We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body (v.10). Because it’s through our cracks and holes that the Light shines through. And He’s entrusted it to our weak, broken jars. The spectacular, brilliant, blinding treasure of the gospel. What God places inside our vessel isn’t a shapeless, colorless lump of clay. Benjamin Jowett writes, “There is something wrong when the vessel robs the treasure of its glory…when the picture takes second place to the frame.” The jar, it turns out, isn’t what we should be occupied with. And that sculpting I thought I could do with my own life? It broke me. Under the pressure of this world, I crack. And that lump of clay was my life, ready and waiting for God to sculpt me, or more likely, ready and waiting for me to sculpt me into what I thought my life should look like.Īs it would be, I’m not made of sturdy, sparkling glass.

This was thick, sturdy, sparkling glass, able to withstand high temperatures or clumsy hands. I pictured myself as a crystal clear glass jar with a lump of grey sculpting clay inside. I, as I tend to do, made it all about me. I have to admit, I always got Paul’s metaphor wrong.

Jars of clay who we are instead