Preaching from Brokenness
March 3, 2025
March 3, 2025
Life is hard, and ministry adds another layer of difficulty. From the outside, we face a real adversary actively opposing every step of progress we make. On the inside, our own souls cry out for comfort as we minister to others in need. How can we preach when we ourselves are broken? Is it even possible? Why would God allow our service to be made more difficult by soul-wrenching trials?
These questions became pressing in March 2021, when our 19-year-old daughter Grace passed away in a car accident. I received the phone call every father dreads. While I am comforted that she knew the Lord and is in his presence, this was a new level of difficulty for our family. At the time, I was engaged in bi-vocational ministry in Anchorage, Alaska. We were graciously granted space to grieve and phase back into work and ministry, but the reality is that you aren’t back to “normal” in just a month or two. More than three years later, I am still healing. I don’t expect to ever be “over it” on this side of glory.
And yet, the call to ministry still burns in my heart. God has moved us to West Tennessee and transitioned me to full-time pastoral ministry. These last three years, I’ve regularly asked myself the question: how can I be broken and yet pour life-giving truth and love into others? The apostle Paul explored this question in 2 Corinthians. Paul faced accusers in the Corinthian community who claimed that the trials he endured demonstrated the weakness of his gospel and his apostleship.
Rather than downplaying his suffering, Paul responded by displaying it. He’s brutally honest with them. He says he despaired of his own life in Asia (1:12–2:4); faced turmoil in Macedonia (7:2–16); experienced anguish over the Corinthians’ sin (1:12–2:4); faced treatment as an imposter and insignificant (5:11–6:13); and endured imprisonment, shipwreck, beatings (almost to death) with lashes and rods and stones, frequent brushes with dangers, physical labor, hunger, thirst, sleeplessness, and anxiety for all the churches (11:16–33). Again, he’s brutally honest about his struggles. He even describes an unnamed thorn in the flesh that would not depart, despite his desperate pleas for relief (12:1–10). Put simply, Paul knew suffering intimately. The fourth chapter of 2 Corinthians has helped me especially.
But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’s sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you. (2 Cor. 4:7–12)
At its heart, brokenness is result of the pressure exerted upon jars of clay.
Jars were used for a variety of purposes in Middle Eastern life. If these jars weren’t exposed to stress, they could last thousands of years (like the jars the Dead Sea Scrolls were found in). But put them under much pressure, and they would fracture and break.
We are the jars of clay and would be like every other jar of clay, apart from this treasure placed within us. This treasure is the knowledge and presence of Jesus Christ dwelling within us and the calling to make his name known to the world (2 Cor. 3:18, 4:5–6).
Paul describes four pressures experienced by these jars:
These stresses are expansive, covering many categories of difficulties.
It’s significant that these challenges are not unique to Christians. They are the griefs, troubles, and trials common to mankind because of the curse of sin. They aren’t necessarily brought upon us by a specific sin but are part and parcel of the human condition. In other words, repenting won’t make these pressures go away. The suffering could even be a result of obedience. It may or may not impact us physically, but deep down inside, we are injured, we are hurting, we are broken.
Meanwhile, our society defines brokenness as “a state of strong emotional pain that stops someone from living a normal or healthy life.” Herein lies the opportunity and paradox of gospel ministry.
The world expects brokenness to stop life. Yet through Christ, brokenness can be used to bring life.
What we notice about these clay jars is that they aren’t exhibiting typical behavior. In fact, for every word Paul uses to define the stress put upon these jars, we find a surprising resilience.
When clay jars experience suffering and yet endure with faith and hope in the Lord, they demonstrate something unique We find that their durability has nothing to do with the quality of the vessel and everything to do with the quality of its cargo.
I want to be careful about how I use the word “purpose” here. There is no way I can know the extent of God’s purposes behind all the brokenness in my life, much less yours. Our God is inscrutable, and so are his ways. However, Paul finds a redeeming purpose behind the brokenness in his life and extends this purpose to our lives too. It is a thing (not the totality of things) that God seeks to do through our brokenness, and it is glorious.
Twice in 2 Corinthians 4:10–11, Paul says we are suffering “so that the life of Jesus might be made manifest.” Paul found a purpose in his brokenness: to display the presence of Christ so that through Paul’s pain, others could be brought to life through the validated message of the gospel.
When God called you into ministry, he did not just call your mouth to preach and confiscate some of your time on Sundays. Our call to ministry implicates the totality of our bodies, our lives, our families, and our plans. I’m not suggesting it’s improper to have a life outside of our ministry, just that you will find that our good God will touch and shape those aspects of your life for the high calling of gospel ministry.
Understanding how God redeems suffering completely changes our outlook. The health crisis you are facing that you think drags down your ministry can be redeemed to further the ministry. The same is true of the crisis you are facing with your spouse and children, a struggle with depression, stresses at work, opposition, loss, questions, and even at times the silence of God—all can be redeemed to magnify the name of Christ.
But this only holds true when we rely upon the power of Christ within us to weather these storms. I’m not saying we don’t feel pain—far from it. I’m saying there is a power to endure in the hope of the gospel if we lean into him.
As I mentioned earlier, our oldest daughter Grace passed away on March 18, 2021. She was driving to visit a potential graduate school in Indiana. It was raining. Somehow, she lost control and ran into a semi parked outside of a rest stop. She was unconscious immediately, but she fractured her skull. There was internal bleeding on her brain, and she died at the hospital as they were trying to revive her. We were living in Alaska at the time and didn’t know anything about the accident until after she passed. I received a call from the doctor who tried to save her life. You can imagine the shock. I recall getting on my face and praying and reciting the words of Job, that God had given and taken away, and I asked for his strength.
Losing Grace remains one of my greatest struggles. And yet, the Lord has given me a strength and a hope that defies my own expectations.
This became very clear to me just a week after Grace’s funeral. We were in Phoenix where our other three children were swimming at a regional competition. During the trip, our youngest son Micah began experiencing very bad abdominal pains, became very weak, and could barely walk. A nurse on site examined him and thought it could be his appendix, so we rushed him to a hospital in the middle of the night. In the back of our minds, we were thinking about another swimmer we knew, who had just experienced a very bad case of appendicitis and came close to death after his appendix ruptured.
Of course, our emotions were already raw, and all sorts of scenarios passed through my mind. When we arrived, a nurse met us at the entrance and said that only one person could accompany Micah in the ER because of COVID restrictions. I tried to explain our circumstance and begged to be allowed to join my wife, but the answer was no. They put Micah in a wheelchair and took him inside. I had to wait outside at the curb where I watched them in the waiting room through a window.
As I sat out there, I descended into a very dark place. There was a depth of anger, pain, and hopelessness. I was on the verge of breaking.
By the grace of God, I learned after a few hours that Micah was only experiencing an abdominal migraine and that basic remedies and rest would restore his health. I was elated, but also very distraught over what had transpired that night in my heart. As I prayed the following day, I asked God why he would allow this to happen right after Grace’s death. Why would he allow me to descend so low?
As I wrestled in prayer, I realized the Lord had allowed me to see the edges of the strength he gave me to endure Grace’s passing. He had not called me to endure losing Micah, but he allowed me to glimpse the fragility of this jar, the jar that is James Keen. He also allowed me to see that the hope and belief I maintained despite Grace’s passing was beyond me. It was his strength sustaining me. In that moment, God’s presence was profoundly tangible.
Since we have the same spirit of faith according to what has been written, “I believed, and so I spoke,” we also believe, and so we also speak, knowing that he who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and bring us with you into his presence. For it is all for your sake, so that as grace extends to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God. (2 Cor. 4:13–15)
How do we preach and minister from a position of brokenness? The call to the ministry is not something we can shelve when we face suffering. There are certainly times to step back, rest, regroup, process, and pray. But whatever form our ministry takes, there is no biblical precedent for a faithful minister to give up when difficulty arises.
Paul gives us guidance on preaching from this posture of brokenness, but before I expound on that, let’s talk about three damaging responses to brokenness.
This should be obvious, but it bears repeating. James promises a divine blessing for enduring under trial and a curse for breaking and falling into sin (Jas. 1:12–15). The wrong response is to allow Satan to score a victory, another man down for the cause of Christ. We shouldn’t be surprised by trials or brokenness. Christ has never portrayed the Christian life as anything other than taking up a cross.
When we falter, our Lord always has a place for the repentant redeemed in his service (Luke 22:32).
I have witnessed a tendency among some ministers to pretend like life is better than it is. Social media posts of happy faces and fun family gatherings don’t accurately portray the hardships and heartaches that are carried behind the smiles. Sometimes the songs we sing don’t portray the truth about the Christian life. Many of you recognize the verse, “Every burden’s getting lighter, every cloud is silver lined.” I don’t find this to be consistently true in my life. It depends on what God has called me to each day and how I respond to that calling.
We aren’t honestly handling the Word and clearly presenting the truth if we pretend that the Christian life is always bright and shiny. While we would never preach a prosperity gospel, we can inadvertently advertise it by the way we portray our lives, especially during trials.
There is a need for a degree of honesty and transparency from ministers of the gospel. It took me several years to learn that my congregation’s perception of my life differed from reality. They saw the pastor who showed up to church early with kids in tow, all dressed and ready to go. They saw me prepared for the day’s activities, but they didn’t see the hours of preparation, the difficulty we faced as a family, or even the occasional drama during the car ride to church. They thought our life was different than theirs. They didn’t think we had past failures we had to overcome through Christ. As a result, when they faced the real problems of life, they questioned whether the gospel I preached could overcome the difficulty and darkness of a “real” life.
We experienced a bit of a breakthrough when we became more transparent in appropriate doses and settings. This is how Paul ministered. He was not afraid to be real about his suffering, his weaknesses, and his past, so that he could magnify the overcoming power of Christ.
There is an opposite extreme to the error of pretending we aren’t broken. Some wallow in their trials and bring them up at every opportunity. It’s a chance for attention, which is either an end unto itself, or perhaps a fleeting hope yet another acknowledgement will bring a degree of relief to the pain. When we are in this state, pain dominates our field of vision rather than the purpose and strength of Christ. The brokenness defines us and flows into our ministry. If we can’t see beyond our pain, neither will those to whom we minister.
Remember the thrust of our text. We don’t preach ourselves, but Christ (2 Cor. 4:5). We are troubled, but not crushed and without hope of survival. Our brokenness is redeemed when we find our strength in Christ, and that strength allows us to live beyond ourselves and minister to others.
It is important to recognize that the reason for seeking attention could be a lack of spiritual maturity, or it could be a cry for help. If you find that you are struggling, whether you express it or suppress it, there is infinite hope and strength for you in Christ, his Word, and his Spirit. I encourage you to reach out to those who have handled adversity with the obvious grace and strength of Christ.
In 2 Corinthians 4:13, Paul quotes Psalm 116:10, which says, “I believed, therefore have I spoken: I was greatly afflicted.” The writer of Psalm 116 is unknown. He had a great burden that he described as experiencing the sorrows of death, the pains of hell, and a great turmoil of soul (116:3). Yet from a position of brokenness, the psalmist “believed” and preached the faithfulness of God.
Paul identifies with the psalmist’s paradoxical boldness—an open acknowledgment of horrible pain alongside a clear pronouncement of faith in Christ. Jesus is the One with the power to hold these fractured jars of clay together, shining the light of his presence through the spreading cracks.
Paul goes further in the next verse, speaking about the resurrection of Jesus Christ and the promise of our future resurrection. Paul’s faith is even more crystallized than the psalmist’s, for he can look back to the cross, the empty tomb, and the living promise of a Savior who awaits the word of his Father to come and gather his children, to replace our weak vessels with glorious bodies fit for eternity and to wipe away every tear.
Our rescue hasn’t yet come, but Paul is saying “I believe” and proclaiming the name and message of Christ from amidst of turmoil. We don’t have to wait for the storm to pass, the pain to diminish, or the answers to become clear before we can proclaim our confidence in our Deliverer. There is tremendous power in a battered earthen vessel still holding to the promises and holding out the light of the knowledge of Christ to others.
So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. (2 Cor. 4:16–18)
We don’t give up. This is the main point of 2 Corinthians 4:16. Everything else in verses 17–18 provides the grounds for this resilience. Yes, our jars of clay are being battered, sometimes even daily. But our inner man, through union and fellowship with Christ, can find renewed strength to meet the distress. How?
This is a topic worthy of much deeper treatment than I can provide here. During especially dark seasons of life, the normal and essential disciplines of prayer, Bible study, meditation, and fellowship may initially appear inadequate. But I have found the need to focus, intensify, and tune these disciplines. My prayers took on the form of lamentation, as so aptly addressed by Mark Vroegop in Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy. The cross and the suffering of the saints monopolized my studies.
For fellowship, I sought out believers who endured similar tragedy and listened to what they had to say. There is a unique connection and compassion that can exist between brothers and sisters who have been called to carry the same cross. I also read a few biographies of saints from former days who endured the same afflictions.11 . J.R. Miller’s A Book of Comfort, Theodore Cuyler’s God’s Light on Dark Clouds, Cuyler’s The Empty Crib, and Volume 10 of The Works of Thomas Smyth where he has an extended discourse on death, focusing on the death of children. The recommendation to read these biographies came from Tim Challies, who faced similar tragedy when he and his wife Aileen lost their son, Nick.
My meditations focused on the promises of God. While their full realization lies ahead, there is a present strength that flows from knowing our pain has purpose and will provide for us great and enduring glory. Through the resurrection power that Christ imparts to our battered vessels and through the promise of the fullness of that power which will be realized on that great day, we can endure the hour. In fact, our present brokenness is small and passing by comparison to what comes next. As we fix our hope and gaze on the unseen realm, wherein dwells our Lord, we realize that the sturdier things, the better things, the restored things, are yet to come.
Finally, I found surprising strength when I stepped out to do the hard but good work of ministry. My self-protective mechanisms kicked in at times and made me overly cautious about re-engaging after tragedy. Sure, I needed some space to heal, but there comes a moment when I had to stand again. This was Paul’s point. Don’t give up. When we are willing to connect with others through preaching the Word, there is a special abundance of grace God pours out that both sustains us and ministers grace to those around us. We who are broken receive comfort for comfort (2 Cor. 1:3–4).
When church members vote on new members, they’re deciding on those with whom they’ll share the highest authority in the church.
Elders are important, but the church, made up of its members, is far more important.
When a new problem or crisis surfaces, I think, "The Lord has delivered us . . . and he will deliver us."
