Do not mistake Meekness for Weakness

Dr. Spencer R. Fusselman

There is a fatal misunderstanding in the world that equates meekness with weakness, but any seasoned martial artist knows that nothing could be further from the truth. In the ancient Greek military tradition, the word often translated as "meekness"—praus—was not used to describe a spineless coward, but a warhorse trained for battle. This was a beast with the thunderous power to crush an enemy, yet so disciplined that it responded to the slightest touch of its master’s rein. This is the paradox of true power: the ability to destroy, held in check by the volition to serve. While we spend our lives in the dojo cultivating this type of controlled lethality, the ultimate example of this "power under control" is found not in a black belt, but in the manger.

The Christmas narrative is often retold as a soft, silent night, but if we look through the lens of strategy, we see the most aggressive, calculated power play in the history of the cosmos. The narrative begins in the thundering silence of eternity past. As the Apostle John records, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God" (John 1:1, NKJV). This establishes the rank of the protagonist: He is the High King of Heaven, the Agent of Creation, the One who spoke galaxies into existence with a mere thought. By all earthly logic, a God of such magnitude should arrive on earth splitting the sky, demanding immediate submission.

Instead, He executed a tactical descent that the world never saw coming. As the Apostle Paul writes in Philippians 2:6, Christ, "being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God." He possessed the title, the rank, and the right to rule. Yet, in a staggering display of will, He "made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men" (v. 7). This is the theological concept of Kenosis—the self-emptying. As theologian John MacArthur notes, "He did not cease to be God, but He laid aside the independent use of His divine attributes... He surrendered the prerogatives of deity to become a servant."

The Omnipotent Creator entered the arena of humanity as the most helpless thing on the planet: a baby. But do not mistake the manger for fragility. This was a calculated infiltration. At any point, Jesus could have changed the rules. He could have incinerated sin with a thought or summoned twelve legions of angels to decimate His enemies. But a victory won by mere force would not have satisfied the demands of justice. To destroy the hold of sin over humanity, He had to enter the fight as a human. He had to play the game, abide by the rules of mortality, and beat the enemy on their own turf.
He lived the full human experience, blocking every strike of temptation and countering every lie. As Hebrews 4:15 tells us, "We do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin." He did not coach humanity from the safety of heaven; He got down in the mud with us. He validated our struggle by living it, leading all the way to the cross where He "became obedient to the point of death" (Philippians 2:8). This was the ultimate display of meekness—infinite power sheathed for the sake of love.

This divine strategy provides the blueprint for every martial artist. We must first dismantle our own ego, realizing that if the God of the universe did not consider His high rank something to be grasped, neither can we. True humility in the dojo is realizing that your rank is not a crown, but a towel to serve others. No matter how lethal you become, you are never "too good" to sweep the mats, work with a white belt, or drill the basics. The moment you believe you are above the fundamentals or above serving your training partners, you have lost the spirit of the art.

Furthermore, we must embrace the discipline of restraint. Just as Jesus held His divine power in check to save us, we learn that the most dangerous person in the room is rarely the loud one posturing in the corner; it is the quiet one who knows exactly what they are capable of and chooses peace instead. We emulate Christ when we hold our power in reserve, using it only to protect and defend, never to bully or boast.

Finally, we must adopt the strategy of empathy. In our training, we cannot be effective partners or teachers if we do not understand the struggle of those standing opposite us. We must train to feel what they feel, to understand their limitations, and to meet them exactly where they are. By bridging that gap—by "living" their experience just as Christ lived ours—we earn the right to lead them. This Christmas, remember that the baby in the manger was not weak; He was the ultimate Warrior who conquered the world not by breaking the rules, but by mastering them with perfect love and discipline.

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