Faith for the Feeble, the Weak and the Fearful

By Revd Geoffrey Clarke,
Moderator of the URC East Midlands Synod

[Bible readings: Isaiah 35: 1–10, Matthew 11: 2–15]

Text: from our Old Testament reading:

Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees.
Say to those who are of a fearful heart,
‘Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God’.

Isaiah 35: 3-4a

The congregation addressed by Isaiah is described in three words which, I suspect, are both accurate and at the same time resisted. On this third Sunday in Advent I want, for a few moments, to reflect on sustaining faith when Isaiah’s description fits us.

1      Feeble, Weak and Fearful –
The reality of what we see in the mirror

Isaiah is tasked with addressing those who have weak hands, feeble knees and fearful hearts. The words weak, feeble and fearful are used to describe the reality of how Isaiah’s hearers are feeling … what Isaiah’s hearers look like. It is a third party’s diagnosis of their feelings and appearance.

It is, of course, inadvisable practice to ‘label’ others and to generalise; risky, too, to describe others on the basis of what we observe outwardly. Yet those addressed by Isaiah knew what it was like to feel weak, feeble and fearful. Taken captive, exiled from their beloved homeland and at a distance from their temple, Isaiah’s hearers would all too readily recognise themselves as those with weak hands, feeble knees and fearful hearts. It was, for them, the reality of what they saw in the mirror. In their case the experience of exile forced them to adapt to life in a setting alien to what gave strength to their hands and knees and reassurance to their hearts. The ‘mirror’ held up by life in exile reflected the painful reality of what they had become. Once they had been able to take pride in being God’s beloved, chosen ones; the reflection in the mirror was that of those in whom God delighted. Now what they saw in the mirror was something that bore little to no resemblance to that.

In literal terms, of course, the mirror merely reflects those who stand before it. Unless it is a distorting mirror of the kind associated with the fairground, intentionally designed to make its beholder look different, the mirror has no powers of its own. Yet for all too many of us we are at best disappointed with what we see in the mirror; at worst distressed and self-loathing at the ‘us’ that we observe there and assume that others see us as.

I confess that the words ‘feeble knees’ resonated with me! In February of last year I slipped and fell in the covered walkway at Swanwick while walking from the evening meal to the business session of General Assembly Executive. The result of that accident was a dislocated kneecap – patella dislocation. It was, to say, the least, agony – relieved only as and when in A&E (and helped by painkillers!) my patella was returned to its rightful position again. What added to my distress as I lay on the cold floor was the instant realisation that my accident had jeopardised the Camino pilgrimage I had been due to undertake a couple of weeks after my fall. The most simple of movements became a major challenge. Instead of training for Camino I was subjected to a course of physiotherapy. And my knee was so feeble that in the earlier sessions of my physiotherapy I was reduced to tears by not being able to do a full rotation when on the exercise bike. Before that accident I hadn’t really given a lot of thought to just how much normal movement, so easily taken for granted, depends on good knees. Feeble knees, by contrast, made simple movement a difficult and painful task. At first I had to use crutches; for a while a knee brace as support. And, of course, the trip to Camino was postponed.

The knees of those addressed by Isaiah were just not up to the long and tough walk on the Highway. Their knees had been made feeble by their fall – a fall that had resulted in them being taken captive into exile.

These words in Isaiah are a stark reminder that the ‘us’ that we see in the mirror can be the distorted version of what we might regard as the ‘ideal’ or ‘perfect’ us. We do not feel we are the ‘us’ we used to be at our best. William Cowper, in his hymn, Oh for a closer walk with God, looks in the mirror and pines for the version of himself that had a firmer faith and greater joy:

Where is the blessedness I knew
when first I saw the Lord?
Where is the soul-refreshing view
of Jesus, and his word?

What peaceful hours I once enjoyed,
how sweet their memory still!
But they have left an aching void,
the world can never fill.

William Cowper (1731–1800)
Rejoice and Sing 551: vv. 2 & 3

What Isaiah’s exiled hearers beheld in the mirror was the version of themselves that was weak, feeble and fearful. No longer the strong, firm and fearless embodiment of faith and identity. What, I wonder, do we see in the mirror. (And for the purposes of this sermon I am not talking about some of us feeling that our hair is too grey … or our waists are too wide.) Holding up the mirror and looking at our faith and hope, perhaps we see ourselves as weak, feeble and fearful in the face of the here and now – the challenges of the world and the Church in 2025. Like Cowper we may pine for the stronger and more confident version of faith. Yet what we see is the more weak, feeble and fearful version of it.

2      Feeble, Weak and Fearful – What God sees in the mirror

The glorious good news is that much as we might be tempted to despise what we see of ourselves in the mirror God loves what he sees!

Addressing the church in Corinth St Paul writes:

Consider your own call, brothers and sisters: not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are, so that no one might boast in the presence of God. He is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption, in order that, as it is written, ‘Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.’

1 Corinthians 1: 26–31

In short, says St Paul, not many of you were of strong hands, firm knees or fearless hearts but God chose the weak, the feeble and the fearless.

Francis Dewar’s tale, The Flawed Ruby, attests to God’s use of those who might otherwise conclude they are too feeble or fearful, flawed or fragile to be of use:

There was once a rich and powerful king who had a large and very unusual ruby that was beyond price. The jewel was the basis of his renown, wealth and power. Each day, he would gaze at it with great pride. One day, to his utter consternation, he saw that the ruby had upon it a scratch. Horror of horrors! What was he to do?

He called each of his palace jewellers to come and examine the scratch, and see what could be done to repair it. They were unanimous that nothing could be done without causing further damage.

The kind was devastated, and offered a substantial reward to any jeweller who could be found who could repair the king’s ruby. Several jewellers came who fancied their chances, but all confessed that there was, indeed, nothing that could be done.

Some days later, one of the king’s servants said that he had heard tell of an old retired jeweller in a remote country district who was said to be very experienced in working with damaged gems. So he was duly sent for; and a few days later he arrived, a little, bent old man, rather shabbily dressed. The king’s courtiers were very scornful and told the king he was wasting his time. But the king insisted that the old man be shown the damaged gem. He looked at it thoughtfully for some time, and then said to the king, ‘I cannot repair your ruby, but if you wish, I can make it more beautiful.’ The king was a bit sceptical, but he was desperate to have something done, so he agreed. So the old jeweller set to work, cutting and polishing. Some days later, he returned. Upon the king’s precious stone he had carved the most delicate rose, its stem being formed by the scratch.

Margaret Silf, One Hundred Wisdom Stories from Around the World. © 2003 Margaret Silf/Lion Hudson.

One of the most vivid and abiding challenges I received was the occasion when a group of us, newly ordained as ministers, met for a retreat at what was at the time the United Reformed Church Windermere Centre. We were addressed by the then Director, the Revd Peter McIntosh and we were invited to reflect on the question, Whose yoke are you trying to bear? Peter had encouraged us to hear afresh the words of Jesus, Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. (Matthew 11: 29–30) What Peter said to us all those years ago is worth each and every one of us hearing this morning: We are invited to take the yoke of Jesus – the One whose desire is that we are not loaded down beyond our strength. Peter said he suspected that much of the time the yoke we try to shoulder is what others expect of us (or what we think they expect of us) and, worse still, he said, what we expect of ourselves. And then he offered the vivid and abiding challenge. (And I might need to add that if any of you are of a fragile disposition you may need to block your ears!) In the privacy of your own home, Peter said, take off all of your clothes and stand before a full-length mirror. Take a good look at what you see. Whom you see. And say these words out loud and believe them in your heart: ‘This’ is the ‘you’ that God loves. Totally. Unconditionally. Absolutely. Despite what you think of the ‘you’ you see. Regardless of how much you might wish you looked ‘better’.

All these years later I can still see and hear Peter. All of these years later I continue to struggle to love the ‘me’ I see in the mirror. Yet I believe Peter was right. God’s affection and delight is in the ‘you’ you behold in the mirror. The same ‘you’ God sees.

The amazing news Isaiah was tasked with sharing was that those whose weak and feeble faith had landed them in the painful place of exile were precisely the ones to hear the good news that

… the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped …
… the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.

Isaiah 35: 5–6a

3      Feeble, Weak and Fearful – The God we see in the mirror

In our Gospel reading, when Jesus speaks to the crowds about StJohn the Baptist, he says:

What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see?

Matthew 11: 7b–8

Jesus goes on to say:

Truly, I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.

Matthew 11: 11

Jesus recognises the assumption to identify faith and hope in the strong and comfortable places – the soft robes of royal palaces. And how many of us and how often, I wonder, identify faith and hope at their best as being found in the strength of certainty, the strength of big crowds and popular acclaim. How often do we pine for churches to be fuller; public faith to be firmer; confidence in God to be stronger? Advent spotlights a ‘Highway’ and invites us, God’s people, to travel on it. And as we do to find our song again – a song sung even when our hands are weak, our knees are feeble and our hearts are fearful. A song to the One who embraced weakness and feebleness and lived among the fearful: a song that sorrow and sighing shall flee away. (Isaiah 35: 10)

In the hymn we will sing shortly:

There is a longing in our hearts, O Lord,
for you to reveal yourself to us.
There is a longing in our hearts for love
we only find in you, our God.

For wisdom, for courage,
for comfort: hear our prayer.
In weakness, in fear: be near,
hear our prayer, O God.

For wisdom, for courage,
for comfort: hear our prayer.
In weakness, in fear: be near,
hear our prayer, O God.

Anne Quigley (b. 1956)
Celebration Hymnal for Everyone: 915: Refrain, 2, 3)

If we equate faith and hope with strength and certainty we may miss seeing the God we are invited to see in the mirror. The God encountered in our weakness, frailty and fear. The One born not in Herod’s palace but in the squalor of a stable. The Jesus who is still to be glimpsed, in our moments of weakness, frailty and fear, in the love, care and kindness embodied in ordinary, good humanity.

I conclude with John Bell’s Carol of the Epiphany:

I sought him dressed in finest clothes,
where money talks and status grows;
but power and wealth he never chose:
it seemed he lived in poverty.

I sought him in the safest place,
remote from crime or cheap disgrace;
but safety never knew his face:
it seemed he lived in jeopardy.

I sought him where the spotlights glare,
where crowds collect and critics stare;
but no one knew his presence there:
it seemed he lived in obscurity.

Then in the streets, we heard the word
which seemed, for all the world, absurd:
that those who could no gifts afford
were entertaining Christ the Lord.

And so, distinct from all we’d planned,
among the poorest of the land,
we did what few might understand:
we touched God in a Baby’s hand.

John L Bell (b. 1949)
Innkeepers & Light Sleepers: pp. 50–51)