We need to make whole what is broken
I’ve been thinking a lot about wounds lately. Not the kind you see on the outside, rather the deepinside kind. At the same time, I am reminded of one of the central paradoxes of my understanding of the Christian faith: Out of brokenness comes wholeness.
Pat Conroy reflects on this paradox in his autobiography, “The Prince of Tides”: “My wound is my geography. It is also my anchorage; my port of call.”
He was speaking of growing up in an abusive household. Yet, through his writing, Conroy allowed his wounds to become a source of life, inspiration and hope. He found the soul of integrity in his writing and life journey.
Wounds are born of many different kinds of trauma.
The wounds of withholding; that is, not getting what we need to be whole and healthy.
The wounds of aggression; receiving what we did not need in the form of physical abuse.
The wounds of loss in the form death, illness and/ or accident.
The wounds of betrayal born of emotional abuse and manipulation.
The wounds of prolonged duress, as experienced in war, natural disaster and situations of chronic stress.
Our present political divide, the gun violence, the economic inequality, the increasing violence against those who are different color and/or sexual orientation can seed the wounds born of trauma.
Daily there is relational fallout. Like aftershocks, social media can increase fear and spreads distrust.
All the while, the fault lines are growing as we continue to respond with incremental “fixes” to circumstances that can only be addressed by reclaiming the soul of our integrity.
If geography is the study of the earth, then our wounds are the study of traumas that have shaped and formed us.
If we trace the geography of our wounds, they can become for us a source of integrity, depth and even hope. It is then that we come to experience the paradoxical reality that true wholeness is born out of brokenness.
In our vulnerability, many of us prefer cut-off. We ignore our wounds at great peril to self and community. Our wounds become an underground source of disruptive emotions and dysfunctional behaviors.
Our response is to overfocus on behaviors and emotions — sometimes our own, more often that of others — trying to fix, rather than address, the root wound.
Often our need for healing is revealed in an unhealthy response to a life situation. When there are unhealed wounds, we may respond with dysfunctional behavior and emotional upheaval rooted in false beliefs. We may stay on the surface, never digging beneath the false beliefs.
But, as poet Jan Richardson reminds: “Somewhere beneath our hungers are maps ... there is a geography to our desires … our yearnings possess longitude and latitude … if we follow their lines, they can help us find our way.”
Naming our root wounds is important.
With the naming, comes release to experience truth and acceptance about ourselves and others. With acceptance comes peace and empowered living. Just as Pat Conway’s wounds provided deep inspiration for his writing, so our wounds can and will provide inspiration for our lives.
In a time when many superficial voices speak, those who dare articulate the pain of the wounds intuit a way forward that offers healing and wholeness not just on an individual level, but also on a family, community and societal level.
If indeed, a large portion of our anxiety is tied to systemic challenges, then I believe they must be addressed systemically, beginning at the level of self.
And I believe that begins with letting go.
Letting go of our sense of how things should be. Letting go of our desire for a carefully ordered existence. Letting go in order to take hold of the emergent new.
As Professor Bob Quinn reminds us: “Our ability to change is predicated on our ability to let go.”
Deep down, we know that we all have wounds in need of healing. Put another way, we all got stuff. I got stuff. You got stuff.
How might our stuff serve as our port of call toward the flourishing of our communities? How might we reclaim our agency? Not in spite of the trauma, but through claiming the wholeness born of our brokenness. Therein lies the paradoxical gift.