Much of the funding that supports the center
where I work at a university comes from grants.
Grants keep our doors open and provide jobs. Because of this we are always looking for
grants to fund us. Most of the grants we
look at cover a variety of areas, but specifically around disabilities. In the past year those funding searches have
been broaden to include something I hadn’t thought about but was marginally
aware of—“intersectionality”.
Intersectionality was born out of liberation movement of women, racial discrimination—civil rights theories, sexuality and gender issues—a whole gamut of life circumstances that experience inequalities and injustices just because of who they were. One source puts it simply: “. . . intersectionality is the concept that all oppression is linked.” The Oxford Dictionary defines it as “the interconnected nature of social categorizations such as race, class, and gender as creating overlapping and interdependent systems of discrimination or disadvantage.” Thus, intersectionality is the acknowledgement that everyone has their own unique experiences of discrimination and oppression and we must consider everything and anything that marginalize people—gender, race, class, sexual orientation, physical ability, etc. (Womankind Worldwide).
This fascinating concept is something my whole has been centered on—the basis of my theology in ministry—the foundation of over 40 years of preaching. We all intersect as people—but how? We are all unique and special creations in the hands of the Holy . . . so how do we connect? What is the commonality that binds us one to the other? We are not all the same as our life experiences are different. So, what makes us one?
It is true. We are all different. My experience as a male is different than that of my wife who is female. It is also different than that of my friends who are gay . . . disabled . . . non-white . . . you name it. We are all different and not surprisingly we land in more than one category. On the surface we have little if anything in common that pulls us together as one. We are different. Yet I would argue that we are bound together . . . that we all intersect . . . that we all have a commonality that binds us together.
Our brokenness.
In our brokenness we find common ground. We have all experienced brokenness. We have all been broken. There in that brokenness we find the foundation from which we can work together to accept our uniqueness and differences to make the world a kinder, safer place for all. In our brokenness we can acknowledge this universal thread of woundedness that brings our hearts together with a unified goal of acceptance and healing. In our brokenness we are one . . . one creation . . . one family.
Of course, who wants to admit to being broken? Of being damaged goods? I know that I do not. In fact I am quite certain that I have fought against this acknowledgement most of my life. It goes against the tough guy façade we Americans hold tightly. Our Joh Wayne act. Brokenness is seen as a weakness. No one wants to be viewed as weak. With that knowledge we practice America’s number one pastime—denial. That is how we survive.
At times I think of myself as poetic. In that vein I recently had this moment of waxing poetic: In the movement of time, like waves upon a beach, smoothing the rough edges of memory, creating a shiny façade of nostalgia . . . that is how we survive. Another way of saying it is . . . the older I get, the better I was. Think of Bruce Springsteen’s song Glory Days. However, it is viewed . . . however it is phrased, it is still denial.
The bottom line is that we are all broken. We have been hurt. The reasons and experiences may be different, but the brokenness is the same. Life is fragile and none of us escape it without some brokenness. The tough part is acknowledging and accepting it . . . claiming it. It is a part—an important part—of who we are. A necessary part that opens us to others and allows us to see and know our commonality as holy creations. Worthy of love . . . worthy of respect . . . of acknowledgement . . . of belonging. It is there that the healing begins. It is there where we relate. It is there where we begin.
It is through our brokenness that the light gets in . . . that the holiness, the love . . . comes to all of us. Leonard Cohen in his classic song, Anthem, said it best: “Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” For those of you of the Christian faith . . . it is through the brokenness of Jesus that we relate to him and to one another. In the words of institution around the table we hear: “This is my broken for you . . .” In the brokenness our commonality is exposed revealing the light of the holiness that makes us one. It is where we all intersect.
We live in a broken world. No one can argue against that because we have all experienced it. It is real. In setting aside the denial that we live in a perfect world . . . have perfect lives . . . that everything is all right, we can begin to see our commonness . . . our brokenness. It is here where change will begin. It is here that we must begin. It is the only hope we have that will allow the light to come crashing in and heal us all.
The birds they sang
At the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what has passed away
Or what is yet to be
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
That's how the light gets in
That's how the light gets in
