I have always been strangely captivated by Christ's words to the Apostle Paul: “My power is made perfect in weakness.” Perhaps part of the reason is that I was raised in the Orthodox Christian tradition. But there is something in those words that reaches far beyond religious familiarity. They contain a paradox that is difficult to ignore.

How can there be strength in weakness?

In the world around us, weakness is often punished. The vulnerable are trampled by those who are stronger. We see it everywhere: the more resources a person has, the more power they possess, the easier it can be to overpower someone who has nothing.

There is truth in that.

Christ Himself was, in a sense, crushed beneath such a force. He was humiliated, beaten, and killed. By every ordinary measure of worldly power, His enemies had won. And yet He rose again. This is the mystery contained in those words: “My power is made perfect in weakness.” I find something deeply inspiring in this kind of strength—a strength greater than money or authority.

There is a familiar truth, perhaps even a somewhat overused one, that the more money and power we acquire, the less free we can become. When we weave intrigues, we eventually become entangled in them ourselves. When we accumulate wealth—whether material or emotional—we can easily become its prisoners.

Power demands that we protect it. Possessions demand that we protect them. Even the image we have built of ourselves can become something we are afraid to lose. But something different happens when we honestly acknowledge our weakness and, at the same time, trust that God loves us. Paradoxically, that is where freedom begins.

This does not mean weakness in the sense of being broken, passive, or helpless. It means weakness as openness. Honesty. Kindness. The willingness to admit that we are not self-sufficient.

These qualities may look fragile in the eyes of the world. They can be exploited. They can be wounded. They are much easier to destroy than money, status, or physical strength. And yet, before God, they have a different kind of value. I can also testify, in a small and very practical way, to the truth of this idea.

When my wife and I first began getting to know each other, neither of us tried to present a perfect version of ourselves. We talked not only about what was good in us, but also about where we were weak, difficult, imperfect, or unfinished. At the time, this might have looked like a rather “weak” way to begin a relationship.

Five years later, I can say with certainty that it saved us an enormous amount of anxiety. There were no terrible surprises waiting for us after we married. We had already shown each other many of the things we might otherwise have tried to hide. What initially looked like vulnerability became a source of strength. A weak starting position became a strong foundation. And I see in that, too, something of Christ's teaching. Of course, living this way is not easy.

It can be frightening to admit that we are not as strong, wise, successful, or self-sufficient as we would like to appear. It can be difficult to let go of the inner riches we have accumulated—the pride, certainty, status, or carefully constructed image of ourselves that we have come to regard as our own.

We want to be strong enough to manage everything ourselves. We want to have something to rely on. We want to be able to say: I can handle this. But Christianity offers a strangely different answer. Sometimes the most honest thing we can say is: I cannot handle this alone. And that admission does not necessarily make us weaker. It can make room for grace.

Christ's words to Paul continue: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Perhaps this is one of the hardest lessons to learn: that we do not become free by becoming invulnerable. We become free when we no longer have to pretend that we are.

And little by little, when we dare to admit our weakness, trust God's love, and stop clinging so tightly to the illusion of our own strength, we begin to discover a different kind of power. A power that does not crush. A power that does not need to dominate. A power that is made perfect in weakness.