Read Isaiah 42:1–4
ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed,
Altars reveal what we worship. Some are obvious—raised platforms of stone and flame. Others are quieter, constructed in systems, reputations, loyalties, and assumptions. Lent is a season of holy examination. It calls us to look closely at what we have built, what we defend, and what we trust. In this series, we conduct an audit—not of budgets or buildings, but of allegiances. Lent strips away every false altar until only Christ remains.
Part 9: The Altar of Strength. Strength is one of the most celebrated virtues we know. It is praised in leadership, rewarded in culture, and quietly expected in everyday life. We are taught to admire those who endure, who push through, who hold it together no matter the cost. Strength, on its own, is not the problem. It is real. It matters. It can protect, sustain, and even heal.
But what happens when strength becomes something more than a virtue—when it becomes an altar?
The altar of strength is built not just on what we admire, but on what we are willing to overlook. Because the moment strength becomes the standard by which we measure worth, those who cannot meet it begin to disappear. Not all at once. Not violently, at least not always. But quietly. Systemically. Acceptably.
We tell ourselves a lie: that strength is simply what is good. And in doing so, we justify who we ignore.
Isaiah offers a different vision. The Servant of God does not raise a voice to dominate. The Servant does not crush the bruised reed or extinguish the faintest flame. This is not weakness. This is not passivity. This is strength—restrained, intentional, and directed toward justice. It is power that refuses to prove itself through destruction.
That is a direct contradiction to the strength we are used to seeing.
Because empire has always defined strength by who survives and who does not. Strength, in that system, is measured by dominance, endurance, and control. Those who cannot keep pace—the bruised, the exhausted, the barely holding on—are not centered. They are managed, minimized, or moved aside.
And here is the harder truth: the Church is not immune to this.
We say we follow Christ, but we often mirror empire. We celebrate resilience while ignoring burnout. We platform voices that project stability while sidelining those who struggle to be heard. We call it wisdom. We call it order. We call it strength.
But beneath it is a quieter confession: we do not know what to do with weakness—especially our own.
So we construct an altar.
We convince ourselves that we are strong, even when we are not, because admitting otherwise feels like losing value. And in maintaining that illusion, we distance ourselves from those who cannot hide their fragility. What we refuse to face within ourselves, we often reject in others.
This is how the altar holds.
Jesus dismantles it—not by denying strength, but by redefining it. In Luke’s Gospel, the good news is not announced to the powerful but to the poor, the captive, the blind, the oppressed. Not as an afterthought, but as the center.
That is the inversion.
Strength, in the kingdom of God, is not proven by who stands above others. It is revealed in who refuses to step over them. It is not the ability to endure at all costs—it is the willingness to remain with those who cannot. It is not dominance—it is presence. Not force—but faithfulness.
And that kind of strength cannot coexist with the altar we have built.
Because one sustains systems that discard. The other restores those systems have already crushed.
So the question is not whether we value strength.
It is which definition we are willing to lay down.
THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Strength, in the way of Christ, is not proven by power over others, but by refusing to abandon them.PRAYER
God, strip away the false strength we cling to and the illusions we use to measure worth. Teach us the strength of Christ—the kind that does not crush, does not discard, and does not turn away. Give us courage to face our own fragility, and compassion to stand with those the world overlooks. Re-form us in your way of justice and mercy. Amen.
Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).
