This talk by house manager Erin Greco was originally given at the 2025 House Retreat for Gutenberg College’s Residence Program.
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I would like to talk about weakness and failure. Weakness and failure make us very uncomfortable. I would argue that the Spirit of this World works hard to teach us, as early as it can, that weakness and failure are to be despised.
Strength and competency are, after all, the currency of the world. They are, we’re told, the pathway to success and status—which are where we will find our purpose, security, and fulfillment.
Friedrich Nietzsche accused followers of Jesus of being apologists for the weak. The natural hierarchy of the world is based on strength and vitality, he said, and Christians were simply weaker people trying to find a way to subvert that order so they could have an advantage.
And I get it, because Jesus said some pretty wild stuff—stuff like “Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.” He also said,
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for the kingdom of heaven is theirs.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the humble, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.
That does sound pretty subversive to a hierarchy based on strength, capability, and “might making right.” I can see why Nietzsche thought Christians were up to something. But I fear that many corners—swaths, even—of Christendom would not feel so foreign to Nietzsche now.
I’m afraid we have become very practiced, even in Christian circles, at claiming Jesus without following His teaching. We have become very practiced at valuing wealth, prowess, and outward appearance and overlooking our inner sickness of the heart. We have become very practiced at looking down in judgment on people who are poor, weak, unimpressive, or annoying. We have become very practiced at despising our political enemies—at, God help us, thanking Him that we are not like them.
We have become practiced at these things because the Spirit of this World is not barred by the gate of a church, and the pull of evil on our hearts doesn’t just stop because we say the name of Jesus. Our sickness is greater than that. The world’s sickness is greater than that.
But the Spirit of this Age is not the only Spirit at work in this world—and the other Spirit is not barred by doors, either. There is no corner of the earth—no nation, tribe, or tongue—into which He cannot break. There is no human heart in which He cannot get to work, letting color bloom over the canvas of landscapes that used to lie barren and hostile, bringing about the fruit of repentance through strokes only the Master Artist can make.
Let’s come back to weakness and failure.
I think we often conflate the priorities of the Kingdom and the priorities of the World. We get confused when we try to hold together what the Spirit is working and what the flesh values. It is easy to get the idea that a person undergoing the transformative work of the Creator will begin, in some way, to look more impressive—to achieve more, to amount to something visibly desirable. But nothing in Scripture indicates this is the case.
When the Apostle Paul chose a grouping of words to describe the traits we could expect to find growing in a heart in which the Spirit was at work, he used words that described inner qualities and attitudes and responses toward others: love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control. It is easy to gloss over these words; it is also easy to mistakenly read into them a picture of a fun and agreeable person who has their act together.
But the truth is that everyone’s story is incredibly different, and the transformation of a person into the image of their Savior may not look like anything the world recognizes as success. The road of a person’s sanctification may in fact be paved with great weakness and great failure. When Paul begged to be healed of his own physical infirmity, God told him, “My grace is sufficient for you; my power is made perfect in weakness.”
This is not a story in which we get to be the heroes—in which we, in our strength, build or strive or achieve our way to creating our ideal life, our platform, our safety, our worth. No, it is not a story in which we are the strong ones, the capable ones. But it is a story in which we are beloved.
In our weakness, in our failure, even on our darkest days, we are known, loved, and freely offered forgiveness. We rest, utterly dependent but entirely safe, in the hand of our Heavenly Father, who made us on purpose and down from whom comes every good and perfect gift.
Someone once asked Jesus who would be greatest in the coming Kingdom. Jesus called a small child to himself, and said, “Truly I tell you, unless you turn and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child—this one is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”
This article first appeared in the Fall 2025 issue of Colloquy, Gutenberg College’s free quarterly newsletter. Subscribe here.
