Understanding Correction: A Type of Resurrection

Matt Kaufmann

11 My son, despise not the chastening of the Lord; neither be weary of his correction:

12 For whom the Lord loveth he correcteth; even as a father the son in whom he delighteth.

Proverbs 3:11–12

Artem was a student of mine that taught me much. He understood his role as a student like few students I have taught in my 20-year tenure. In short, he allowed himself to be corrected. He welcomed correction. In fact, he wanted to be corrected.

I think the collective human experience would agree that people, as a rule, do not like to be corrected. We recoil at the thought of being told “no,” or “you have it wrong,” or “you are mistaken.” I suppose our pride takes a hit when we are corrected. Correction strikes at our ego. It exposes blind spots, highlights insecurities, and sheds light on our “shadows”—those areas where we are not as we should be. For those who want to be good, right, or finished, correction is a reminder that we are not yet there.

When I would ask the class a question over the statistics content I was teaching, Artem’s hand would go up eager to answer. Often, he was wrong. “Artem, that is the best wrong answer I’ve heard in a while,” I would say. “The whole class will learn three important concepts from your mistake.” This happened again and again. While the rest of the class hesitated, Artem smiled and raised his hand. Over time, the class would thank him for his wrong answers because they benefited from his courage. It takes courage to risk being wrong publicly. But Artem didn’t seem to view it that way—he simply understood his role. He was a student, and students need correction.

Unlike Artem, we often fail to live within our roles. When I’m with a doctor, do I exaggerate my healthy habits? When a dentist asks if I floss, do I say “sometimes” when it’s really “rarely”? We entrust professionals with our health, yet withhold truth. Students avoid answering questions to avoid looking ignorant—ironically, in the very place designed to remedy ignorance. We fear exposing our weaknesses to those equipped to help us. The doctor, dentist, teacher, therapist, pastor—all positioned to bring light. Yet we resist. Unlike Artem, we often despise correction.

Artem embodied three truths that allowed him to receive correction well:

1. He owned his shadow.

He saw himself as someone who didn’t know everything. Correction wasn’t offensive—it was expected.

2. He saw himself in progress.

Correction wasn’t shameful because he didn’t see himself as finished. It was a step toward who he was becoming.

3. He placed himself under authority.

He trusted his teacher and accepted instruction with humility.

If I want to be someone who does not despise the Lord’s correction, I need to learn from Artem:

1. I need to understand that I have a shadow.

I have blind spots—gaps between who I am and who I should be.

2. I need to see myself in progress.

I am not finished. My life is one of ongoing growth toward who Christ is shaping me to be.

3. I need to live under God’s authority.

I must trust His work in correcting me and place myself within the accountability of a believing community.

What I will miss about Artem is the connection we built through his mistakes. Those moments created meaningful dialogue and growth. They reminded me why teaching matters. That’s why I always met his wrong answers with a smile, not a scowl—and I think that mattered.

Artem’s example has helped me bring my own mistakes to God. “For whom the Lord loveth he correcteth.” (Proverbs 3:12) These moments of correction have become moments of joy—times of honest reflection, confession, and growth. They are pivot points where wrong gives way to right. Just as resurrection brings life from death, correction brings renewal in our lives.

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