Being Teachable Through Limitations

Breaking a leg as a path to wisdom

This week, I have been teaching a one-week systematic graduate theology course for pastors from across the country here in Eugene. The work involves nearly 8 hours of lecturing each day. Yet, I’ve noticed something different in myself this year. In previous years, I found that my stamina and endurance could carry me through without any difficulty or hindrance. Once finished, I could effortlessly bounce right back into the next thing on the calendar. For the first time in my life, I’m beginning to notice a shift in my body. At 44 years old, I’m realizing my body is struggling to keep up with the daily regimen of lecturing. As is my mind. I feel far more tired and wake up feeling much less recharged than when I was a younger, more agile man. In short, I’m more and more in touch with my limitations than I’ve ever been.

I’ve entered midlife—what one person called “the dark wood.” My body is not acting the way it’s supposed to (in my mind). When I’m in a good place, I find myself being kind and generous. But when I’m not, I look down on myself as though I am a failure. What I can’t do is change my body. But what I can do is learn to listen to it. As another has said, the body truly is a minor prophet. It speaks to us. And it often screams before we listen. In short, as much as I don’t want to, I’m learning to listen to my body. Instead, I have to learn to listen.

These bodily limitations—as nagging as they may be—are not problems to overcome but realities to embrace. This is part of life.

Christians throughout history have taught us the instructive power of limitations. Leading up to this week of courses, I have been reading a fabulous book entitled Experiencing Scripture as a Disciple of Jesus by Dave Ripper. It is an invaluable little book on how the Christian thinker Dallas Willard approached the Bible. In the first section, Ripper introduced me to the story of St. Ignatius (1491-1556). Ignatius, like other young men of his time, dreamed of being a man of valor—a soldier who would embody the strength and fortitude of the empire. In his youthful zeal, he devoted his life to preparing for war by building his body and strengthening his mind.

At some point before he entered the war, an acquaintance commented to Ignatius that he would eventually include in his Autobiography. It was said that he would not be a wise person until he had first broken his leg. Though he was unaware, Ignatius was hearing a prophetic message. Not long after, Ignatius was in a massive battle, and a cannonball flew and nearly took off one of his legs, shattering the other as it flew through his legs.

Photo by Daniel Tafjord

As he recovered for nine months, he was unable to visit friends or talk to the soldiers. He was left in quiet. During that time, someone gave him several Christian books on the life of Christ. With nothing left to do, Ignatius read, studied, and examined the story of Jesus. Turning to Christ, Ignatius would eventually transform his life into an impassioned journey of seeking God.

Indeed, wisdom comes after the broken bones.

As I read Scripture, I find that a similar journey occurs for many biblical characters. Job turns his entire attention to God after losing everything. Naomi lost her two sons and then returned to Bethlehem to find God’s providence and grace. It is only after grieving the loss of his son that David worships God and accepts the judgment for his sin. And Moses needed to murder an Egyptian and be deserted in Midian to encounter the burning bush.

In short, experiencing the sheer limitations that come with life, whether due to our own sin or old age, can lead to wisdom. Broken bones can become wisdom. Sadly, as we all know, they can also lead to bitterness and anger. The question isn’t if the bones will break; it becomes what we will do with the broken bones.

Like Ignatius—and again, my plight is entirely different—I am learning to embrace the power of my body’s limitations. These limitations help me return to my humanity. Perhaps you have a limitation that needs to be accepted as your teacher. Humans tend to do everything they can to escape their humanity. This is odd, considering it is the opposite of what God chooses to do. God decided to become human to love us. We strive to become godlike in our pursuit of perfection. No wonder we often miss each other.

Let your limitations be your teacher. See those broken bones (metaphorical or not) as the place where God shapes and forms you.

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Thanks for being a reader of the Low-Level Theologian. For further reading this week, consider reading a piece I recently published with Bible Gateway entitled, “How to Grow as a Christian: 5 Rituals for a Growing Disciple.” As always, you can find me wasting as little time as possible on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Or, check out my podcast with Dr. Nijay Gupta at Slow Theology. Do remember that I just released A Teachable Spirit: The Virtue of Learning from Strangers, Enemies, and Absolutely Anyone with the folks at Zondervan Reflective. Pick up a copy and dig on in.