Brokenness—Our Commonality

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

 

The Unbearableness . . . Uncomfortableness . . . of Being

In the Old Testament of the Bible to be born with a disability was viewed as a sign of disfavor with God . . . to be sinful or the result of sinfulness within the family . . . to be considered one on the outside of the “chosen”.  In the Old Testament to have a disability was not good, and as such, the individual was treated different . . . ignored, ostracized, pitied, exiled, and even killed . . . after all, the disabled apparently did something to upset God and get the consequences of their sin.  In the Old Testament those with disabilities . . . physical or mental . . . were sent out of the circle to take their places in the shadowlands.

It doesn’t get much better in the New Testament.  The treatment of those who have disabilities is still seen as some sort of grave offense against God and others causing the disability . . . they still remain outside of the circle . . . still exist in the shadows of society and the world in which they live.  The only saving grace of the New Testament is Jesus.  Jesus demonstrates through his actions towards those with disabilities that those with disabilities are as much a part of the family of God as anyone else.  Jesus . . . in the New Testament is constantly tearing down the walls that separate to bring those who are in the shadows . . . to destroy the misconception of sinfulness that separates anyone from God. 

Despite the shift towards inclusion between the Old Testament and the New Testament, things really haven’t changed a whole bunch through the generations since Jesus’ fleshly presence in the world.  There is still a lot of stigmatizing . . . a lot of separation . . . a lot of exclusion . . . a lot of discrimination . . . a lot of injustice . . . that occurs to those who have some form or sort of disability.  In spite of huge scientific advancements and research . . . great enlightenment . . . the plight of those who struggle with disabilities—physical or mental—has not gotten much better than it was in the times of the Old Testament. 

The word “stigma” has been attributed to the word “stigmata”.  Stigmata connotes the “marks of Christ from the crucifixion”.  Within the realm of those who follow Jesus . . . or those who calls themselves Christian . . . Christianity . . . the stigmata was a positive sign.  It was a mark of being touched by God.  It was viewed with reverence and awe . . . a sign of holiness.  Shoot, having the stigmata was a good thing as it shot people up the ladder towards sainthood. 

But, that was then and this is now.  Today the word “stigma” is seen as a mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality, or person.  Today “stigma” is a negative.  On the one hand, I guess, it is fortunate that the implications of the word “stigma” is not reserved for any one group . . . “stigma” seems to be an equal opportunity negative that is used freely to separate people and groups from the perceived and acceptable society.  For example, ask any elderly person whether or not growing old is seen as a negative and they will tell you that it is.  Growing old and being old is not an acceptable state of being in our society.  Watch television and tell me how elderly people are viewed . . . check out the advertisements in magazines and newspapers (one can only put up with so many commercials for Depends and Viagra) . . . the elderly are not portrayed in the most positive light.  That is a stigma.

As I stated, stigma is an equal opportunity negative.  Off the top of my mind I can state at there are stigmas associated with those who are: disabled (mentally or physically), elderly, poor, uneducated, gendered afflicted, race afflicted, religiously afflicted, culturally afflicted . . . those are the broad stigmas; but, there are the smaller stigmas.  I can attest, as a University of Nebraska football fan, that there is a stigma I have been labeled with . . . the mere mention from me of my favorite college football team brings an array of assumptions and opinions as to who I am.  Trust me, in this off-year of Cornhusker football I have been taking a beating.  Anything and everything that is unknown or unacceptable or not like us has the ability to become a stigma that we place on others.  Anything and everything is fair game to be marked with disgrace and unacceptance . . . it all has the ability to be stigmatized.

Basically “stigma” is a “mark”.  In the field of medicine a “stigma” is a visible sign or characteristic of a disease.  In its original meaning a “stigma” was a mark made by a pointed instrument.  Sometimes it was referred to as a tattoo . . . it was a mark or a spot on the skin.  At one time, within religious circles it was considered as a positive; somewhere along the line it became a negative.  As a negative it finds its life in ignorance, fear, and misunderstanding. 

By now you have probably figured out that I have a hard time with the word “stigma” . . . I don’t like it.  It has lost it purpose and its meaning—at least from its original meaning and intent.  It does more harm than it does good.  It has become a hammer to pound others into a pulp . . . a means of exiling those who are different to the outer spheres of the shadows.  I do not care for anything that separates people from one another.

Stigmas make it difficult to accept who God has created an individual to be . . . makes it hard to be one’s self.  Stigmas make people uncomfortable with who they are.  Stigmas separate . . . discriminate . . . alienate . . . and, even kill those who are not acceptable in the values of society.  The problem is that often the values of society are not dictated by the people who make up the society but by those who are selling something.  If a person wants to know what is valuable in society one only has to look at its advertising and media to understand.  Being old is not valuable.  Be unhealthy is not valuable.  Being disabled is not valuable.  Being uneducated is not valuable.  Being poor is not valuable.  Being different is not valuable.  We live in a cookie-cutter society and if we do not fit the mold . . . well, we are unacceptable.  When the world we live in rejects us it is difficult to live up to whom God created us to be.  Stigmas are only a sign of the illness inflicted upon us through the world in which we live in.

It sucks.  It sucks to live in a world of stigma.

Shoot . . . I am a walking billboard for stigma.  First of all, I do not fit the image of youth so expounded upon all of us each and every day . . . I am 57 years old, have gray hair, and a Dunlop edging its way toward a tractor tire around my middle . . . I am an AARP card carrying member.  In the eyes of society, I am old.  Being old is a liability.  Second of all, I’m not rich . . . shoot, I don’t even have half the toys society tells me I should have at this stage of my life . . . the big house, fifteen cars, umpteen technological gadgets . . . the big vacation on some exotic beach . . . and, lots of stock in those drugs meant to help my first stigma out—Viagra and anything associated with the sex drive of a twenty-year.  I am an ordained minister . . . trust me, it is a stigma.  I am considered to be ultra-conservative . . . a fundamentalist . . . a Bible-thumper . . . non-beer drinking . . . Gaither-loving individual.  Being a Christian minister is a stigma.  Those only scratch the surface of the stigmas associated with who people perceive me to be . . . wrong or right, I am categorized.

And, we all are.

Because we are categorized, we are separated . . . we are divided . . . we are pitted against one another.  Before we even know one another we are already separated and pitted against one another. So often those divisions . . . those stigmas . . . are based on ignorance (not stupidity—though that is often a big cause of stigmas—but ignorance) . . . based on fear . . . based on differences.  Rarely are the roots of ignorance able to stand up to experience.

And, that is a shame.

There is no place in the world . . . no place in our lives . . . for stigma.  There is especially no place for stigma for those who claim to follow in the footsteps of Jesus.  Where the world erects walls, Jesus tears them down.  Sadly, though, even those of us who claim to be followers of Jesus, use stigma to order our world . . . to separate ourselves from that which we do not know or understand.  The result is that we lose out in discovering a whole array of wonderful and beautiful people who could easily be blessings in our lives.  There is something fundamentally unfaithful about that . . . something that goes against the call of God in our lives to “love one another”.

I do not believe that call has called any of us to make the lives of those in the world to be uncomfortable in who God created them to be . . . broken or unbroken . . . whole or partial . . . rich or poor . . . educated or uneducated . . . black or white or Native American . . . gay or straight or bi . . . healthy or unhealthy . . . able or disabled.  I do not believe that God ever intended the idea of stigma was meant to be a negative, but rather a simple mark of who any of us was created to be.  There is no room for stigma in the journey of those who follow Jesus . . . for those who claim an intimate and personal relationship with God.  There is no place for stigma of any kind.  Plain and simple . . . in my estimation, stigma is a sin.

I believe in a God who desires a relationship with all of God’s creation . . . each and every one of us.  I believe that through Jesus this invitation towards relationship with God . . . and, with one another . . . is demonstrated and lived.  Through Jesus it proven that it can be done despite the fight that society puts up against it.  There is no room in the world for stigma that separates . . . differentiates . . . and, even kills that which we do not understand.  No, Jesus said, to love one another.

The Bible tells us that we are all created in the image of God . . . all of us.  If this is true . . . where is there room in our lives or world for stigma?  Did you ever think about that?

Tired

“Only in the darkness can you see the stars.”

(Martin Luther King Jr.)

Tired.

That sums it up . . . I am tired.  After several weeks of short nights dealing with our son’s seizures . . . I am tired.  After several days of having to leave work early to deal or son’s seizures . . . I am tired.  After sitting in the hospital emergency for several hours dealing with doctors about our son’s seizures . . . I am tired.  I am tired of the sleepless nights . . . the frightening screams . . . the seizure wracking paralyze . . . the sympathy of medical people who have no answers . . . have no cures.  I am tired of this nightmare that never seems to end after more than nineteen years.  Yeah, think that sums it up . . . I am tired.  It never changes.

A friend of mine calls it SSDD . . . Same Sh**Different Day.  At least that is what she posted on her Facebook page this evening when she shared the news about her daughter’s appointment at a regional hospital with specialists to deal with a chronic condition.  The news was not good . . . basically the daughter was told that there was nothing that could be done at this time . . . told that she had already been seen by the best and if they couldn’t help, why in the world did she think that they (the new medical team) could . . . basically she was told to grin and bear it . . . nothing was going to change.  It really was not the news that she or her family or friends wanted to hear.  Kind of took the hope right out of that last balloon that they had found.  It sucked . . . and, from the post on Facebook, I think they are all tired.

Chronic illnesses and conditions are tiresome.  Tiresome for the person having to endure them . . . tiresome for the people who love and take care of them.  It is not good for people to get tired.  When people get tired they easily get frustrated . . . they easily anger . . . they easily give up hope.  Giving up hope is the worse.  When hope is gone . . . what else is there?

I feel for my friend, her daughter, and all those who have been circling their lives with prayer and hope . . . and, now they are tired.  They prayed . . . but did not receive the healing, cure, or even a reduction in pain.  They sought expert opinion . . . and the medical experts had no answers or solutions.  They felt patronized as they left the hospital and wished “good luck” . . . and like they were saying, “Don’t let the door hit you in the butt when you leave.”  Chronic illness is a tiresome roller coaster and now they feel as if they derailed.  Knowing this friend, there was resignation in her post . . . there was tiredness . . . a loss of hope.

Yes, I feel for my friend.  I know what she feels because I too have been tired and hopeless . . . just like now.  I have watched my number three child, my number two son, deal with this crippling disability for nearly nineteen years.  I have witnessed how the Epilepsy has robbed him of a normal life.  I have seen how it has made him a social outcast and ignored or even spurned by a lot of the world around him . . . seen as valueless.  I have sat beside him as he cried and mourned that his life was not like all the other people who were his age . . . cried and mourned that he cannot see a life like his siblings in the future . . . a wife, children.  I have seen him get up for new treatments, and I have seen him blown out of the water when they produced nothing but wasted time.  Up the roller coaster, down the roller coaster . . . off the tracks . . . get up and do it again.  It is tiresome.

I have often wondered about whether or not there is some hidden limit on how many times a person can go up and down this emotional roller coaster before enough is enough.  Is it a couple of times?  Is it a thousand times?  A million?  Well, I imagine that our son, my wife, family, and I have hit those peaks a couple of times . . . and, what do others tell us . . . hang in there . . . it will get better . . . we are praying for you.  Nice platitudes, but it does nothing to ease the tiredness . . . nothing to restore the hope.

Anyone who deals with a chronic illness or disabilities knows the routine well . . . anyone who loves and cares for a person with a chronic illness or disability knows the routines well . . . up and down, all around, and do it all over again . . . over and over.  They know all the pat answers . . . all the nice words of comfort . . . all the routines of those around them who cannot help.  They have been angry at God . . . angry at the doctors . . . angry at each other . . . and, just plain angry.  God doesn’t seem to care or help . . . doctors “practice” medicine and really are only guessing at what might help . . . the world seems small and the people in it are irritating even though we love them . . . and, in the tiredness there is anger.  When the anger ends . . . hope is lost.

I have spent a life time on this roller coaster.  I have witnessed the lives of my two brothers who have disabilities . . . over fifty-some years now.  I have witnessed it in the life of my son as he battles Epilepsy.  I have seen it in the lives of the people I have served as a minister for over thirty-some years.  I have seen it in the lives of friends.  I have railed against God . . . and, I have railed with God.  I have cried with loved ones . . . and I have yelled at loved ones.  I have been angry at the world . . . and, angry with the world.  I have been tired . . . and, I have given up hope.

My mother lived a hard life.  She understood that life is not easy . . . that life is difficult.  She struggled with me through some difficult times in my life.  I will always remember her words to me in those times of struggle . . . “This too shall pass.” 

“This too shall pass.”

She was right.  When it was darkest . . . the stars came out.  Here in Montana I only have to step out on the back porch and look to the heavens to see millions upon millions of stars piercing the darkness.  Surprisingly, I find hope there in the darkness as the stars sparkle in the sky.  There is hope . . . there is always hope.  Tonight, before I go to bed, I will step out onto the porch, look to the heavens, and survey the vastness of God’s glorious touch to witness the stars.  I will breathe deeply of the cool nighttime air . . . close my eyes . . . and whisper, “Okay, God . . . one more time.”  Then tomorrow I will get up and do it all over again.  Yeah, my friend calls it SSDD . . . maybe it is the thin thread of hope . . . the spark to start the fire going one more time.  I don’t know . . .

To my friend . . . to all those who carry this weight . . . I know your pain, your tiredness, your hopelessness.  I also know, that you have seen the stars and that there is always hope.  It may not seem like it right at this moment . . . but this too will pass.  No, not the chronic illness or disability, but this feeling of hopelessness.   Those stars that pierce the darkness are symbolic of the gifts of God’s presence that pierce the darkness of this roller coaster journey.  They are all around . . . they may not know what to say or do . . . but they care and surround all of us with their love and prayers.  They pierce the darkness of our world.  There is hope . . . always hope.  I know that you, my friend, will get up and do it all over again.  Why? Because we care . . . because we love . . . and, because we do have hope.  God hasn’t abandon us, so why should we abandon God?

Yeah, I am tired . . . but “this too shall pass.”

Hope . . . what a strange and terrifying trip!