2017.9.24 Join the Broken Hearts Club
Rev.
Laura Bogle Foothills UU
Fellowship
Time
for All Ages: The
Tree of Broken Hearts (adapted
by me from “The Tree of Sorrows” as told in Doorways to the Soul, edited
by Elisa Davy Pearman
Once upon a time there was a Rabbi who served a small
community.
He was used to his followers coming often to talk with him
about their woes and griefs.
They would tell him all about their broken hearts and who
and what broke them.
They often thought that no one else’s heart had been broken
like theirs had.
And sometimes they would come and talk to him about how
they had broken someone else’s heart, how they had done something hurtful or
disappointing.
Sometimes, how they had done something outright
unforgivable, or so they thought. Or at
least they couldn’t forgive themselves.
And some also thought: no one else has done something so
hurtful or as unforgivable as I have.
And they were all very lonely.
And so the Rabbi came up with a plan.
He sent word out through the village that everyone was to
come to the center of town on a particular day, to the great big tree that
stood there.
“Bring your sorrows and what has broken your heart. Bring the things you wish you could be
forgiven for—the ways you have broken another’s heart. Write them all down and place them in a bag.
When you come to the tree, hang your bag up on the tree. Everyone will be
allowed to exchange their broken hearts and go home with the broken hearts of
your neighbor.”
The villagers were excited, imagining how much easier their
lives would be after they exchanged their own broken hearts.
And so they came.
And with string and ribbon they tied their heavy bags to the tree. The lower branches of the tree bent with the
weight of so many hearts.
“Now, you are free to move around and to inspect the bags,
and you may choose the one you’d like to claim, freeing yourself from your own
broken hearts.”
The villagers rushed at the tree and began peering into the
bags, one after the other. Excited and
quick at first, then gradually more slowly, more thoughtfully, around and
around the tree they moved.
Eventually, feeling quite tired out, slightly foolish but
also wiser, every villager claimed their own bag of broken hearts. And as they walked back home, they looked at
each other in the eyes, with renewed tenderness. And something quite strange also
happened: their bags of broken hearts were not quite as heavy.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
In the mystical Jewish
tradition there is a creation story, related to but different from the biblical
account we find in Genesis. It is a relatively new story, having been created
by medieval Rabbi Isaac Luria in the 1500s—and it has become a beloved and
central organizing myth for many Jews around the world.
This story says that at the
beginning of time God’s presence filled up every part the universe. In order to create the world, God contracted,
drew in a breath, became smaller to open up space for something new to come
into being. When God said, “Let there be
Light” 10 holy vessels filled with a primordial light (remember the sun had not
yet been created) came into existence.
They were perfect. But they were too fragile to contain the
divine energy within and they burst open, they shattered, sending sparks of
light out into the universe. “Like sand, like seeds, like stars,” as Howard
Schwartz says. http://www.tikkun.org/nextgen/how-the-ari-created-a-myth-and-transformed-judaism
And that is why humans were
created—to gather up the sparks of light, of divine energy, wherever they are
found, to reunite the bits of holiness that are scattered all over with the
ultimate goal of tikkun olam or
repair of the world.
In this story, creation does
not arise out of nothing, neither does new life arise out of perfection – but
existence of the whole world comes from an experience of brokenness, a mistake,
fragile vessels broken open, spilling their contents, leaving a seed, a spark
of light where they fall.
It is good to remember that
Rabbi Isaac Luria lived just after the expulsion of Jews from Spain – a time
when Jewish people were once again dealing with the experience of exile, of the
brokenness of their communities. This
myth was one that spoke to their experience, and gave a meaning to their
existence as a scattered people in strange lands.
Still today it is an important
organizing story for Jewish folks involved in social and environmental justice
work – to understand that repair of the world, tikkun olam, is about seeking out and lifting up and reuniting
those original sparks of goodness which can be found everywhere.
And, as current day Rabbi
Audrey Marcus-Berkman points out, “A major creation story of our people is
founded on brokenness. … What
does brokenness mean in our life, in the universe, and what can and must we do
with it…?”
This time of year in the
Jewish calendar is known as the Days of Awe – the 9 days between the New Year
of Rosh Hashanah, and the High Holy Day of Yom Kippur which falls this year on
Saturday the 30th.
It is a time when observant
Jews take account of their lives, where they have hurt or wronged others or
themselves.
During the Days of Awe there
is an encouragement to actually go make amends with those you have individually
wronged. But in the end, at the High
Holy Day services of Yom Kippur, repentance and forgiveness happens as a
collective, communal experience.
In her reflection for Yom
Kippur several years ago, Rabbi Marcus-Berkman said, “Just look—the holiest day
in our year is the one in which we acknowledge brokenness. Not only do we acknowledge that we have
failed ourselves and others and we hope to do better, but also that we are
broken in the sense that others have failed us, that God has failed us; that we
are disappointed, that we are missing something, someone. That some aspects of our lives are not as
they should or could be.”
The Hebrew word usually
translated as repentence is tshuvah
which literally means to turn or return.
She says, “Each of us will
inevitably find different things when we experience this process of
self-examination, of teshuvah as a
return to the innermost self; but all of us will find that in some way, we are
broken, and broken-hearted.”
Last week at our first
Building Bridges class, an exploration of major world religions this year, we
asked the question: “What is religion for?”
And one answer among many others was, simply, Trouble.
Not causing Trouble! (Although
there is a case to be made there, too.)
But one of the reasons
religion exists in all places and times in so many different forms is as an
answer to the fundamental human experience of trouble, of suffering—the ways we
break our own and each other’s hearts, the way the world itself can break our
hearts.
Unitarianism, historically, with
its sunny outlook on the goodness of humanity, and belief in the perfection of
character, has sometimes downplayed this part of existence.
Also, the culture of our
congregations has mostly –and I’m generalizing here—been built through the
culture of those with privilege—white, middle and upper class culture. A culture that says trouble, broken
heartedness somehow indicates a moral failing.
A culture that places a premium on having it all together as a sign of
success.
And, a culture that frankly has
suffered and endured less trouble. While
brokenness is a common human experience, we also know that suffering is not
evenly distributed in our society.
And yet this is also true: if
our Fellowship were for people who’d never been hurt or harmed, only for people
who didn’t at times need to be forgiven for transgression, only for perfect
people, this worship here would be an empty room.
The paradox is this: when we
are able to name and acknowledge our brokenness, we are able to be more whole,
more fully human with one another.
Perhaps this is one meaning of
the Hasidic Jewish saying, “There is nothing so whole as a broken heart.”
Like the shattered vessels,
when we let our hearts break there is room for something else to enter: God, Love, Wisdom, perhaps simply a deeper
understanding of the common experience of being human.
Like the tree of broken hearts
in our story this morning, when we are able to share this part of ourselves
with one another, we find our burdens might be lighter. There might be room created for more
compassion, more softness towards one another and ourselves.
An unbroken heart is an
inhuman heart; and very often an inhumane heart. An unbroken heart is a hard heart, like the
heart of Pharoah who enslaved the Jews.
He was stuck in the empire of his own making, unable to find a way out
or through. While the Israelites, whose hearts (and bodies, I might add) were
broken by the experience of being enslaved, found a way out. A way opened up for them and their freedom,
crossing over the sea to a new land.
Alice Walker has a collection
of stories entitled, The Way Forward is
With a Broken Heart.
The
Way Forward is With a Broken Heart. The title
is enough. This is the resilience wisdom
of oppressed peoples of many times and places, whether enslaved Israelites or
enslaved Africans in this country.
It is the resilience wisdom
that most anyone who has had the private experience of grieving a loved one
knows.
It is the resilience wisdom
that those in recovery from addiction know.
The only way forward is
through; the only way to cross over to a
new life, a reoriented existence where flourishing is possible, is to let your
heart break open.
I can think of a few world
leaders right now who might could benefit from letting their hearts break open.
A few years ago a UU
congregation was hosting a multi-generational event where everyone was
encouraged to create a heart. They had
scissors and construction paper and glue and even some glitter. One young girl named Emily worked really,
really hard on her heart. It was perfect
and beautiful. Symmetrical with sharp
lines and beautiful glitter evenly distributed.
She was very proud of it.
As the event came to close and
she was leaving, she noticed someone else’s heart sitting all by itself at a
table. She knew it belonged to an elder
in the congregation, and boy, she thought, that heart is a mess! It was made of all these different colors of
ripped up pieces of paper, it was kind of lopsided and wrinkled, and there was
even a little hole in the middle.
Emily found the grandmotherly
woman and offered to help her fix her heart.
And she replied, “oh, there’s
nothing wrong with my heart. It shows
all the different good and sad things that have happened in my life. The times when I’ve loved someone and I’ve
received a bit of their heart and they have taken a part of mine. The hole is for the ones I’ve loved and
lost. It’s an imperfect, broken heart,
but it’s the heart of my life.”
And the young girl looked down
at her perfect glittery heart, and right then and there she ripped off a piece
of it, gave to the woman, and she did the same.
(from Tapestry of Faith stories)
May we be so brave and wise,
to live into our future, sharing our own beautiful and broken hearts.
Amen.
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