Soft hearted and fully alive
A couple anticipated attending the opening of a new museum exhibit.
At the last moment, their childcare plans fell through. They were left with the only option of taking their young daughter, seven years old, with them. They expected that the event would be tedious for the girl, but hoped she would not be a drain on their evening.
The exhibit was large and varied. One room of watercolor paintings, another of pen and ink sketches. In another great bronze sculpting. In another, modern art in oil. And in another, small blown glass figurines. Exquisite. Gossamer.
The little girl spent the evening mesmerized.
On the way home, the parents said to their daughter, “We’re sorry we took you to such a long adult event. But we’re proud of the way you behaved. And we want to thank you. Did you enjoy any of the evening?”
The girl paused, and then told them, “Oh yes… all night, I wanted to touch the fragile things.”
The little ones understand.
Here’s the wonderful irony in this unnerving truth. The very gifts that allow us to be fully human and fully alive are fragile precisely because they have the capacity to be broken open. These are all gifts that spill courage and hope.
And I take this wisdom from Kate Bowler to heart. “I think so many of us would like to identify as being soft hearted, but we worry that it’s a liability right now. Shouldn’t we toughen ourselves up? Shouldn’t we get battle ready for a world that doesn’t equate tender heartedness with bravery, survival, or meeting reality head on?
But I think tender heartedness is the ability to stay not just broken, but broken open to the world around us. There’s so much pain that just breaks us. That’s the truth. There’s so much fear, too, and there are very good reasons to feel scared and overwhelmed right now. But I believe soft heartedness is one of the only ways that we can move forward. The alternatives are likely too heavy to bear.”
Here’s the deal: There is exquisite beauty in what is fragile, in what can be broken. In love, tenderness, kindness, generosity, gentleness and empathy, there is strength and power and life.
So, yes. I do want to touch the fragile things.
I do not want my heart to be hard.
I do want my heart to be soft. (Well, at least that’s what I say out loud.)
It doesn’t help that we live in a world where soft isn’t popular. And fragile is considered detrimental. It’s no surprise that we choose tough, fighter, inflexible. It is not unexpected that we hear way too many stories about cruelty and bullying and bombast and ways we demean and diminish one another. When I see this, it is easy to close the door of my heart.
We are human. Yes, we are prone to breakage. That’s not a surprise. Every one of us is, or has tussled with grief, heartache, sorrow, woundedness and loss.
Although in our image consciousness, we scramble to appear put-together (sometimes in the name of God), and in so doing, we miss all the places where the light shines from the wound. (I must admit, to my detriment, I’m actually pretty good at that. You know, appearing put together.)
But after a while, there’s no payoff to living implacable or callous. And I want to touch the fragile things. I want to touch my heart.
I’m a storyteller, and I love stories that ignite, hearten and uplift. Stories that make my heart glad. Stories make space for empathy, healing, passion, inclusion, wonderment and grace. And the fragile things.
As I write this, I’m listening to All My Favorite People Are Broken, by Over the Rhine. I recently read songwriter Linford Detweiler comments (for Franciscan Sisters of Christian Charity).
“My father was a protestant minister for part of his life in a little coal-mining town in Southeast Ohio, and I have been haunted since I was a child by something that would take place at Wednesday night prayer meetings. After we sang a few hymns, my father would go to the front of the sanctuary with a little spiral notebook and ask if there were any prayer requests. Folks were free to express their concerns: Edith was back in the hospital with complications from her knee surgery. Andy was afraid that there were going to be layoffs at the coal company where he worked. Mike had a particularly difficult chemistry test coming up.
But occasionally someone would raise their hand and say, I have an unspoken request.
An unspoken request? That captured my imagination. What were these prayers too intimate or too intuitive for words?
I was working on the song and that dilemma found me once again:
All my favorite people are broken
Believe me my heart should know
Some prayers are better left unspoken
I just want to hold you and let the rest go
The writer can only hope the listener will turn the volume up, fully surrender a few minutes and be transported.”
My friends, I believe that the light shines precisely because there are broken places.
Remember, Jesus never told us to create the light. He did not even ask us to make a resolution to try harder. He simply invited us to let the light shine. Meaning that the light is already there. To paraphrase Leonard Cohen, There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in. And that’s how the light gets out.
These past few days, I’ve been gobsmacked by tech dilemmas. My website is down, and my deepest apologies for the inconvenience, both with the website and the email interruptions. I am working on getting it resolved. And no, it wasn’t on my list. I’m learning that those of us who are paper and pen communicators, are a way out of our league in this era of codes and abbreviations.
I wish you all a blessed New Year. Pause for a look back. And pause for a look forward. I am grateful for these “resolutions” from Howard Thurman, called “The Work of Christmas” (Thurman was an African-American theologian, educator, and civil rights leader).
“When the song of the angels is stilled,
when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.”
(From Howard Thurman’s “The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations”)
I am so very grateful that you are a part of Sabbath Moment. And grateful for the support that makes it possible. Please, pass Sabbath Moment on to friends. And invite them to join us.
BULLETIN BOARD
Today’s Photo Credit: “Hi Terry, This picture is from Zion National Park, climbing the Canyon Overlook Trail, getting the first view of the Abraham Peak on a gorgeous Utah day. Grateful every time I can do such a hike, and especially to do this one with my son and husband. Take care, and thanks for all you do!” Donna McNamara…
POEMS AND PRAYERS
My New Year’s Wish for You & Me
May you grow from all you have lost
this past year, and not waste what
you have gained.
May you not be so quick to want
to unload the vulnerability and uncertainty
you have carried this year, but rather see it
as the doorway to a more meaningful life.
May you cherish your family and friends—they
have only been loaned to you for a brief period of time.
May you find calm in the midst of chaos.
May you bring intention and attention to
the small details of your life.
May you choose kindness when everything
in you wants to judge.
May you find it in your heart to treat people
with respect, including those you are not attracted to.
May you seek to find beauty in every face
and remember heartbreak has helped form it.
May you be willing to give up your pride,
to let go of the part that feels indignation,
that feels undervalued or overlooked.
Are you willing to be humbled by what
embarrasses you?
May you find the place of sincerity within
and act from there more often.
May you be receptive to the lessons
provided throughout your day.
May you get closer to letting go of your suffering.
May you stop thinking you’ve got lots of time,
and act accordingly—may you understand this
as Truth rather than a depressing thought.
May you find love and embrace it when it
comes to you in small moments every day.
May you feel gratitude with the arrival of
each new day, for being able to open your eyes and get out of bed in the morning.
May you be willing to let go of what you think you know and be a beginner every day.
Carol Schoneberg
December 31, 2020
(I thought you would like to have this New Year prayer written by a woman who works in Hospice in Maine…it was sent to me by a mutual friend. Blessings to you this new year, Terry. Jeanne)
