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Bend at the Knees

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Originally written in 2008, this piece by Belinda Burkitt still resonates in a time of pandemics and renewed protests over racial violence.

Chip Burkitt, editor.

“Bend at the knees!” Something I can remember calling out to my young children as we ventured across an icy patch on a winter walk in Minnesota. My husband and I wanted them to slow down and keep their already low center of gravity even lower to protect them from falling. They took our advice alright. But the funny thing was they would walk normally for a few steps then squat a couple of times, walk—stop—squat, repeat. Until they made it safely across the ice. This was hilarious to watch! Even now when we’re outside and encounter a patch of ice, the person in the lead calls to those behind to “Bend at the knees!” Then we all stop and squat.

A couple of weeks ago I was talking to my college-student daughter over the phone. She caught me up on the latest in her life. Nearing the end of her junior year and facing an unknown internship, she was realizing that many unknowns lay ahead for her. She was stressed—knot in the stomach, deep ugly pimple in the middle of the forehead, fearing the future STRESSED. Her small, safe community would no longer be her point of reference. Her place on the map that says ‘YOU ARE HERE’ illustrated with an arrow and a dot would soon be somewhere else. The familiar sights, sounds, and smells of rural Iowa and the crazy antics of dorm life were about to fade into new, more grown-up sensations. Sigh.

I listened. I nodded. I identified. My own strange, resistant-to-change feelings welled up. Wishing I could stop the inevitable flow of imminent change. Wishful thinking. Her next phase was bigger than me. Somewhere in the midst of her worry about getting a passport and writing yet another chapter summary and obtaining a letter of recommendation, I blurted out, “Bend at the knees!” Silence. “Bend at the knees, honey. Do you remember our winter treks across the ice?” She remembered. Now she listened. “You’re about to do some things you’ve never done before. It’s supposed to feel weird. Worry about slipping and falling out of control won’t help. Slow down. Get low. Be ready for the unexpected. Bend at the knees. Trust. Trust God’s plan, and all will be well.” I could hear her take a deep breath. The knot in her stomach loosened and the pimple began to clear up. “Okay.” She said. That was it. A sweet moment when the advise coming out of my mouth was exactly what I needed to hear. We shared the same encouragement.

There comes a time, okay, several times for everyone when we are confronted with a patch of ice on our path. When staying put is not an option. When life, God, calls us to keep moving despite the warning signs of potential danger. When there’s too much to be done and sitting around waiting for spring or forty degrees simply won’t do. Life following God will never be completely safe or void of obstacles or slippery spots.

Lately, I’ve been hearing the “Heavenly C’mon!”—God calling me to resume the adventure, encouraging me to keep moving toward him. My knees want to tighten and lock. It’s uncomfortable, new. I resist like a hobbit who wants to stay snug in the Shire, content to live with the small and the usual. Once again I am reminded that it’s not about my comfort. It’s about the mission. The cause that is big and right and worth fighting for. So worth getting over my petty fears and self-centered craving for safety.

A new fear arises. What if I fall? What if I am an expendable crewman who gets sent to the unexplored planet without a coat? Armed with a much too small ray gun? Only to be liquidated by the galactic bad guy. What if my job is to set up the rest of the episode? What if I’m a casualty? What if?

I actually fell on the ice this past winter. Or was it spring? Twice. I wasn’t watching because I thought there shouldn’t be ice on the ground this time of year when, fwip, BONK. (Expletive.) I was flat on the cold icy ground with an owie and a broken coffee cup. I was furious. Full of blame and rage that no one had warned me in advance to “Bend at the knees” or had even bothered to salt the side walk. I resolved, briefly, to never go outside again.

STAYING PUT IS NOT AN OPTION!

Move along… Move along… MOVE IT!

Staying put is not an option, is it? Sometimes taking action means our own survival. I think of the rock climber who was climbing solo in Utah some years back. He dislodged a boulder, pinning his right wrist to the side of the canyon wall. He was literally stuck. After days of waiting to be rescued, his water and granola gone, he had no other choice but to finally free himself by applying a tourniquet and severing his own arm. He then, rappelled down the cliff, hiked five miles where he found help and passed out.

His extraordinary will to survive challenges my extraordinary desire to be safe. I comfort myself with the thought that even Bruce Willis doesn’t have that kind of grit. Staying attached (literally) to his arm would have been his death.

It reminds me of the disturbing words Jesus spoke,

“If your right hand offends you, cut it off.”

Yeah, but Jesus was talking about being tempted to sin, right? Like getting rid of your TV or throwing out your video games. I know, I know. But could it be that staying put, even when we are stuck under a gigantic boulder, is sin? Is it possible that doing nothing is an offense because we are not making every effort to fulfill God’s call on our lives? To live the life He has called us to live? When playing it safe is toxic, you do what needs to be done and get going!

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fear kindness leadership love magic strength struggle suffering theology violence war weakness

The Strength You Have

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The story of Gideon found in Judges 6–8 is one of my favorites from the bible. Gideon is not handsome or charismatic like David. He doesn’t have superhuman strength like Samson. He’s not chosen from birth like Jeremiah or Samuel. He’s just a regular guy, frightened like everyone else by the Midianite marauders who roll into town on their Harley camels. Like the banditos in The Magnificent Seven, they take whatever they want and leave so little for the Israelites that the people are doomed to perpetual poverty and hide their families and belongings in caves.

Gideon, too, is hiding from the Midianites when the angel of the Lord first approaches him. He is threshing grain in a wine press. Grain is usually threshed on a threshing floor—a wide, open space where the wind can carry away the chaff as the grain is tossed in the air. A wine press is an especially poor place for threshing. It was usually a large pit lined with bricks with a smaller hole in the center. The grapes were dumped in around the center hole and crushed by stomping on them. The juice would flow into the center hole. During threshing, the walls of the press would block the wind, making it harder to separate the chaff from the grain, but they would also block the view of any passing Midianites who might come and seize the grain as soon as Gideon was done with the threshing.

I can imagine Gideon suddenly being hailed by the angel, “The Lord is with you, mighty warrior.” He freezes with fear but relaxes when he realizes the angel is not a Midianite. His fear turns to anger.

“Excuse me,” he says. “If the Lord is with us, why has it been decades since we saw any evidence of it? We hear stories about God’s wonders, but we never see them, and right now we are being savagely oppressed, and God does nothing.”

Then the angel of the Lord gives him a most extraordinary command. “Go in the strength you have and save Israel from the hand of the Midianites. Am I not sending you?”

Gideon is dumbfounded. “Me? You want me to save Israel? I’m the least influential guy from the weakest clan in Manasseh.”

“Oh, that,” says the Lord. “Not to worry. You’ll have me with you.”

As the story unfolds, however, God shows Gideon that he means exactly what he says. Gideon does save Israel using only the strength he has. The only wonders God performs are signs to reassure Gideon that he is really hearing from God rather than hallucinating or going mad. His military strategy is insane. He attacks with 300 men armed with—swords? no—trumpets and torches hidden in clay jars. The plan is to scare the Midianites into killing each other, and amazingly it works. Once the Israelites see the Midianites are on the run, then they are emboldened to pursue them until there are none left. Then peace and prosperity return to Israel for the rest of Gideon’s life.

God didn’t equip Gideon with special powers or abilities. He didn’t provide him with overwhelming force, an army to match the size of Midian’s invasion. He called Gideon to use the strength he had to relieve the suffering of the Israelites. The Apostle Paul makes it explicit:

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.

1 Corinthians 1:26-2

God can call you and give you a mission now, where you are, with the strength you have. You can begin where you are to express his love. You can join with others to oppose injustice. You can alleviate the suffering of those in pain. You can be kind. Kindness requires no preparation or training or special talents or gifts.

Here are three things to keep in mind if you feel God is calling you to do something.

  1. Check your motives. God didn’t call Gideon to make him rich or famous or powerful. He called him to relieve the oppression of his people, to correct an injustice, to right a wrong. Gideon did become rich and famous and powerful, but that was a by-product of God’s mission, not the main event.
  2. Make sure it’s God. God provided signs that he was one speaking to Gideon, signs that made sense to Gideon. He burned up the meal Gideon brought to the angel. He did the thing with the fleece, wet with no dew all around one day and dry when the surrounding ground was wet with dew the next. He also gave him intelligence about his enemy in advance of his attack. All of these things served to reassure Gideon that he was acting as God intended.
  3. God isn’t magic. God’s presence with Gideon did not make Gideon’s task easier. It made it possible. Gideon still had to deal with smashing idols, raising an army, selecting an elite force, planning his military strategy, pursuing the enemy, and cleaning up after all the slaughter. He had to deal with self-doubt and fear. None of those things were easy. Easy would have been staying in the wine press threshing.

God may have a special mission for you, a unique calling to a particular task, but if he does not, he still expects all who belong to him to follow his commands to love others, to do good and act with kindness even toward those who scoff at your beliefs or persecute you, and to pray for the coming of his kingdom. These things are a general call to all his followers. Go in the strength you have and do them.

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blessing Christians jesus love luck religion strength theology violence weakness

Violence and Meekness

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“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” –Matthew 5:5

Who can believe this? How can the meek get anything? You have to be aggressive. You have to be bold and assertive. You can’t wait for anybody to give you anything. What was Jesus thinking, telling people that being gentle and mild, being meek will get you anything? We know that the rich—those who really inherit the earth—don’t get it without being decisive, seizing the opportunity, making their own opportunity, and taking what they want. You can’t be soft. You can’t let feelings get in your way. You’ve got to be hard; the world isn’t for sissies.

Of course, you don’t want to be cruel. You want to be kind. But when others use violence, you have to be prepared to respond with force. You won’t strike the first blow, but when you do strike, it will be to end it. You have a right to protect yourself, your home, your family, your property. You have a right to defend yourself against violence. Get a gun, and learn how to use it. If anyone tries to cause you pain, you’ll bring the pain to them.

Of course, sometimes you have to strike first. If you wait for them to make the first move, you could be dead. If they threaten you, they had better be prepared for what you will do. If they so much as glance at your daughter, they won’t get a chance for a second look. If they come through your door, they had better already be shooting. Otherwise you will take them out.


Jesus commends the gentle, calls them blessed—lucky to have soft answers for the wrath of others, favored by God with a mild temper that forbears to injure anyone. He says that they and not the aggressive go-getters will inherit the earth. The world will become the possession of mild-mannered men and women, those who value peace and love and simple happiness. “Be happy,” he says. “Consider yourself lucky if you’re the type of person who abhors violence, who wants to live and let live, who looks for ways to de-escalate tense situations. The world of the future will be yours.”

It is not only the world that does not believe Jesus; it is Christians. How do I know? Because we praise strength when it is a willingness to use violence rather than a readiness to endure it. Search for images of meekness on Google, and you will find a lot of memes proclaiming, “Meekness is not weakness. It is strength under control.” Notice that the virtue being touted is not gentleness or patient endurance. It is control. You harness your violence and make it do your bidding. You keep the threat of force in check and only use it when necessary. The trouble is, it will always eventually become necessary.

This is a lesson taught and reinforced again and again by our media and the stories we love to tell. The good guy knows how to use violence as well as the bad guy, but he uses it judiciously: in self-defense, or the defense of others. He does not use it wantonly like the bad guys who care nothing for others and kill or destroy to advance some evil agenda. The good guy’s violence is under control, made to serve good purposes or at least some end that is less bad than the bad guy’s aim. The good guy’s violence is for justice. It is for vengeance and retaliation. He may train for violence, but he does not originate it. When the bad guys offer violence, he retaliates.

This lesson feels good and right to us, in part because it helps us believe that our wars are just, that our police are upright, that our laws and their enforcement are humane. But this is not a lesson Jesus taught. Until the night of his arrest, whenever the authorities sought to detain him, Jesus always evaded them. He ran away. He avoided confrontation. He didn’t stand his ground. He didn’t put up a fight. During his arrest, when one of his followers tried to defend him, he rebuked him and told him, “Put away your sword. Everyone who draws a sword will die by the sword” (Matthew 26:50-52). In his own actions and in the teaching he gave his followers, Jesus was relentlessly non-violent. If we consider ourselves his followers, then he taught us to endure violence. He taught us not to retaliate, not to seek retribution, and to leave justice to the Father. We can plead for God’s vengeance, but we are explicitly told not to take matters into our own hands. Those who have sought to emulate Jesus’ teaching of non-violence have had better success in changing the hearts and minds of their oppressors than all the warriors and agitators in history. The future belongs to the gentle. The meek will inherit the earth.

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