The gift of a soft heart
“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.” Rabbi Dr. Ariel Burger wrote these words some time ago, but I’m choosing to borrow them for this year.
I needed to hear them.
And I need to embrace them.
My memory and my spirit go back a couple of months. I’m sitting at a café near the Douro River in Porto, Portugal, preparing for my Camino pilgrimage. A busker is singing Bohemian Rhapsody. I’m smiling big. And I’m writing, and the busker begins singing, “You may say I’m a dreamer, But I’m not the only one, I hope someday you’ll join us, And the world will be as one.” (John Lennon)
I can tell you this; my heart is soft, and the tears fall. Gratefully.
Because here’s the deal; I don’t want my heart to be shut down (or to go away). I want to speak from that place—yes, vulnerability, openness, an acute sensitivity to my own suffering and the suffering of others that becomes an opportunity for connection. Yes, tears gratefully redeeming life’s heaviness, and healing for craziness.
And for much of my life, I did not see the power, or the gift, of vulnerability and openness.
Yes, life can squeeze us.
Yes, circumstances can be unfair.
Yes, people can be cruel and without mercy.
And yes, the “system” can feel crippling.
I assure you that I can always find a way, to nurse a grudge.
But here’s the deal: If we don’t learn that embracing vulnerability is okay, in the end we become encumbered, because we will cede our identity and our power—which means that we give up our ability to choose…
to create sanctuaries, to be intentional, to be generous,
to be big-hearted, to be empathetic,
to be compassionate, to forgive and to be willing to grow and to change.
What I’ve realized sadly, is that now, with the subject of compassion, you need to take sides. My friends, there is enough crippling stuff in the world. Tears are never partisan. And we’re on this journey together. It is my prayer that we are not paralyzed by antagonism.
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 here’s the good news: I will not lose laughter, or wonder and awe, or gratitude and gladness, or empathy and compassion. They will all be strengthened.
And I say (yes, often in homilies), “Compassion matters. And our world needs it.”
This is easy to say (or preach), but I confess that more often than not, I see (focus only on) the brokenness instead.
Which means that I have a hard time seeing that the two—compassion and brokenness (vulnerability)—are connected. You see, broken I do understand. But, it does not help that I’ve always seen it as an “impairment”.
So… It is time for a reset. To embrace that child within each of us—the child, bearing grace and love—is to embrace all that is vulnerable and broken within us.
And that, Bryan Stevenson reminds us, is when and where 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.” (Bryan is a lawyer, social justice activist, and founder of the Equal Justice Initiative and the National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama.)
We easily forget, don’t we… the cathartic power of grace?
The power to shine the light on shame and fear and paranoia.
To invite us to bear the beams of love.
We forget the power and life-giving restoration and repair from simple gestures of compassion.
To invite us to be the kind of person we want to be.
Let us take up our birthright of belonging and, in the spirit of the mystical Jewish teaching of tikkun olam, let us mend the broken world and restore wholeness to the web of interbeing. We have the power to do the right thing. The power to be an example of grace, not judgement. Of empathy, not intolerance. Of compassion, not meanness. Of hope, not fear.
If you are a sky watcher, this Thursday’s eclipse—when the Moon is entirely within Earth’s shadow—will do your heart good. Beginning around 9 pm PST. And during totality, the Moon will take on a deep red-orange hue, a phenomenon often referred to as a “Blood Moon.”
I’m reading Praisesong for the Kitchen Ghosts, Crystal Wilkinson, a lifegiving book about history and cooking, savoring music, and smiling in the garden. Spring flowers up. Crocus, Tete-a-Tete narcissus, and the taller narcissus varieties ready to shine.
Quote for our week… “Never allow a person to tell you No, who doesn’t have the power to say Yes.” Eleanor Roosevelt
BULLETIN BOARD
Today’s Photo Credit: “Hi Terry, We enjoyed wonderful sunsets on our recent trip to Hawaii, for our 25th anniversary. We are so blessed. Thank you for your continuing messages of inspiration,” Mary Duffy…. Thank you Mary… And thank you to all, I love your photos… please, keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com
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Help make Sabbath Moment possible. I write SM because I want to live with a soft heart; to create a place for sanctuary, empathy, inclusion, compassion and kindness… a space where we are refueled to make a difference. SM remains free.
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Letters that do my heart good…
–Hi Terry, It was wonderful to be at LA Religious Ed Congress again. Greetings from Kenwood California, Pillow Fight Cafe. I thought this picture of sheep might remind you of your attentive congregation on Vashon Island. (Kenwood’s 4th of July celebration used to include a pillow fight contest, until things got a little too competitive; hence the coffee shop name.) Lynn
–Hi Terry, Incredible SM today. Your Lenten journey, brought to mind about a week before Ash Wednesday I was reminded of the Magi visiting Jesus. There is much in that story, but at the end they received in a dream to go back to their countries a different way, and not return to Herod. What God also gave me was when they encountered Jesus they went back to their lives differently. So, this Lent in our encounter with Jesus, how will we be different? Ian
–I so enjoyed your talk at the last convention in Anaheim. Let our God give lights continue to shine in this dark world. Sorry I wasn’t able to attend that gathering… have made it though to the beach of Oceanside to a small condo for month of March. Keep the light burning. That once upon kid from PLU Flip, the temporary escapee from snow covered Minnesota.
–Terry, thank you for your ongoing work. I have been teaching social work for years and this is what I have long told students, “Our job is to help people tell their story, in their own way.” Telling our own story is the key to the spiritual life. As a spiritual director, it is my job to help people examine their story as it is lived out with God, and then to simply keep living out the story, and perhaps to dance. A picture in my home says, “live a great story “. As they used to say in my Baylor days, that will preach. Peace, Phil
–Blessings and peace as you attend the Rel. Ed. Congress. As a retired Catholic school teacher, I can recall the many occasions in your workshops and so many others. Thanks for your continuing writing for my daily substance. Shareen
–Thank you so much for these words. They are comfort and encouragement to me in these difficult times. Colleen
–Thanks for sharing, we all need these gentle reminders to help us refocus on our call to live as compassionate people. Anne
