Broken Expectations
When I was a kid, my family called me the count. Whenever I was bored, I would count things. I counted all the lights in the sanctuary of my church, all the cars going the other way on the road, and all the birds eating stale bread off our deck. I would occasionally announce to my family, “there are 11 birds out there.” They would smile, look knowingly at each other, and tell me that was nice.
I wonder if my announcements changed them at all. I wonder if it influenced how they saw the single sparrow, when I announced there were 10 just like it fluttering nearby. At the time, I was so excited at my ability to gather this data that I felt compelled to announce it to anyone who happened to be nearby. I never thought about the effect I could have on the people around me by announcing the results of my count.
I am having a spiritual crisis. I am losing my grip on my expectations. At first, I thought my life had become too segregated; I was simply surrounded by too many people like me. But I think the problem is deeper.
Mom Did the Best She Could in Her Brokenness
I grew up in a bungalow on a tree lined street. My dad went to work every day. My little brother and I went to Lutheran school on a school bus. I went to the public library and carried home stacks of books. I played dolls with the neighborhood girls. We skated up and down the sidewalks. My mom sewed all my clothes, with doll clothes to match. She made tuna casserole and donuts. Sometimes my family would go to the country to visit our grandparents on their farm. On Sundays my family went to church. It was an idyllic childhood in the 1950s.
Except inside, my childhood was broken. My mom had trouble with what was called then “nerves,” and she had colitis. Sometimes she never got out of bed. Sometimes she was very sick. Sometimes she was very mean, and sometimes she was violent.
The Gift in the Brokenness
So it turns out after all those scary doctor visits, all I have is mono. At least my gut was right that it wasn’t anything malignant! That whole weeks’ long medical ordeal, in addition to my solo living and a five week sabbatical from Facebook, created space for me to ruminate about two things. The first thing is how do I make sure I always have health insurance? The second thing is thinking about life as a gift.
I have had always had a little trouble seeing life as a gift. It is perhaps my historical propensity to dwell on the negative aspects of my life that has prevented me from seeing life in all its brokenness and imperfection as a “gift.”
Bringing a Child into this Broken World
How on earth can we bring a child into this broken world?
That’s the question that worries me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a father. When I met my wife three years ago, it started to become a reality. The first time we met, I talked about wanting a family. Of course, at the time, she had a boyfriend, so I wasn’t talking about starting a family with her! We were married less than a year later, and knew that we wanted to have our own children soon. Last summer, we got pregnant, and in the next few weeks we’ll welcome our little baby.
The Engaged Soul
Mary Oliver’s instructions for a life in the poem Sometimes:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
It’s a complicated boarding system.
There are zones that seem to be assigned without
the actual layout of the airplane in mind
such that passengers in aisle & middle seats are often settled in,
snoozing and ready for take off
when the passengers with window seats arrive
There’s the shuffling of people in and out of the narrow spaces
and the constant reminder to step aside once we’ve located our
seats,
to allow others to do the same.
Boarding an airplane shouldn’t be this difficult
What’s Broken is Brilliant
Come, Ye Disconsolate
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Maybe because I was born 1954, the same year as Brown v. Board of Education, I have always known that brokenness is not only individual, but also social and collective. I learned that religious community and theology often hold a people struggling with brokenness, suffering, and injustice. My earliest influences in being held this way are my family church and the movement for African-American civil rights.
How Does Our Faith Hold Brokenness?
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In Duluth, Minnesota, in the center of the city, there is a statue of three young men, college-aged, strong and hopeful, looking out of the stone toward the world. On a summer night in 1920, not so very long ago, these three—Isaac McGhie, Elias Clayton, and Elmer Jackson—were lynched there by a mob that may have numbered as many as ten thousand people. Read more →
From Your Minister
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As I follow the news of upheaval that appears to be escalating daily—collapsing political and economic systems, hurricanes, earthquakes, tornados and floods—and as I interact with many people whose lives are affected by those bigger systems, here’s what I’ve been wondering. Read more →
REsources for Living
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Unitarian Universalists tend to be pretty upbeat about human nature. We remind ourselves of each person’s “inherent worth and dignity,” and rather than baptizing babies (to cleanse them of original sin), we welcome young ones with rituals that affirm that we’re delighted to have them exactly as they are. Read more →
