A heart of flesh

A young woman with a very serious case of hives went to a specialist for relief. She had suffered for some time, living in continual pain because the hives covered much of her body. She needed healing, and hoped that the doctor could prescribe a cure. But his diagnosis surprised her.
“There is no medicine I can give you,” he told her. “You see, your skin is crying because you cannot.”
We all experience pain—personal, relational, or exhaustion from the weight of the affairs of the world. And it appears on the doorstep of our heart in a variety of ways. This I know: when our life (and yes, our world) takes a left turn—or we find ourselves emotionally overdrawn (literally heart-weary)—we, for whatever reason, continue to feel small.
From this tug of war, our “hives” can be a metaphor for any number of things that afflict us. But in the end—sadly to our detriment—we try to run away, or we shut down, because we see our pain, and our brokenness, as blemishes. In other words, something we must hide, because it triggers shame.
But this I know to be true: Whether it is conflict or sorrow or grief or anxiety or self-pity, I cannot bury pain without mortgaging something else to keep it hidden. In the end, I live life “shunting back and forth between my pain and my defenses.” (Merle Shain)
Or, as Richard Rohr reminds us, “If we do not transform our pain, we will most assuredly transmit it.”
Yes, “You see, your skin is crying because you cannot.” (And it doesn’t help if we see pain—brokenness and vulnerability—only as an enemy, or source of shame.)

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he tells the boy. “It is a relentless fight that takes a toll, and it is between two wolves. One wolf is evil – he is rage, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.”
He continues, “The other wolf is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. And this same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.”
The grandson thinks about what his grandfather tells him for a minute, and then asks, “Which wolf will win?”
The old Cherokee replies, “The one you feed the most.”

Today, I choose to feed the good (life-giving) wolf.
I liked this, from Rabbi Dr. Ariel Burger, “My mantra this year has been the Hebrew words, Lev Basar, which means ‘a heart of flesh,’ from the biblical verse, ‘I will take from you a heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.’
Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, ‘There’s nothing as whole as a broken heart.’ In these traditions, you cultivate a broken heart which is very different from depression or sadness. It’s the kind of vulnerability, openness, and acute sensitivity to your own suffering and the suffering of others that becomes an opportunity for connection.”
Yes, and Amen. Please let us see the power in this gift.
So. Today, I choose to invite this self, this vulnerable broken Terry, to the table to speak. The sacrament of the present, becomes a place for honesty and confession and learning, and empathy and healing. And yes, transformation.
My friends, we are not on this journey alone.

And I can tell you that this past week, I’ve watched the ways we all carry pain, in a week where the news—the blasphemy of our President posting an image of himself as Jesus Christ, and then going after Pope Leo—can leave us feeling helpless, fearful, appalled, or enraged. Or, just dizzy.
Speaking of what we feed, it really did my heart good to watch Pope Leo’s charitable and courageous response to the comments. “Charitable because he has not responded in any way other than with charity and respect. He speaks about our obligations to one another. He has called us to follow the Gospel, which has always been radical, and never more so than right now. It’s radical because it asks us to love not just our friends, our family, and our tribe, but the stranger.” (Thank you Maria Shriver)
Let us focus there.

I know the fight to be impervious (our heart in a fortress, and picture-perfect). But I know what it means to be chagrinned by my pain and by my tears. I have gratefully learned that as I worked so hard at unruffled theology, and emotional solutions for hiding that pain, I unwittingly transmitted it.
And here’s the deal: I missed the beauty. I did not see the power of the gift of a “heart of flesh”.
This isn’t easy, to embrace pain, or all that is vulnerable and broken within us. Can I hear the invitation to embrace “this Terry”?
Because that, Bryan Stevenson reminds us, is when healing begins. “I guess I’d always known but never fully considered that being broken is what makes us human. We all have our reasons. Sometimes we’re fractured by the choices we make; sometimes we’re shattered by things we would never have chosen. But our brokenness is also the source of our common humanity, the basis for our shared search for comfort, meaning, and healing. Our shared vulnerability and imperfection nurtures and sustains our capacity for compassion. We have a choice. We can embrace our humanness, which means embracing our broken natures and the compassion that remains our best hope for healing. Or we can deny our brokenness, forswear compassion, and, as a result, deny our own humanity… But simply punishing the broken—walking away from them or hiding them from sight—only ensures that they remain broken and we do, too. There is no wholeness outside of our reciprocal humanity… Embracing our brokenness creates a need for mercy.”
So. Back to our current news; mercy, and kindness, and humanity matter.

I am writing this in Glendalough, Ireland. Tomorrow, we will be walking the valley trails near Glendalough’s Monastery (founded by St. Kevin in the 6th century). I was drawn to Ireland to connect with, and to be replenished by sacred sites.
For the past two days, we’ve walked 12 miles in Dublin savoring (being fed and fueled by) places of haven—both emotional and spiritual.
Time at Trinity College, in awe of The Book of Kells. This is an illustrated and dazzlingly decorated manuscript and Celtic Gospel book (in Latin), containing the four Gospels. It is believed to have been created around 800 AD, on the Island of Iona, Scotland.
The decoration combines traditional Christian iconography with the ornate swirling motifs typical of Insular art. Figures of humans, animals, and mythical beasts, together with Celtic knots and interlacing patterns in vibrant colors, literally make the pages come to life.
And time in Hodges Figgis, Ireland’s oldest bookstore, established in 1768.
And time for reflection in St. Patrick’s Cathedral (the national cathedral of the church of Ireland). In 1192, John Comyn, first Anglo-Norman archbishop of Dublin, elevated one of the four Dublin Celtic parish churches, this one dedicated to Saint Patrick, beside a holy well, built on the site where Saint Patrick is said to have baptized early Christian converts 1500 years ago.
The day ends in Brazen Head, the oldest pub in Ireland established in 1198 (in its present building since 1754).

Quote for your week…
“I salute the light within your eyes where the whole universe dwells. For when you are at that center within you and I am in that place within me, we shall be one.”
Attributed to Crazy Horse, renowned Oglala Lakota leader

Note: Bryan Stevenson is a lawyer, social justice activist, and founder of the Equal Justice Initiative and the National Memorial for Peace and Justice, and author of Just Mercy

BULLETIN BOARD

Today’s Photo Credit: “Good morning! Safe travels to Ireland! Looook at these bleeding hearts. Aren’t they ‘awe’some and ‘wonder’ful? Spring is full of moments that allow you to enjoy, savor and relish the world that surrounds us.” Ina Strickland… Thank you Ina…

POEMS AND PRAYERS

I lay my head to rest,
and in doing so,
lay at your feet
the faces I have seen,
the voices I have heard,
the words I have spoken,
the hands I have shaken,
the service I have given,
the joys I have shared,
the sorrows revealed,
I lay them at your feet,
and in doing so
lay my head to rest.

Through the dark hours of this night
protect and surround us,
Father, Son and Spirit, Three.
Forgive the ill that we have done.
Forgive the pride that we have shown.
Forgive the words that have caused harm
that we might sleep peaceably,
and rise refreshed to do your will.
Through the dark hours of this night
protect and surround us,
Father, Son and Spirit, Three

Celtic Prayers. Thank you to John Birch.

Music for the Soul…
New–
Lord, I’m Not Okay, But I’m Still Here — Josh Groban