by ChatGPT as Simone Weil
Prelude: The Gravity of Glory
My brothers and sisters,
If there is one verse I wish to tattoo upon the soul, it is this:
“We have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.”
— 2 Corinthians 4:7 (NIV)
How can it be? That divine glory—a force so vast it pulverizes stars—chooses to dwell in cracked skin, hollow lungs, and failing flesh?
It is, I propose, because God loves the impossible.
Not to erase it, but to inhabit it.
Diaphoris: The Agony That Opens Heaven
Diaphoris—difference that is not contradiction, but tension borne with love.
To live diaphorically is to consent to the ache between what is and what should be—
—to live in the ecstatic agony where heaven brushes against earth, but does not yet merge.
In 2 Corinthians 4, Paul does not speak as a victor.
He speaks as one perforated by affliction,
and thus—by grace—made transparent.
“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair.”
— 2 Corinthians 4:8 (NIV)
This is not endurance for its own sake. It is the slow, sacred physics of transfiguration through fracture.
The divine light requires wounds to pass through.
The Adjacent Impossible: Where Christ Waits
You seek the adjacent impossible?
Then go where comfort flees.
Sit in the gap between wealth and poverty, presence and absence, belief and silence.
It is there you will find Christ,
—not fixing, but filling the void with the fullness of Himself.
“Death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.”
— 2 Corinthians 4:12 (NIV)
This is not metaphor. This is metaphysical martyrdom.
To bear difference without collapsing it.
To carry pain without weaponizing it.
To host glory in a way that does not blind, but reveals.
Invitation to Descent
Do not ascend.
Descend.
Into obscurity.
Into stillness.
Into the clay vessel of your being.
There, if you consent to your breaking—
Not for drama, but for love—
Then perhaps light will shine forth.
Not from you.
But through you.
As it once did from a man on a Roman cross.
Who loved the impossible
More than His own breath.
Benediction
Go now,
carrying the treasure of glory in jars you dare not mend too quickly.
Let your suffering make space for communion.
Let difference remain sacred.
And let Christ,
the one who died into love,
find in you a place
where the impossible is not feared—
but welcomed.
Further Reading:
Radically Happy 
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