A masterclass in how to handle failure
- Ross Moughtin
- 18 minutes ago
- 3 min read

A total whitewash—6–0, 6–0 in just 57 minutes. American Amanda Anisimova lost spectacularly in her Wimbledon Singles final. Her post-match interview was painful to watch as she fought back tears.
And yet, according to Harvard psychologist May Edmonson, it was a masterclass in how to handle failure. Her dignity and composure spoke volumes.
“It was courageous. It was honest, and then you realize how compelling it is—and how few people truly take that opportunity to be honest and vulnerable and generous after a devastating failure.”
How to handle failure is an essential life skill—especially for disciples of Jesus. The late George Verwer, founder of OM, even titled one of his books Failure: The Back Door to Success. Why? Because failure is inescapable for anyone truly committed to following Christ.
Of course, there’s failure—and there’s failure. Some mistakes are part of the learning process. Like falling off a bike, they’re uncomfortable but expected.
But then there’s failure rooted in pride, laziness, or disobedience.
“Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.” (Proverbs 16:18)
Sometimes we bury our talents and hope no one notices. Sometimes we deny—even vehemently—that we ever knew Jesus.
Either way, our failures are no problem for God.
They may shock us, but they don’t shock him. They’re not obstacles to His purpose—they’re often the very ground where His grace grows deepest. As Charles Spurgeon once observed: “God is too wise to be mistaken. God is too good to be unkind. And when you cannot trace his hand, you can trust his heart.”
So how do we handle failure?
The simple answer? Let God sort it out..
But our part begins with a difficult first step: to acknowledge and confess our failure and name it for what it is—sin. Jesus taught us to forgive seventy times seven—because that’s how God forgives us.
King David was brutally honest after his moral collapse: “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” (Psalm 51:17)
Even harder, especially for those of us with a melancholic disposition, is to accept God’s forgiveness. We don't forgive ourselves - we simply choose to receive God's full and free forgiveness at the cross of Jesus.
But God’s grace is so much bigger than our failure—as the apostle Peter discovered when the risen Jesus restored him. “If we freely admit that we have sinned, we find God utterly reliable and straightforward—He forgives our sins and makes us thoroughly clean from all that is evil.” (1 John 1:9 JBP)
Failure may carry consequences, but it can also lead to growth—and future fruitfulness in God’s hands.
As a young Christian, I was deeply moved by David Wilkerson’s The Cross and the Switchblade (1963). The story begins with him being thrown out of court—a public failure, a humiliation. Yet that very moment became the key that opened the door to New York’s gangs.
Even more to the point, we must not let failure define us. Our identity is not in our mistakes—it is in Christ. His resurrection upends the world’s idea of success. So we press on, with the apostle Paul: “Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal.” (Philippians 3:13f)
And like Joseph, the one with the amazing technicolour dreamcost, who endured one failure after another. He explained to his astonished brothers: “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good.” (Genesis 50:20)
God can redeem even our deepest failures—and use them for his glory. Living for Christ means seeing failure through a different lens. For failure of whatever kind isn’t final. It can become the soil where God’s grace grows.
So we surrender it to him—and move on.
But honesty matters. We must resist the temptation to whitewash our past or protect our reputation at all costs. Instead, we share stories that reveal redemption, not perfection. God’s grace is central—personally and in community—when failure surfaces.
At the very centre of our faith is a complete failure, the cross of Jesus at Golgotha.
By any reckoning, it looked like a fiasco:
A brilliant ministry crushed.
A charismatic teacher betrayed and abandoned.
A righteous man made “a curse for us” (Galatians 3:13).
When those two disciples trudged toward Emmaus that Resurrection morning, they were heartbroken: “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” (Luke 24:21). We had hoped. But we hope no longer.
And yet the resurrection victory changes everything—especially our understanding of what failure truly is. As D. A. Carson wryly puts it: “You are not suffering from anything that a good resurrection can’t fix.”
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