When I visited Peter—though that’s not his real name—I found him lying on the floor, paralysed from the neck down, waiting for an ambulance that wouldn’t come for hours. Another injury, another misfortune, yet again through no fault of his own. Peter, once a drug user, was now weak, unable to feed himself, confined to his flat day and night. He seemed forgotten by the world, discarded by society, invisible to the systems and people who prize power, self-sufficiency, and strength.
As we talked, it was clear just how fragile he had become. In a world that celebrates the strong and successful, Peter seemed like the runt of the litter, someone with little left to give. In a church culture where the well-dressed, the articulate, and the influential can be prioritised, he would be considered a nobody—an outsider. Not even a name on the attendance sheet. Yet, as we talked, Peter’s quiet voice cut through my assumptions.
“Jon,” he said, “let me share with you my favourite scripture.” Slowly, with the kind of strength that doesn’t come from the body, he began to recite a passage he had memorised years ago, back when he was still in the grip of addiction.
“Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him.”
As the words left his lips, tears welled up in my eyes. In front of me lay not a man defined by his brokenness but a reflection of the mystery and beauty of the cross itself. Peter, weak and frail, mirrored the cruciform nature of Christ—the God-man who hung, broken and twisted, on the cross. In that shattered form, where the world saw only defeat, there was hidden a beauty beyond comprehension. The same beauty was present in Peter’s broken body, a mystery that confounds our human understanding of strength and value.
Here was a man of deep faith, embodying the paradox of the gospel: that in weakness, there is strength; in lowliness, there is grace; and in the brokenness, there is beauty. Peter’s frailty wasn’t a sign of failure, but a powerful reminder that God’s greatest work is often done in and through what the world deems worthless. In his suffering, a suffering which God did not cause, Peter was chosen, just as Christ was, to reveal the beauty that emerges from brokenness, the glory that shines through what the world rejects. He wasn’t a nobody. He was a living reflection of the crucified Christ.
- Swales, 2024
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