Vulnerability and a Wholehearted Faith

Two things (out of many things) that interest me are puzzles and Psychology. I need to know why rather than just what. In a way, they are connected: how the mind works is a bit of a puzzle, and I’m fascinated with how the various pieces work together. What I particularly love is how a better understanding of how the mind works can help to increase connection with each other, and with that comes learning how to make people feel valued, heard and seen.

When I initially looked at 2 Kings chapter 4, it was because I was drawn to a puzzle. In verses 12-13 it says:

He said to his servant Gehazi, “Call the Shunammite.” So he called her, and she stood before him. Elisha said to him, “Tell her, ‘You have gone to all this trouble for us. Now what can be done for you?” (2Kings 4:12-13)

The puzzle I saw was this: Why does Elisha not seem to speak directly to the woman even though she’s right there?

I never did find a definitive answer to my question. However, in the process of searching for it, my mind went on a really valuable tangent and I learnt some great things about empathy, courage and especially how vulnerability connects them, and so, us.

While I touch on both courage and empathy, I’m primarily going to talk about vulnerability.

Courage Over Comfort

I’ve been listening to a lot of Brené Brown podcasts recently. For those who don’t know who Brené Brown is, she’s a social scientist who studies courage, shame, vulnerability, and empathy; and has a ton of data which guides her conclusions.

She’s written several books and currently runs two podcasts. She’s also a Christian. Her book Daring Greatly: How the Courage to be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent and Lead is particularly helpful on this topic of vulnerability.

Her current motto is ’Courage over Comfort’, and she believes that in order to reach courage you have to walk through vulnerability. I find her approach really helpful - not just in better understanding how our minds work, but also for learning to be a better person.

So What is Vulnerability?

To quote Brené Brown: Vulnerability is uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. Vulnerability is not weakness. On the contrary, there is no courage without vulnerability. It’s not something we can avoid in life. If we want any sort of connection with people, then we need to be vulnerable. It’s in every creative endeavour, every time you seek medical advice, when you apologise, or give or receive feedback, and whenever you tell someone you love them. Writing and presenting this article is an act of vulnerability.

Life happens and vulnerability is a part of life we can’t avoid.

Oversharing is also not vulnerability. (Over sharing is when you share intimate details about yourself before knowing whether the other person can be trusted with that information). There needs to be a level of trust in order to share our stories and experiences, and that takes time to cultivate and know.

At the same time, a willingness to be vulnerable creates trust. By sharing parts of yourself with others, you are reaching out and showing them that you trust them to keep those parts of you safe. That in turn encourages them to do the same. Trust and vulnerability are built gradually, not all at once.

We can’t do it alone. Being vulnerable involves other people, and especially other people we can trust, who support us, and who we in turn support.

The Widow

So let’s delve into 2 Kings chapters 4 and 5 and the lives of the three characters we’re particularly going to look at. In chapter 4 we meet two contrasting women.

One a widow, one married.

One poor, one rich.

One has children, one is childless.

But both are in need.

(As an aside, I think it’s a great shame we don’t know the names of either of these women. But maybe we don’t have their names as in their different circumstances, any of us could be one of these women).

The first woman we meet is a poor widow. Her husband was one of the prophets and, now that he is dead, she is in dire straits. The wife of a man from the company of the prophets cried out to Elisha, “Your servant my husband is dead, and you know that he revered the Lord. But now his creditor is coming to take my two boys as his slaves.” (2Kings 4:1).

Most people in those days were just trying to survive. Life was a struggle. So with the death of her husband and the subsequent loss of income, her situation was desperate. A creditor had come and was threatening to take her two sons as slaves. We don’t know how old her sons were, but I imagine they were probably still children, though maybe older children.

For her to ask for help must have taken a huge amount of courage. She was admitting to a lack of resources, as well as an inability to create sufficient income. Further, she was admitting to being in debt. She must have been at her wit’s end and terrified of the possible outcomes, as well as feeling ashamed for needing help and having to ask for it.

She was making herself vulnerable.

I assume none of us need to worry about our children being taken into slavery to pay debts, but some of us, I’m sure, have faced worry about paying the bills. Fear of what letters may be in our post, or even wary of the knock at the door. Or afraid of how we will cope financially after redundancy or illness, or the breakdown of a relationship. And it can feel shameful to admit we are struggling or need help.

Courage takes vulnerability. It takes allowing another to see your problem, your shame, or your innermost self. It’s not something you can do with just anyone – there has to be some level of trust. But even so, it’s still a brave thing to do because you can never be sure how the other will react.

This woman saw something in Elisha that she trusted, and in turn she walked through her vulnerability in order to find her courage. So how did Elisha respond? And how should we respond so we can be a trustworthy person someone else can safely be vulnerable with?

He could have dismissed her problem, or minimised it.

He could have said “Well I’m sure you’ll be fine” or “Just keep saying your prayers”*.*

He did neither.

He could have told her off or questioned how she got into this situation. He didn’t do that either. Instead he listened, without judgement. He acknowledged that there was a problem and asked her how he could help and what she had. By doing so he also made her feel seen and heard.

Elisha then offers a solution. But he doesn’t take over and try to fix the problem. He could have said, Well, this is outrageous! I’m going to march in there and tell this creditor what for! Doing so would have made him feel better, but wouldn’t have empowered the widow herself.

Instead, he gives her the tools to help herself.

Again, Elisha’s solution isn’t to take the problem (and therefore the solution to the problem) away from her – which would make him feel good for fixing it, but make her feel powerless. Instead he hands the power to her and enables the widow to feel in control of the solution to her own problem. The widow fixes her own problem. Elisha just shows her how and gives her the resources.

This is a lovely example of vulnerability and courage on the part of the widow, and empathy and good listening on the part of Elisha.

The Shunamite Woman

The Shunamite woman was wealthy. She was also generous with that wealth. Not only did she show hospitality to Elisha when he was in the area, but she went above and beyond by having an extension built to her house especially for him.

This didn’t go unnoticed, and Elisha wanted to repay her somehow for her generosity and kindness. He offered some suggestions, but it seems she was content in her household situation. Or at least that’s what she said. At this point she was unwilling to make herself vulnerable in order to ask for what was really lacking in her life. Or maybe she hadn’t considered it was even possible.

So Elisha consulted with his servant, Gehazi. “She has no son, and her husband is old”, said Gehazi (2Kings 4:14b).In those days the lack of children, especially a male heir, would be a matter of shame. Children were necessary for the continuation of the lineage and to retain the family land. Their family name was in danger of being lost forever.

We don’t know why the Shunamite woman was childless. Maybe she was infertile, or maybe her husband was. (In either case, she likely would be the one stigmatised with infertility because, in those days, there was no concept of the biology we understand today). Maybe she had become pregnant but they had ended in miscarriages, with all the sorrow and dashed hope that brings. Or maybe she had a child or children, but they had died; infant mortality was common before our modern medicine.

Whatever the cause, it appears she had become resigned to her situation, and learned to livewith it. Especially as the years wore on and her chances of having children drew thin. And it may be that some of us can relate to her feelings because we’ve been in, or are in, similar situations.

Maybe you still hope. Maybe your hope was fulfilled. Maybe you’ve become resigned to your situation or have made peace with it. Maybe you still struggle with the pain. Maybe you are content with your situation and it’s others who see it as a lack. Whatever your situation, admitting it either to yourself or to others makes you vulnerable. But vulnerability can lead to courage.

Elisha’s solution – promising she would hold a son in her arms – must have cut though the walls around her pain and started to make her vulnerable. Her response is one any of us might have when hope is held out after it has been dashed so many times.

“About this time next year,” Elisha said, “you will hold a son in your arms.”

“No, my Lord!” she objected. “Please, man of God, don’t mislead your servant!” (2Kings 4:16).

I think she was afraid to get her hopes up and believe. Afraid to feel the grief and hurt once again of hopes dashed. And yet, this time, her hopes weren’t dashed and she truly got what she’d been afraid to long for. How amazing that must have been for her!

I have a feeling that, however wonderful it was, a part of her had become so used to not getting what she longed for that when she finally did, she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. How many of us are the same?

So how utterly heartbreaking when, after a few years her child – her only son, the son of promise – died after a sudden illness. This time she allowed herself a tiny glimmer of hope. She allowed herself to be vulnerable to the possibility of hurt, while hoping for a better outcome.

She didn’t tell her husband their son has died. She didn’t tell her servant. She didn’t tell Gehazi. She could barely even tell Elisha when she reached him. She held her grief deep inside because this time, she was going to grasp on to that glimmer of hope and ask for help.

She allowed herself to move through her vulnerability in order to show courage.

Gehazi’s response was dismissive. But Elisha saw her distress and was filled with compassion. Straight away he sent Gehazi running to help her. But the woman didn’t want a dismissive, unsympathetic servant. She wanted someone who understood. Someone with compassion. Someone she could trust. She wanted Elisha himself.

When Elisha arrived at the house he went straight to the boy and used his own body to warm the body of the boy. He risked being unclean by touching a dead body because love and compassion are way more important than any purity laws. He made himself physically vulnerable. To Elisha, courage was more important than comfort.

And Elisha prayed.

And the compassion of Elisha and the raw hope of the Shunamite woman were answered. The child lived, whole and well, and was brought again to his mother’s embrace. She didn’t have that guarantee, but she allowed herself to be vulnerable in order to find her courage.

Naaman

Let’s move on to another example of vulnerability, also from the lifetime of Elisha: Naaman.This is the account of an important man with leprosy who finds a cure in a rival nation, through a foreign God, and so discovers a new faith, found in 2 Kings chapter 5.

I think the account we are given shows Naaman on a journey: a journey of faith and of trust, a journey from pride into humility, but also a journey where he learned to be vulnerable,turning that vulnerability into courage and connection.

Naaman was a man with authority. The record tells us he was commander of the army for the King of Aram, and also a mighty warrior. It really sets him up as an important figure, and then drops a bombshell: but he had leprosy. (2Kings 5:1b).

While we know leprosy here could refer to a variety of skin diseases or patchy skin disfigurements, what is important is that Naaman would be regarded as cursed or even rejected by his gods and ritually unclean. So when his wife’s young slave mentioned a possible cure, it must have felt like she was throwing him a lifeline. (I find it astounding that this girl, a slave in the household of the military leader who raided her home country, could offer help to him. She truly was an example of loving your enemy.)

At the approval and written recommendation of his master (the king of Aram), Naaman, with a generous supply of gifts and his entourage, set off to see the King of Israel (likely Joram) -- the King of the nation Naaman and his men had frequently raided.

Asking for help from the king of a nation with which he, at best, had an uneasy relationship was always going to be a risky venture. To me, the letter from the King of Aram, in 2 Kings 5:6, seems blunt and arrogant.King Joram, unsurprisingly, assumed it was a trap and tore his clothes in consternation.

I wonder what was going through Naaman’s mind at this point. Was he also arrogantly assuming that Joram would fix him? Or was he feeling more vulnerable, having revealed his weakness, especially to a probable enemy?

Either way, when Elisha heard of the encounter, he intervened and requested Naaman to go to him. So off Naaman went, with all his wealthy entourage right to the door of Elisha’s house. Instead of meeting Naaman himself, Elisha sent out a messenger, saying:

“Go, wash yourself seven times in the Jordan and your flesh will be restored and you will be cleansed”(2 Kings 5:10).

Naaman reacted angrily. Protesting that he’d expected the prophet to perform some ritual and weren’t the rivers of his home country better than all the water of Israel? He stomped off in a rage.

We often attribute Naaman’s reaction here to pride. But what if it wasn’t pride, or at least, not just pride. When we try to avoid vulnerability, it tends to bring out our worst attributes. We’re scared. We rage or turn to perfectionism. We become judgmental, critical, or controlling.

As Brené Brown says in her book Daring Greatly, When we pretend that we can avoid vulnerability, we engage in behaviors that are often inconsistent with who we want to be.

This is what I see in the reaction of Naaman.

For all his bluster, I don’t think he really cared whether his home rivers were better. It was an excuse to avoid exposing himself, doing something humble which would involve him taking off his clothes so all could see his skin condition. It was one thing that his servants and King knew about it. It was another thing to expose his weakness for anyone looking to see.

It’s one of Naaman’s servants who turned him around. Gently and respectfully, he reminded Naaman that the prophet wasn’t asking Naaman to do some great and impossible deed, and that washing in a local river was really quite a simple act and well within his means.

Feedback is difficult both to receive and give, and doing either is an act of vulnerability. It’s being exposed to uncertainty and risk as we either tell someone what they might not want to hear, or are told something difficult to take in. Feedback from either end involves vulnerability and courage.

All credit to Naaman that he was able to accept the feedback his servant bravely offered him.

I wonder what Naaman felt as he undressed, ready to wash in the Jordan River. That feeling of exposure and fear as he dipped his feet into the water for the first time. That hope, and maybe expectation, as he emerged from the first washing, looked at his skin and saw… nothing had changed. Did he feel disappointment? Was he tempted to leave? Afraid he was being made a fool of by the foreign prophet whose country he had led raids against?

Whatever his thoughts, he stepped back into the river again, willing to be vulnerable and exposed in front of his own servants. And then again…and again. Until finally Naaman emerged from the Jordan for a sixth time…and still nothing had changed. His skin was just as diseased as before.

Was he willing to lay himself open that seventh and last time?

Once more he walked into the river. Dipped himself under and washed. This time was different. Naaman’s humility, faith and vulnerability were rewarded with a complete cure. His skin was like that of a young boy (v14).

Naaman’s response was beautiful. There was no hesitation. He went straight back to Elisha and declared: “Now I know that there is no god in all the world except in Israel.”(v15).

Think about that for a second.

The Arameans had a full pantheon of gods and each city within Syria had gods particular to it – such as Hadad, the weather-fertility god; Sin, the moon god; Shamash, the sun god. It was unthinkable in the ancient near East for anyone to not worship a deity of some sort. Loyalty to your household, city, or national gods was expected.

While it would have been assumed that Naaman had been cursed and rejected by his gods due to his skin disease, you might think it would be understandable for him to turn his back on gods who had done do. But it would be more common to try to regain their favour somehow.

Yet that wasn’t what Naaman did. He declared those gods as not existing, and instead accepted there was only one God – the God of Israel. In that day and age, his was a remarkable declaration, and I’m not sure we understand the impact of it in our day.

Maybe that is why, when Naaman asked for leniency when his master, the king of Aram expected him to bow with him in the temple of Rimmon, that Elisha accepted it, because in Naaman’s mind the god in Rimmon didn’t exist, only Israel’s God did.

Maybe that is why, when Naaman asked for leniency – when his master, the king of Aram, expected him to bow with him in the temple of Rimmon – Elisha accepted it, because in Naaman’s mind the god in Rimmon didn’t exist, only Israel’s God did.

In not just giving up his previous gods, but declaring them nonexistent, Naaman was making himself utterly exposed in that culture, and vulnerable before the only God left to him.

But this was the God who had shown him more care and love in healing him than any other of the pantheon he’d known before, while accepting none of his wealth, but only his heart.

How Can We Learn to be More Vulnerable?

We’ve looked at three examples of vulnerability. We’ve seen that there is no courage without vulnerability and that being vulnerable creates greater connections with each other and our Father in heaven.

So how can we learn to be more vulnerable?

We can be honest when people ask how we are. We can listen with empathy and without judgement. We can encourage questions and not be afraid of doubts, both in ourselves and others. We can appreciate each other’s differences instead of expecting all to conform. Yes, it will be uncomfortable and it will take practice, but the rewards are a closer, more authentic, and more courageous relationship with each other, ourselves, and God.

Not being vulnerable has a high cost of hiding who we are in order to fit in, suppressing our gifts, and allowing only superficial relationships between each other, Jesus, and God. Being vulnerable allows us to fully be who God created us to be. To know the peace which passes all understanding, to be able to confess our sins to one another in a safe and loving environment; and to carry one another’s burdens.

Let’s find ways to each create a trusting environment to be vulnerable with each other. Knowing that God already knows us inside out, and loves us.