Charles Cockerell designed the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford to reflect the classical architecture of Rome. With massive Ionic columns, the building appears ready to withstand the fiercest tempest  ever to spin off the grey North Sea.

In truth, the columns do nothing but add a classical façade to a building that is held up by a standard architectural design of stone and mortar. If the storm of the century did arrive in Oxford, the columns would go first, revealing a very strong and plain reality just behind the Ionic (and ironic) Greek surface.

Churches have been talking a lot about brokenness lately. “Authentic” as a fad. It can seem so healthy, as we come to terms with our humanity and the terrible weight that drags us down. But it also is addictive, as a gathering of the broken becomes a weepy, high school pity party. “I’m so broken” can become “I’m not responsible.”

Back to Cockerell. The ionic columns are only for show; they play no part in the actual design of the building. I wonder, in a similar sense, if that is a good analogy for brokenness and strength.

As humans, we are conditioned by many forces to develop façade strengths. Our egos, along with our peers, parents, and environment, force us to form what we think are our strong places. We are convinced smart phones have given us elegant minds and the internet, knowledge. In reality, we have facades, like the Ionic columns that adorn the Museum in Oxford.

What if brokenness were a process of God destroying the façade that was largely self-created?  A difficult ripping and tearing, as what we have built and counted on is proven to be our own adornment, rather than God’s design. As our self-designed images fall way, we feel exposed, weak, and destroyed. Brokenness is a revealing process, critical in the pursuit of knowing truth and being set free. As our growth in God is a life-long process, so is this tearing down. But it is not an end, only a revealing.

As the stone dust settles and the columns we were proud of lie in a heap, brokenness feels permanent. But in reality, now that the façade has been removed, the truth is brilliantly plain. What remains are the strengths that God has designed. Behind the fake sandstone columns stood rows of rigid steel beams, crafted as part of a plan infinitely more resilient than anything we could build. God’s design, our strength, remains in the midst of the ruin that we had tried to pass off as real.  

Only now can real progress be made. What had been tragic becomes heroic, as who we truly are emerges from the smoke and fire of what we persevered through. Some of the input we received was like work of shoddy bricklayers, not caring if the structure would fall. We need healing in the tearing down. Other contributions were used by God to strengthen and temper His steel, to be freshly acknowledged and joyfully celebrated as strength. Discernment, the awareness of both, shows us the difference.

God’s design of strength and beauty can now be reveled in. Vocational decisions are based on truth, not appeasement. Plans for marriage are made in reality, not on immature needs to add a new column to an already fractured façade. We can move out of our histories in strength.

My perception is that we have been really good at brokenness, not so good at strength. As a result, we develop an understanding of what was not real and receive healing, but don’t gain a deep enough appreciation of what is true about who we are and our related calling. The scriptures point toward more than “brokenness,” developing an understanding of who we truly are in the eyes of God. We can never forget that we come from dust, to which we are fast returning.  Yet we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

I suspect that humans require a balanced approach, understanding our need to journey through broken places, receiving healing, understanding, and forgiveness, in order to see and embrace strength.  We need an approach that creates an appreciation for what lies behind the façade, as preparation for a life-long progression of tearing down and revealing. It’s a desperate process, one that reveals God’s grace and our need for community. One that balances brokenness by revealing true, God-designed strength.