Yes, I want him to win in the worst way. More importantly I want him to play the way I know he is capable of playing and to love doing it. I am proud and love to watch, regardless of the outcome. Knowing his strengths and abilities, it is a matter of hoping to see him fulfill his potential. He has put in the practice and the time and comes home red faced and soaked through—pure sweat equity.

This season, however, has begun with timidity. It is clear he is hustling. We know he’s got the ability. We have seen what he can do. It’s just waiting for that moment for things to click, for him to fully settle in and reap the rewards of the hard work off the court. He just needs to know whatever happens it is okay. It isn’t something I can do for him and my “you throw like a girl” strategy was long ago dropped. 

We all know that feeling of treading lightly. 

You know you know the answer but the spotlight is on and you want to be certain before you speak up. We walk cautiously, unsteadily for fear of the outcome or a misstep.

As I read through one of my favorite passages in 2 Corinthians last week, conviction came over me. Many times I have thought, evangelism isn’t really my gift. I am plenty happy to write about faith, scripture, ways that God is working but get me face to face and I can feel my neck go up in flames. Timidity and insecurity flood in as I struggle to effectively share. 

The trepidation takes over.

My brain also screams out “I’m a fraud.” How does someone who has been the kind of example I have proclaim the name of our Savior? 

Then 2 Corinthians blows up every excuse. 

My failure is not the end of the story. It is merely the opening line. It is God’s tale of faithfulness. It is the moment when his goodness is able to be fully on display. This cracked and leaky clay jar makes it abundantly clear that any and all good work can only come from that surpassing power that belongs to God and not to me. He has graciously made sure that people will know I am not capable apart from his intervention.

The death and decay of this mortal flesh is one more way it is crystal clear that it is not about this mortal flesh. We carry in these bodies the death, but because He did that also, we have the privilege of carrying the life. 

Meager objections of failure, weakness and inability dim in the face of his radiant light. 

We can be afflicted, perplexed, persecuted and even struck down—but God.

Weak-armed throws are not met with a cry of disdain from of the stands. He knows what I can do because it is his work and not my own. 

He put in the work off the court.

It left a mark.

Does he want us to win? Yes, He died to make it so.

The limitations we try to hide will never be hidden from him. The insecurities we wrestle with are but one more avenue he has available to tell the world. Yes, we sometimes miss badly, but the focus is not on us. 

In 2 Corinthians 1 Paul writes that he had been so previously burdened he was despairing, thinking he had received a death sentence. But once again, “that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead.” 

However weak the throw, however far off track, however cracked the jar, the power belongs to him. 

If any story looked like one of defeat, Jesus’ certainly did: shouted down, beaten, killed. Yet that was merely the opening line.

This is how and why we can now rely on God who raises the dead. It is why in verse 20 Paul wrote, “For all the promises of God find their Yes in him. That is why it is through him that we utter our Amen to God for his glory.”

What more do we need to throw off any trepidation?

Because of his “yes” we are not crushed, driven to despair, forsaken or destroyed. Instead we find we are capable because we rely on him.