Embrace the brokenness of our lives and let God in
How do we understand our brokenness? How do we deal with its ragged edges? The brokenness might only involve a crack, but then again, it might indicate something that is shattered into pieces. The English language is full of metaphors about brokenness. Our hearts can be broken, as well as our spirits and our bodies. When we refer to taming a wild horse, we speak of breaking it in. When a couple ends their romance, they break up.
Our religions have a great deal to say about dealing with brokenness. Yet sometimes a single visual image speaks louder to me than volumes of theology. When it comes to brokenness, three particular images struck me that I want to share with you with you.
The Japanese have a tradition called kintsugi. According to this tradition, if a piece of pottery breaks, it is repaired with a form of lacquer dusted with gold or silver. There is no longer a need to dispose of the pottery because it’s broken. In fact, the filled-in cracks make the piece of pottery even more interesting than it was before. Practitioners of kintsugi believe that the real change takes place in those who view the pottery even more than in the pottery itself. Those who view the pottery are able to envision a possibility where previously they saw none.
Mosaics offer another example of how brokenness can reveal an expanded sense of wholeness. The mosaic I’m referring to is folk art; not the classical art form, where small pieces of tile are specifically cut to precise measurements. In folk art, random broken pieces of dishware or pottery, sometimes even everyday objects, are set in a cementlike substance to create a pattern. Mosaic combines otherwise diverse elements to create a brand new whole with its own logic and coherence.
My final image comes from an article I read some years back about a woman with an deep affinity for the ocean. She lived on the Pacific Coast, but a double mastectomy kept her from swimming for a while. She longed to return; most of all, she longed to feel the waves against the bare skin on her chest, where her breasts had been. She arranged to have a tattoo etched on the her chest, like the top to a two piece bathing suit, only without straps. When everything had healed, she went body surfing again on a beach with few visitors. From a distance, she felt certain that no one would be able to recognize that it was a floral tattoo and not a top. When she felt her skin against the cool froth of the waves, she felt alive and whole.
Her tattoo disguised her and yet, at the same time, allowed her to reveal herself. I do not know if this woman is still living, but I do know that at least at this particular point, she felt truly alive. How about you?
This piece began with the question: “How do we understand our brokenness?” How is it different when we deal with broken objects rather than our brokenness as people? Do the same principles hold true for human beings? It’s interesting how we have a bias against our own brokenness; a deeplyheld prejudice against our very human imperfections. In the Western worldview, once something is broken it loses its value. What if we were to change and suddenly value restoration over replacement? What if we came to accept our imperfections and revere our authenticity? What if we finally make friends with our impermanence and imperfection?
Perhaps, our brokenness has a special beauty all its own. If that’s true, then we no longer need to obsessively hide our flaws. At last, we will truly understand the words of the late poet and songwriter, Leonard Cohen. “There is a crack, a crack in everything/ That’s how the light gets in.” What is the light? For many of us, light is a metaphor for God’s presence.