We are all human.There is something obvious and yet profound about that statement. "Yes, of course we are," you might say. But it isn't the obviousness of the statement that is eye opening. It is that somehow we miss it, all of it, all that makes us human.
And this is where the brokenness comes in.
If a person were to go to a store to buy a fine set of china (do people do that anymore?), they might spend hours looking over patterns, comparing different plates and pieces. They would find a look that complimented who they are, their decor at home or the current trend. Eventually, they would choose the set, buy them and take them home or wait for their new set to arrive. When it finally does arrive, they would put it in one of those fancy cabinets for everyone to see, displaying each piece through beveled glass doors because something this beautiful shouldn't be kept away from the eye.
It is that beautiful.
But what if, while unpacking the dinnerware that they spent so much of their hard earned money on, they found one with a deep scratch...or a chip... or even a broken piece? Outrage, frustration, sadness that what they wanted wasn't what they got. What they paid for was damaged.
Worst of all, what they had invested so much money in buying and so much time in selecting, was broken.
Because when we spend a lot of time on something, when we carefully consider, select, and ultimately invest in something, it ends up being a part of us. When it arrives broken, a part of us is in that box.
And a part of us is perceived as broken.
Now consider the shopper who is out antiquing - the term used when one goes out to buy something that someone else has thrown away, or something that had been given away by the original owner. Often, there is a considerable amount of money involved, much like buying a new set of china. And yes, you can go antiquing for china. But there is something different here. Both people have bought plates, a number of them in most cases. Both have spent time and money.
But the one going antiquing has fallen in love with the 'oneness' in the item. There is no catalogue of true antiques - if you see a pattern you like, you better buy it, and you better buy it now, because there is a good chance that it is the only set left.
And this set is probably not perfect. It may have been used, scratches on the surface telling a story of countless family Christmas dinners or Thanksgiving feasts. Maybe the teacup has a chip, or the butter dish is missing its lid. There is probably a plate missing from that time when little Jimmy, now a grandfather somewhere far away with no recollection of the event, dropped his plate when he got to be too goofy at the kid's table back in 48. Maybe one of the plates is missing part of the pattern because it always made it to the top of the pile after it was washed, and so it was used over and over....
But instead of scoffing at the dings and scratches, they look at the story. It is precisely that that they are looking for. People who buy antiques fall in love with the very thing rejected by the person buying a new set. The antiques, flaws ever apparent and deep scars showing, will be displayed in the same manner, for all the world to see.
When I came back to seminary for my second year it was immediately apparent that things were different. Our original class size was the largest to date with nearly 20 students. Last year we had all bonded, sharing meals and talking theology. We poured over scripture and debated interpretation with the confidence of a seasoned veteran. We had so much work to do that our free time was spent sleeping or studying, the latter usually in groups. We were polished and shined with enthusiasm.
And many of us got it into our heads that the people who were in our program were just like us, that they like the same things, that they have the same goals. And everyone was friends with everyone. We were like a new set of dishes, complete and flawless, and while some of us had different purposes, we were all perfect for our respective ministries. At least, thats what we expected.
And it isn't that we didn't speak about our flaws - soon-to-be pastors love to flaunt their shortcomings as much as boast their achievements. It was just that many of us spent so much time talking about our own selves that we forgot to listen. We invested our time in each other, and when that happens, we give each other a little piece of us.
This year, despite a lower academic workload this intensive, there is something different. We have begun to argue, to sneer, to find drama. As we complain about one another in private, we separate, and segregate. We point out flaws - flaws that were always there. Our once strong cohort of 20 was now down to 15 - a full 25% now gone- with some of our favorite pieces missing. It was as though we opened the box expecting the fine china we packed away, only to discover brokenness, and now we are upset. We were upset that what we had invested ourselves in wasn't what we had envisioned, and we got mad about it.
But of all the people in the world, we should understand the brokenness of humans.
We are human, all of us. Had we spent the time to really listen to each other we would have realized that we aren't a new set of china. We have scratches and scars. Our stories are like that of anyone else - we have stories of lost love, betrayal, fear, and hurt. We don't always look pretty, and some of us don't seem to shine the way we used to.
But that is the beauty of us. God unpacks us and sees all this brokenness. He doesn't fix the scars, even if the wounds are healed. Instead, he holds us high for the world to see. God is proud of us and he loves us in all our perfect imperfection.
We need to be this way. We need to celebrate our differences, to realize that our worth isn't found in our beauty but, like a well-worn antique, it is found in our life experiences. Our chips and cracks bring things to the table, they serve to make us compassionate for others who have similar cracks and chips, and they help to teach those who have none.
We need to hold each other up, understanding that the very same cracks may make it difficult to be useful in the same way to all people. We can love each other without being friends with everyone. We can grieve for those pieces that are missing. We can celebrate those that remain.
Recently I saw our entire group rally around one of us who really needed it. In all of our mismatched perfection, we were able to form a complete and needed safety net, unwilling to let someone fall. And it was beautiful - beautiful in the way only someone who is there could understand. We prayed and loved, we supported and pretended to be strong when inside we were scared.
And all of our chips and cracks fit together like pieces of a puzzle in that moment, one flawless piece of perfection. We hugged and said our goodbyes to one, and after we smiled and waved, some of us went in and cried as we discovered just how much we are all ourselves broken, and just how much we need each other anyway.
And then there were 14.
Love others. Understand that we are not perfect. Be grateful for the time you spend with people. Embrace diversity. Be content with disagreement at times and be satisfied that not everyone will always be your friend, but know that that doesn't mean that they are your enemy - just that they have different perspectives.
Instead, hold them up to the light and admire their beauty, chips and cracks and all, for we are all broken.
